Ummmm…. I’m trying to plan something for a follower milestone post and I don’t know which one! I desperately have to show my appreciation to you all! So please, please, please, vote!
Follower Milestone Celebration Idea!
Drop post! I’ll drop 4-5 full length fics in the month of June, your choice
Themed : Followers send me a Drabble/blurb request and I’ll write it!
Small heads up that I’m writing like 3 MJ fics 💀💀💀💀💀 one being a lovely request 🫶🏾 the Michael Fever consumes me. I can’t help it. But I may drops some blurbs here and there 🥴 I’ll be back ya’ll
𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁
Review ・・ Your wedding anniversary is today. You suspect your husband has something big planned, considering how long you’ve been with him. But things don’t always go the way it should, and you end up spending it with someone else.
⠀ ⠀ Sound Check •・Thank you to @foxtufts for planning this event! I appreciate you being so patient and kind and I’m so sorry this took me all day to draft 🥴
⠀ Credits ・・general audience. Fluff. Bakery AU. Married!reader x lion. Cheating allegations should exist here but it doesn’t for some reason. I’ll get back to that. No beta, I am free! WC: 2.3k
The building smelled like cinnamon, a mixture of soft flavors and warmth that could lift anybody's spirits once they walked in.
A Customer came up, eyes wandering through the endless options of delicacies. Mini cakes, baked sugary bread, brownies, and cookies— a mountain of sugar that could put anybody into a diabetic coma. She thought for a second, looking up at the board above your head for the prices, and then looked back down.
"Ummm, can I order two brownies please?"
You nodded, clicking the food icon on the screen, and the prices immediately calculated. "Anything else?" You chirped.
"Oh! And throw in a sugar cookie too. I know this is all bad for me—" he smiled wryly, the wrinkles around her forehead rising. "I started working out this week but I desperately need a cheat day today."
You cracked a smile, the total of all three desserts coming up to eight dollars. "Believe me, we all need a cheat day." You cashed her out, quickly working to gather the takeout bags and a pair of tongs afterwards.
The music on the speaker was playing a soft pop song, a new singer recently upcoming. You hummed along to the tune, placed each item safely in the bag, and returned to the counter. "Have a great day!" You exclaimed, passing her the bag, keeping your voice warm and light.
The customer waved goodbye.
You stood at the front, elbow resting on the counter, weight balanced on one foot. Your mind was buzzing with excitement. You listened to the next track that played, a cheesy love song from the 90s, the bass and guitar melting together like a mixing pot.
You couldn't wait to clock out for the day.
The bell over the front door rang, and you looked up to find your familiar co-worker walking in with a few boxes in his hands, carefully taking steps to try and not fall, or possibly drop the boxes.
"Do you need help?" You called out, but you knew his exact answer.
"No, I got it." He groaned.
He wobbled towards the back, sliding between the open gap of the counter, and turned around to push the door open with his back. He disappeared, the love song ended, and he came back with a heavy sigh.
"You know, it's okay to ask for help," you said, taking note of the way he stretched his back, arching and breathing in between like he was an old man.
"Nah, I got it. Wasn't that heavy anyway."
Different generations, same excuses.
He was much younger than you, a few years gone by, but he was a very dedicated worker. You've seen coworkers come and go, a few leaving to pursue other career opportunities, others leaving because the job was a quick cash-in— but the new hire had a certain air about him that you couldn't quite place.
His name was Walter— often corrected to Lion per his request. You asked why, the name unusual to be a nickname of sorts and he simply said that he's always been called that. You didn't press further, showed him the ropes of the job and he's been coming in since.
A month went by, the routine was ingrained in his head, and you both worked around each other fairly smoothly. He did the heavy lifting, took out the trash, cleaned around the place when needed— and you mostly worked the front counter, bagging food and making drinks when requested.
Every day was the same you supposed, nothing much happened at work besides a few complaints from people with too much time on their hands but today was different.
Lion finished stretching his back, a small curse slipping from under his breath at a particular weird-sounding crack that came from his spine, and took a deep breath.
"It feels like you're much older than me when you do that," you noted, fingers tapping at the counter." All you're missing is the grey hair, wrinkles, and a cane at your side for support,"
"And all you're missing is the hat with the spinner and a giant lollipop," he retorted.
