أميرة جميلة

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 ²⁰ʸʳˢ ᵒˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵐʸ ᵐᵒᵒᵗ ?👛

[laimemoir]

black & proud af! #houston hottie '' not active all the time

⋆˚꩜｡ i love beyonce, micheal j, rihanna, solange, & myself <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜. .

im very nice & sweet & pretty & kind & like the best person ever. if you catch me after 12am, you might see me reblog a titty or two lol...

- she/her

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[mjsbrat]

.✦ ݁˖ DANGEROUS. P2 .✦ ݁˖

part 1

𑣲 pairing: dangerous era!michael x secret girlfriend!reader

𑣲 synopsis: after agreeing to join michael on his dangerous world tour, you’re forced to face the quiet unraveling of the bubble you built together… and the mutual toxicity that rises to take its place.

𑣲 cw: 18+ smut, MDNI!, toxic!michael, tbh… toxic!reader, dom!michael, sub!reader, angst!, (self)degradation, praise!kink, spanking, controlling behaviors, unhealthy relationship dynamics (oops), it’s… filthy again.

𑣲 wc: 14.6k (i’m crazy)

𑣲 authors note: thank you guys so much for the love on part 1!! i hope i did a good job at bringing their story to a close <3 enjoy!!!

𑣲 tags: @misscowboyhat @chrollosblackgf66 @bluugangsta @vyvyrulesboisdrool @aloeveraaa333 @smoothcriminalgf @scccm0182 @nodisdino @glitterqueen123 @doefern @cupidslyrics @silentonthedancefloor @savagenctzen @mrsjacksonnnnnn @gleefullywingedvision @michaelsfayvourite @brownsugarbbys-blog @parness @wildpandorasky @cherubae111 @lullora @pvtypyt @nylauhh @jasppppeeee @capevans3000 @sunsetdrvr @1-800-angel-ok @narratedillusions @mikaylajacksonnn @galacticpurpl3 @oidloid @veraberaxx @studio03 @mjsfavouritefish @jazzycurls @nuvv2829 @muchluv4mj @heubstr @urdeftones-grrrl @cupidslyrics @loveposiie @nylauhh

────୨ৎ────

part V: the bubble.

dangerous was released in november, and you kept your word.

you resigned about a month before the album hit the shelves, once the final masters were safely handed over.

there was no scene. no dramatic exit. just a quiet conversation in teddy’s office on a gloomy monday morning. rain streaked the windows, turning the hollywood hills into a soft gray.

the irony wasn’t lost on you. rain. in los angeles. today of all days.

“i’m going to continue working with michael,” you said, sitting in the plush chair across from his desk, fingers fidgeting with the new diamond bracelet michael had given you the week before. the stones caught the dim light every time your hand moved, a constant reminder of the choice you had already made.

teddy looked at you for a long moment. there was no surprise on his face; only a quiet sadness that settled around his eyes.

“michael already told me,” he said, leaning back.

of course he did.

“you sure?”

“i’m sure.” you offered a small smile. “i just… wanted to thank you again. for everything. for taking a chance on me. for everything you taught me. this just feels… right.”

teddy studied you, then stood and came around to the front of the desk, leaning against it with his arms loosely crossed. his voice dropped, gentler than usual.

“can i give you some advice?” he asked, running his hand over his jaw.

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, nodding.

“michael is…” he searched for the words. “he’s one of the most generous people i’ve ever known.”

you smiled immediately, “i know.”

his eyes immediately shifted to your fingers playing with the bracelet.

“i know you do.”

another pause.

the rain tapped harder against the glass.

“but it’s hard to step out of somebody else’s shadow.” his eyes held yours. “especially one that large.”

his words lingered between you. it didn’t sound much like advice. it sounded like a quiet warning. for half a second, the old version of yourself, the soft-spoken assistant who stayed in the back of the control room, stirred. but then you thought of michael’s hands in your hair, the way he said your name like a prayer… and that future already felt more real than anything you’d leave behind.

“i’ll be fine,” you answered.

teddy didn’t look convinced, but he offered you a soft smile and pulled you into a brief, awkward hug that smelled like coffee and rain. he told you to call if you ever needed anything, but you both knew you wouldn’t.

you quietly packed up your things and walked out into the gray afternoon. the drizzle kissed your face as you crossed the lot. you didn’t look back.

neverland felt like the only real place left in the world.

your days quietly rearranged themselves around michael. the silence felt so luxurious. after months of fourteen-hour studio sessions and endless deadlines, there was nowhere you needed to be that wasn’t wherever he was.

everything felt… pure. a little love bubble the two of you created together. no schedules, no sessions, no voices that weren’t his. the private wing became a sealed universe of soft light and slower time.

mornings started late. you’d wake tangled in his sheets, the air still warm from the night before, his arm heavy across your waist and his face buried in the curve of your neck. the sheets always smelled like him: clean skin, a trace of sandalwood oil, the faint sweetness of the lotion he rubbed into your shoulders. he’d press slow, open-mouthed kisses there until you stirred, then roll you under him with a quiet sound of contentment. he’d take you soft and deep while the light was still gold, forehead pressed to yours, eyes open, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face while repeatedly murmuring ‘i love you.’

afternoons stretched in the same unhurried way. you’d sit on the balcony with coffee that tasted like cinnamon and cream while he read half-finished lyrics to you, your legs draped over his lap, his fingers moving gently through your hair. the california air was warm and dry, carrying the scent of flowers from the lower gardens. later he’d cut fruit and feed you pieces between kisses, juice running down your chin that he’d lean in to lick away with a soft laugh. the simple domesticity of it made your chest ache in the best way.