You laughed at his visible annoyance. His joke falling flat. He was never funny, but you liked how annoyed he got trying to go blow for blow with you.
"I got one at home, I'll bring it tomorrow," you joked, reorganizing the takeout bags on the stand. "Actually, I think I have the giant lollipop in my car."
He rolled his eyes.
Besides working together, you both found some sort of enjoyment out of teasing each other whenever the time came. You don't know when it started— perhaps it's when you asked if he had any other jungle-named family members at home to lighten the mood one day.
He frowned, you thought he was pissed and then he told you that he had one. His name was Simba, a distant cousin of his, and the jokes haven't stopped since.
He rolled his arms around, another crack sounding from his bones. "On second thought, I feel old as shit. I might need the cane soon anyway." He walked around, standing in front of the counter, and leaned into it. "Don't get how you have so much energy today— or any days."
"Cause, today is a surprise." After fixing the last stack, you moved on to the coffee cups.
He raised a brow. "A surprise?"
You paused, raising your hand, fingers twitching to pull his attention. His eyes dropped, the ring on your finger glistening under the light.
"Right," he said slowly, nodding, and then he stopped. "I'm sorry— what does that mean?"
"It's my anniversary," You giggled, sounding like a teenage girl. "Today is the day I got married to the love of my life and I'm ecstatic."
"Oh, that makes sense. How long again?" He asked, not entirely interested but he didn't mind small talk.
"Two years. Isn't that something?"
"Congrats. That's longer than my parents lasted."
"Your parents got married?"
"No, but they did break up when I was five, so that counts for something."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Your face dropped, unsure of how to respond to that.
He doesn't tell you much about his life, other than his older brother, whom he sees from time to time. When he saw the air change, the mood plummeting, he grabbed your attention by pushing the reorganized cups to the side. "Don't be, they didn't belong together anyway— but tell me what the plan is?"
Your face lit back up. "I think he's taking me out? I heard he was making reservations for today. I'm not picky, but I hope it's somewhere romantic."
You've been daydreaming about this day, countless images of pretty red roses scattered all over the house. You didn't wake up to anything, finding him gone to work in the morning, but that didn't mean he didn't care.
"I bought a dress— something I don't usually buy often, but I wanted to look pretty."
"You don't need a dress to look pretty," he said, unashamed of how quickly he added to the criticism of your appearance.
A soft chuckle escaped you, "Please, you're just saying that."
"Trust me, a guy isn't going to be looking at the color of your dress."
You smirked, leaning in closer. "What will they be looking at?"
"I—" the smirk on your face was so telling, he almost fell for it. "I'm not going to answer that. You might file a report on me."
"Ouch, so close," you sighed. "Maybe next time?"
"Next time." He looked at the clock on the desk, a deep rumble puffing from his chest. "The delivery truck is coming in five, I should get ready." He left from his spot.
You called his name, pointing towards the back. "Make sure they put the flour towards the back of the building this time. Putting it in the front was diabolical."
"Sure thing boss." He went off, exiting the building to wait for the truck to pull in.
You clocked out early, another worker was coming in to take your shift, and you drove straight home. You thought about what style of makeup you were going to wear, what hairstyle would look best with the dress, the type of heel that would angle your feet better— things that sounded silly saying out loud, but today it all counted.
You got home, your husband's car was parked at the front, and you felt a rush of joy.
He's never been home this early before.
Once you got inside, the excitement never left but your eyes did wander around. It was empty, the lights on, your husband nowhere to be seen. No decorations, no cake— nothing. You went upstairs to your shared bedroom, wondering if he had everything planned there instead.
How dreamy would it be to open the door to a bed of roses, a few chocolates decorated around the pillows spelling out "I Love You" something you would see in a cheesy romantic movie you've watched as a child.
You twisted the knob, hope bouncing in your chest and the darkness smacked you in the face like a brick wall.
You stood there, mouth open, confusion bubbling up inside. You could make out the silhouette of your husband, snuggled under the covers.
There were no balloons, no sweets to brighten the mood, and the room felt empty. The dress you bought, the bright colors dim in the darkness, was hanging on the wall. A grim reminder that you'll have to take it back now since there was no purpose for it anymore.
You walked over to his side of the bed, tapping him awake. He groaned, a small yawn following, turning over on his side.
"Huh?" He grumbled.
"Hey, baby," You said softly, "Did you forget, you know. Today?" You questioned, trying to find the most plausible explanation as to why you have yet to find anything that showed how important this day was.
"Forget what?" he sucked his teeth.
"Y-You know, today—"
"Babe, I just got home from work. Long meeting, you know how it is."
It felt like your heart was smashed into a billion pieces. "Yeah… Right, of course. Um, I'm sorry."
You backed away, your husband turning back over to snuggle under the sheets, and you felt the tears swell.
You decided to go back to your car, your uniform still on, and you drove. The radio was silent, your sniffles the only sound ringing in your ears. The bakery seemed like the best place to go to. You weren't sure where to go, what to do, who to talk to— but the bakery was your safe space for now.
You couldn't bear the thought of staying home after that.
When you pulled up to the parking lot, the lights were still on, the familiar figure behind the glass window working. You got out of the car, wiping away your tears, trying your best to get rid of any evidence that you were bawling your eyes out the whole way.
Lion was sweeping the floors, the radio going off. He had his back turned, but the sound of the bell ringing off alerted him. "We're closing in ten minutes," he announced, turning around and he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Yes, I know what I said," you grumbled, reading his mind before he could say it. You headed towards the tall chairs in front of the counter.
"What happened?" He asked, following behind you.
You sat down at the counter, propping yourself up. "He forgot… I think? Or maybe not. I'm… I'm not sure anymore."
Lion's face twisted, almost in disgust.
He could see the dry tears caked on your cheeks, stains that you tried to wipe away but failed to.
You sighed, refusing to make eye contact. "Mind if I stay until you close?"
What a silly question to ask.
"Yeah…Of course."
You placed your head down on the counter, the sniffles threatening to come back up again
Lion's hands twitched at his side.
He left, going towards the back room. You heard the doors swing open and then shut. Soon enough, he came back out, taking a chair beside you.
He used his elbow to alert you, your face turning to spot him holding two cupcakes in his hands. It was a basic vanilla cupcake, rainbow sprinkles, and a candle shoved in the middle like a mini birthday cake.
"What…What's that?" You mumbled.
"We can have our own celebration," he huffed, sitting a cupcake in front of you. "You've been working here for two years—"
"Actually," you interrupted, "it's a year and four months."
"Then, let's celebrate a year and four months."
He took out a lighter from his back pocket, burning the tip of the candle for each cupcake. You watched the flame flicker, sadness slowly simmering away.
"I…" What were you supposed to say? "Thank you?"
"No need to jump in excitement," He deadpanned.
"N-No! I'm just… at a loss for words. That's all."
"If your husband is stupid enough to forget something as important as today, then fuck him— sorry for my language."
You cracked a smile, "I'll let it slide, just this once. I needed to hear that."
He gestured to the cupcake, the flames still flickering. "You should blow out the candle. Make a wish, something dealing with him falling down the stairs in the morning."
"I'll wish for more than that." You did what he said, blowing out the flame with one swoosh from your lips.
You looked back at him as he did the same, his eyebrows knitted together. You both ate the cupcake, the silence passing over.
You chewed slowly, the night ending in a sweet flavor of vanilla icing.
"If you want," came his voice, low and rough. "I could come to your house and rough your husband up for you?"
You could see in his face that he wasn't joking, he was dead serious in fact. You thought about it, but that would only end in Lion being arrested probably. Your husband wasn't worth the trouble.
"Perhaps next time?
"Perhaps next time," He repeated, and you both enjoyed the company of each other while you ate the last of the cupcake.
𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁
𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁
͙ 𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁
Hello????? welcome???? … I hit a follower milestone omfg??? yall im so shocked rn 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 literally thank you to everyone who’s been showing the MJ fics love. I genuinely can’t even grasp whats happening 🤨
͙ 𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁
*knocks tentatively on your door* Just thought I’d pop by and check in on that Paddy Mayne x Reader fic idea I sent a while back; it was had a sort of enemies to lovers flavour, she’s a translator and possibly the one person able to out-crazy him; they annoy the fuck out of each other and it culminates in smut?😅 Would love to know if it’s still on the cards🤞❤️
Hi! Hello I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve updated you on this. I’ve been in a slump with Jack content lately (just me losing inspo for his characters rn)
I still love his characters and I’m constantly going back to rewatch his content but all of the motivation to write in that regard is burning out omg 💔 I’ve been waiting for announcements for s3 but the draught is here 🫠
I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me forever and I understand if you send it to someone else.
summary: Michael has a vice, and it's not drugs or alcohol. It's a woman.
word count: 3.1k
warnings: infidelity/cheating, slight manipulation on reader's part, oral m! receiving, slight smut, 18+ ONLY
a/n: Alright... they got to me. The Michael movie got to me. But trust and believe, I've been an MJ fan since I came out of the womb, and this was honestly bound to happen at some point. Not sure how many fics I'll write for him, but this is just something that came out in the moment, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so so much to @iceemochaa and @confetti-cakemix for feeding my hyperfixation and for helping me come up with some ideas in this fic! My little autistic brain loves you pookies.
This is supposed to be a sort of 'origin story' for how the song Dirty Diana came to be!
You'll never make me stay, so take your weight off of me.
He called you Diana. It wasn't your real name; he didn't know what that was. He didn't want to know it. There was too much attachment there, the possibility of the letters getting stuck to his tongue when you weren't around. Your face already lingered there too often, full lips and hastily ripped clothing flashing through his mind at any inconvenient moment.
Knowing his name, however, was unavoidable. The first time you whispered it into his ear as he pushed your legs open made a shiver of simultaneous guilt and delight wrack up his spine. It wasn't love, but there was something there that thrilled him. Maybe it was the sweetness of your perfume mixed with your not-so-sweet demeanor. You pleasured him in a way that had nothing to do with a stage. Nothing to do with his money.
Michael was a fierce performer. He could make men and women crumple to the floor at his shows with a swivel of his hips. But to you, he was a sheep in wolf's clothing. Inside your small, one-bedroom apartment, there was nothing he could do to make you waiver in your humiliating indifference to him. You didn't ask when you'd see him again. You didn't ask for money—just the heat of his skin against yours.
The best part about you was that you didn't ask questions. You didn't want to know if he had a girl. It didn't matter to you. Whatever he did after he got off on your body wasn't your concern. The problem was that Michael cared. He cared about what you were doing when he wasn't around, who you were talking to. He wondered if you scratched your nails down anyone else's back the way that you did his. The thought of it had started to infiltrate every moment of his life, his work. And with another woman in his bed now, someone softer and more considerate than you, he knew he had to let you go.
You always met in the same place. A dank club on the outskirts of Los Angeles that wasn't frequented by many star-studded idols, except for him. He dressed casually in leather black pants, a navy blue button-up, and a white t-shirt underneath. His dark curls were pulled back into a low bun, his version of trying to go undercover from the fans that seemed to follow him everywhere. Tonight, the streets were empty. He seemed to have gotten lucky.
The meet-up was never planned. He didn't even know your number. But you were always there, in your dark corner on the balcony of the club. He could already see you as the bouncer let him in with just a glance at his face. Smoke billowed around you as you people-watched. A crowd of patrons surrounded you, drinking and chatting. Some Michael recognized, some he didn't. You didn't speak to them, the cherry of a cigarette glowing as it moved toward your mouth. There was always an empty chair beside you, no one filling the seat. He always took it. He wouldn't tonight.
Michael's legs felt shaky as he walked onto the balcony that loomed over the dance floor. The crowd around you all looked up at his arrival, minus you, who was flicking ash into an empty whiskey glass.
You reached for your full drink with your other hand, dipping your fingers into the alcohol and pulling out a bright red cherry that floated on top. That was when you finally looked up at him, with your shining lips wrapped around the cherry, your manicured fingers pulling the stem. Michael felt like he had swallowed sandpaper.
"Leave us." You said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact with Michael. But everyone knew the command was directed at them, not him. And they listened to you, grabbing their drinks and filing off the balcony with rumours uttered under their breath.
I know your every move, so won't you just let me be?
When it was just the two of you, you rewarded him with a small smile. The purple and blue club lights wavered over your skin, glittering like the reflection of the sun hitting the ocean. You threw the stem of your cherry into the makeshift ashtray, chewing slowly.
"You said you wouldn't be back after last time." A laugh escaped you, beautiful and violent. "I almost believed you."
He didn't know how to respond to that, to admit his dirty secret or lie and say that he didn't mean to run into you. But the answer was clear when he moved closer to you, hands clenched at his sides.
"How's your girl…" You paused, looking to the ceiling in mock thought. "Oh, I've forgotten her name."
Michael's mouth opened to speak, but his words failed at the sight of you crossing your legs in the leather seat. You donned sheer black tights with a run up one of the thighs, ripped like someone pressed their finger into the fabric and pulled. His cheeks burned, and he bit the side of his tongue.
You continued, slender fingers lifting the cigarette to your lips again. His eyes grazed over the lipstick mark wrapped around the orange filter. Marks he'd once seen on his skin. "…think you forgot her name last week, too. In fact, it seemed like you'd forgotten everything except my name."
Your gaze lingered on his throat, the bob of it as you looked at him.
"My name," You repeated, like it was a joke. He didn't even know who you were, truly. "And the way you like how my tongue feels on your neck."
Michael's eye threatened to twitch at the memory. He swallowed down the heat that had started to bloom from his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Diana, Diana, please, please," you mocked the sound of his moans, chest heaving in mock pleasure.
You flattened the last of your cigarette against the tip of your high heel, putting it out. Smoke rippled out of your nostrils, floating around Michael's head and intoxicating him.
I've been here times before but I was too blind to see,
"I'm not here to talk about that with you. Or talk about her with you." Michael finally spoke, shifting to lean against the rail of the balcony. He didn't miss the way you laughed to yourself, your head falling back and exposing the length of your neck. "I've never been here for that."
"Got a point there." You smiled, standing up from the chair. It took everything in Michael not to shift away from you, like he was avoiding the bite of a poisonous spider. Your hand reached out, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. "You don't usually come here to talk about anything."
…that you seduce every man, this time you won't seduce me.
"I'm serious." Michael's eyes rolled of their own volition, but he didn't have the strength to pull his arm away from you quite yet. But you did it for him, your hand releasing the fabric, only to reach up and pull the collar of his button-up down, revealing the sharp dip of his collarbone. The marks you'd left before were long since faded.
"How was it hiding those from her?" You grinned at him, and in the darkness of the club, your canine teeth looked like fangs, ready to sink into his jugular at any moment. "Saw those pictures in the tabloids, some awards show you were at… pretty high collar on that jacket you were wearing if you ask me."
You grazed your nails up his neck with two fingers, watching the way he struggled to keep from shivering. But he wasn't able to hide the reaction to you pressing into the pulse point below his jaw. A whiny, breathy sound left him, and his hand raised to grip your wrist. Tight enough to leave bruises. You wanted them.
He tossed your hand away with one hand and raised the opposite to grab at your shoulder. In seconds, you were in the spot he had just been standing in, back pressed against the railing of the balcony. His free hand gripped the metal bar next to you, boxing you in.
"I didn't come here for that." He hissed, eyes looking nearly black in the dark. "Not with you. I'm done with you."
She's saying, 'That's okay, hey baby, do what you please.'
"Oh, Mikey,"
You leaned forward, your body pressing close to his. You could feel the buttons of his shirt, the press of his belt buckle, the heat of his breath against your ear, and something else beneath that, firm and warm. Exactly what you'd been looking for. Your hand raised to graze it through his pants, skin against warm leather, and he responded with a resounding hiss. You smiled like the cat who'd caught the canary, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you began to whisper.
"Then why are you hard?"
'I have the stuff that you want. I am the thing that you need.'
Michael grit his teeth, swatting your hand away from him, although his hips had leaned into your touch. You didn't mind, hugging your arms around your body to keep your hands to yourself.
"Don't you know how much I hate you?" He asked you, no bite in his bark. Dark curls from his bun had fallen out, brushing the skin of your cheek from how close he was.
"I didn't get that impression the last time you were inside of me, no." You answered, hips searching for the friction of his. He didn't allow it, not yet.
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you caught Michael's eye drifting to it. His lips were parted, and his chest heaved in a way you only ever saw when you were on top of him. You'd caught him in your web again, whether he knew it yet or not.
"Come back to mine. Show me just how much you hate me."
She said, 'I have to go home, 'cause I'm real tired, you see.'
The ten-minute walk back to your apartment was quiet, save for the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement and a match lighting up a cigarette or two. Michael walked a few steps behind you, watching the way your hips swayed, how you instinctively kept your eyes fixed around the street for your safety. He wondered, briefly, how many times you'd walked home alone from that club. Passing by dark alleys, run-down apartments, men who would destroy you and then leave you like trash on the side of the road. He huffed a laugh through his nose, quietly. Protective of the woman who was dead set on ruining his life, what a joke.
Your apartment, though small, was always oddly comforting to him. The smell of your perfume hit him as you unlocked the door, tossing a small purse onto the sofa just a few feet away. Nothing had changed from the last time he'd been here, not even the way the blankets were strewn on the floor from when he'd taken you there. He remembered how you'd laughed when he'd pushed you down, legs spreading so eagerly for him.
'But I hate sleeping alone. Why don't you come with me?'
Michael was frozen, back against the door. He watched you balance on one leg to take your heel off, and then switch to the other. The run in your tights had gotten longer from the walk, and you hummed as you noticed.
"Guess you'll just have to rip 'em off." You looked up at him, eyes dark. When he didn't respond, you shrugged. You lifted the skirt of your tight dress, casually, exposing the entire length of your legs and the sheer sight of your underwear behind the tights. Your fingers hooked into the waistband. "Or I can just take them off-"
Michael pushed himself off the door before he realized what he was doing, replacing your fingers with his own and tugging you toward him by the waistband of your tights. He used his other hand to grab at the hair at the base of your neck, tugging until your head was bent backwards, the entire column of your throat exposed to him. His pretty, white teeth nipped at the skin, leaving small red marks that he soothed with the cool wetness of his tongue.
"I can't stay long," He said, lips hot against your skin. "She's at home, thinks I'm just at the studio late."
I said, 'My baby's at home, she's probably worried tonight. I didn't call on the phone to say that I'm alright.'
"I'm all yours for as long as you need." You said it from where your head was still tugged back, not moving an inch until Michael decided otherwise. His entire being burned with the need to touch you, to make you so breathless again that all you could say was his name. His hands were gentle in the way he released your hair and set his grip around your waist.
Diana walked up to me, she said, 'I'm all yours tonight.'
It was almost a shock, the way he was suddenly pushing you toward the breakfast bar in your small kitchenette. Your front hit the linoleum counter, your arms flying out to brace for the impact. Bent over for him, he could run his large hands over the expanse of your entire body, stopping for a moment when he found a spot he loved especially, or thought needed to be squeezed or grabbed firmly.
His hand stopped where the rip in your tights started, inside your upper thigh. He hooked his fingers into the hole and tugged. The fabric split right down the middle, down the entire length of your leg, exposing the smooth skin underneath. He tsked, leaning forward so his mouth was against your ear and his chest pressed into your back.
"A pretty girl like you shouldn't look so unkempt."
He tugged again, harder this time, until the fabric of one leg was flying off of you and landing on the hardwood floor. You gasped at the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin, and the shock of his warm hand replacing it. You didn't like it when he had the upper hand, when he gained all this confidence and thought he was the one in control.
"Maybe you should call your girl, Michael." You turned your head to look at him as best as you could from where you were bent over the counter. "Just to let her know you're okay."
You lifted your body from the counter, wiggling his hands off of you until you could turn around and face him. You kept your eyes on him as you sank to your knees. His mouth was hung open, his skin turning pink - with what? Embarrassment? guilt? Pleasure? Maybe all of the above.
Your fingers reached for the belt buckle on his pants. "Phone is on the counter. To your right." You tugged the belt from the loop. "Call her."
'At that, I ran to the phone, sayin' 'Baby, I'm alright.' I said, 'But unlock the door, 'cause I forgot the key.'
Michael's fingers shook as he grabbed at the phone, starting to dial the number to his house. He could have said no. He could have pushed you off of him and walked out the door, like he'd planned to. But you were mouthing at him and kissing him from outside of his boxers, drooling all over the fabric, and he knew he couldn't leave. One hand rested on your head as he pressed the receiver to his ear, listening to the phone dial.
You could hear a sweet voice on the other end, though you couldn't map out exactly what she was saying. Just what Michael said in response, his eyes squeezed shut as your lips finally wrapped around him.
"Hey, baby, I just wanted to call and let you know I'm okay. N-no, I'm not sick, just- think it's my allergies. I'm at the studio, I… Quincy is really wanting this to be… to be perfect tonight, and…"
Michael's voice trailed off when your tongue moved in the way he liked, his brow furrowing and his hand guiding your head. You pulled off of him for a moment, taking a deep breath.
"Focus, Mikey." You whispered, mouth shining from him. "Your girl's on the phone."
Michael's eyes opened, and he glared at you, upset that you said anything at all. He chuckled nervously into the phone.
"No, baby, that was just Quincy… I need- need to get back soon. I just wanted to call and ask if you could leave the door… unlocked before you go to bed-"
He was close. You knew the telltale signs by now. The way his breath hitched, the way he stuttered, the way his hand had started to grip your hair tight at the top of your head. If he weren't on the phone, he would have grabbed you with both hands, used your mouth as much as he wanted. But now, in your control, he could only hold in his gasps and moans, giving short, one-word responses to what his girl asked on the phone. You glared up at him as he continued speaking, annoyance growing because his attention wasn't entirely on you. It made you work harder, doing everything you could to get him there.
When you stopped, right at the edge of his release, he had to hold back a whimper. His knuckles were white against the telephone, watching you carefully as you stood up from where you'd been sitting on your haunches. You hummed at the look of him, disheveled, embarrassed, completely at your mercy. You held your hand out in front of him, looking from his eyes to the phone.
Michael had been listening to his girl ramble about something; he really wasn't sure what it was at the moment. He furrowed a brow, shaking his head at your request. It was a weak refusal, and it made you laugh. Out loud, bright and airy and echoing through the room.
The voice of his girl got louder on the phone, with questions about who that was and what woman was with him, laughing. You used your other hand to grab Michael, where your mouth had just been, wrenching your wrist and moving up and down in a way that made his eyes flutter closed. It was then that you were free to grab the phone from him, when his release was building, and there was nothing he cared about more than getting there.
You waited to say anything until he was moaning, spilling all over your hand, and twitching against your body. Your voice was smooth on the receiver, a stark contrast to the breathy, choppy nature of Michael's voice.
"He's not coming back because he's sleeping with me."
Blurb ⭑.ᐟ Bad!Era Michael Jackson x Assistant! Reader. suggestive content. Factional content! In the closet has been on repeat…
⭑ Assistant!Reader who handles all of his needs. Scheduling Interviews, adjusting time stamps, checking wardrobe, and photo shoots. You were everything a celebrity as big as him needed. He called, you answered. He pointed, you moved. He said jump, you asked how high. He said come to him, that smirk on his face playing a cord that struck your soul, and you crawled on your knees like he was a God.
⭑ Assistant!Reader who couldn’t bear the thought of not being perfect. You had to make sure everything you were doing was right. Your clothes had to be perfect, your hairstyle had to be perfect, the way you stood next to Michael while he talked in the mic at an award show had to be perfect. If anything was out of place, it would be a disgrace to his image. He told you it was fine, that you didn’t need to be that flawless when he was around— but the way he looked at you, eyes roaming all over your body when you showed how devoted you were to curating his image made your legs tingle and mouth water at the sight.
⭑ Assistant!Reader who was there, late nights during his sessions. Often sitting behind the clear glass window and seated in front of the mixing console. He asked you to tune him in, fixing the headphones over his head, and you listened without fail— sliding the knob up. He sang, danced, layered his own voice over the track, and it still wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Music called to him, the melody sparking tension that you could never describe. He did things in a way that made the studio feel small, heat balancing in the booth like a volcano close to erupting—
But it was never enough.
You bit your lip.
His eyes found yours.
And soon enough, he was calling you over, eyes traveling towards the door that served as a barrier between you and him. And like any devoted follower, your being existing only for him, you did what anybody else would have done.
You moved, the instrumentals of the song still playing in the background.
You found the perfect seat, kneeling between his legs while he pulled the mic down closer to your face.
Just a small heads up to all the new followers. I am mostly a Jack O’Connell fanfic writer account 😭😭 so you probably won’t see me mass spamming fanfics for Michael Jackson all that much! Putting this here now so you won’t get jump scared by my British husband 💀💀💀
I will be riding this high for as long as i can before my obsession goes dormant— but I’ll see you again for part2 of the Michael Movie tho lmfaoooo….. I do have one more fic idea to drop tho…