at night he’d run a bath so hot the mirrors fogged completely, pull you in with him, and wash your hair with slow, thorough fingers. afterward he’d wrap you in an oversized towel that always smelled like the lavender detergent the staff used. then he’d carry you to bed even though you could walk just fine. the weight of him settling over you felt like coming home every single time.

there were no fights. no silent treatments. no jealousy. just the soft, constant gravity of him and the quiet knowledge that the rest of the world had temporarily ceased to exist.

when he asked you to go on tour with him, it was a no-brainer. you had already been expecting him to ask you. you knew how badly he needed you, and you couldn’t imagine being away from him for that long anyway.

the night before the two of you left for munich, germany, he came into the bedroom carrying a small robin’s-egg blue box. you were scribbling song lyrics in your journal, legs tucked under you, wearing one of his old t-shirts that still smelled faintly of his cologne. he sat on the edge of the bed and waited until you looked up.

“i got you something,” he said. his voice was quieter than usual, almost shy. when you looked up, your breath hitched at the sight of the familiar blue box. as he opened it, he said, “it’s a promise. a promise that no matter how crazy things get… we belong to each other.”

the ring was simple and perfect; a thin platinum band with a single round diamond that caught the low light and threw tiny rainbows across the sheets. he took your left hand carefully and slid it on. it fit like it had been waiting for you.

“michael, it’s beautiful,” you whispered, voice barely steady.

he stared into your eyes so intensely it was like he was looking into your soul. it was overwhelming in the softest way. you leaned forward and kissed him gently, lovingly. he kissed you back with the same tenderness, brushing his fingers over the ring on your finger. when he pulled back, he tucked your hair behind your ear and took a deep breath.

“i’m terrified of the tour,” he admitted, eyes fixed on the ring instead of your face. his thumb still stroking the band. “the crowds. the noise. the way everything gets so big it feels like i disappear inside it. but you’re coming with me. and that… that makes it bearable. i need you with me, baby. i don’t know how to do any of this without knowing you’re mine when the lights go down.”

you felt the words settle deep in your chest. you leaned forward and kissed him, slow and sure, tasting the faint mint of the tea he’d been drinking.

“i’m not going anywhere.”

he exhaled against your mouth like he’d been holding his breath for days. his hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing the corners of your eyes, and for a long moment neither of you spoke, the weight of the promise settling between you like something sacred.

the first four weeks of the dangerous tour were electric.

it started with a quiet conversation in the hotel suite the morning before the opening show in munich.

michael had been restless the entire night before, and all morning long. he couldn’t stop pacing, checking the set list again, rolling his shoulders like the weight of the tour was already sitting on them. you watched him from the edge of the bed for a long time before you spoke.

“breathe, my love,” you said softly.

he let out a short breath and kept pacing.

“i already feel like every choice is being taken from me. where i stand, what time i eat, when i sleep, what i wear on stage. someone else’s schedule shoved down my throat. i hate it.”

you stayed seated on the edge of the bed and watched him pace for another few seconds before you spoke again, voice softer than before.

“michael… come here.”

he stopped and looked at you. after a moment, he walked over, still restless, and stood in front of you. you reached for his hand, playing with his fingers for a second while you gathered the words.

“you said everything feels like it’s being taken from you,” you said quietly, eyes on his hand instead of his face. “so… maybe take something back.” you hesitated, cheeks warming. “you could pick for me. my clothes. my hair. whatever you want. if you want to.”

he was quiet for a long moment. when you finally glanced up, something shifted in his expression. his shoulders loosened a fraction. he studied your face for a long moment, as if checking whether you meant it.

“you don’t have to do that,” he said, voice lower.

“i want to.”

he looked at you for a second longer, like he was still making sure, then gently tugged your hand.

“come here,” he said quietly.

he led you over to the full-length mirror and positioned you in front of it, standing close behind you. for a moment, he just rested his hands on your waist, eyes meeting yours in the glass. the restless energy that had been rolling off him all morning had already started to settle.

“you’re so good to me,” he murmured against the side of your head, voice low and genuine. “i love you.”

then he turned his attention to the open closet. his hands were careful when he finally reached for the first dress, holding it up against your body, tilting his head, setting it aside. another. then another. when he found the one he wanted, he helped you into it himself; guiding the fabric over your shoulders, zipping it slowly up your spine, smoothing the material over your hips with both palms.

he chose the lipstick next, uncapping it and handing it to you. he watched as you applied the lipstick of his choice, his free hand steadying your chin. he left your hair down so he could run his fingers through it later. the entire time, his eyes stayed on your reflection, soft and intent. his shoulders dropped. a small, private smile appeared when everything was exactly the way he wanted.

“there,” he said, voice low and satisfied. “perfect.”

you watched him in the mirror and felt something warm and heavy unfurl low in your stomach. you liked the way it made him look at you, like you were something he’d made.

you liked the quiet power of giving him this small piece of control in a world that was constantly trying to take larger ones from him. every time he finished and said those two words, you felt a flush of pleasure that had nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with him.

he brought you to the very first show that night.

you wore dark sunglasses, a hat, and one of his oversized jackets that still smelled like his cologne. every time you stepped out of a building or from the car into the venue, he pulled the jacket up over your head himself, shielding your face from any lingering cameras. the only thing that stayed visible was the tiffany ring on your finger.

the tabloids went crazy. speculative headlines started appearing in the entertainment magazines and papers within days:

jackson’s mystery companion

who is the mystery woman michael won’t show?

only the ring stays visible: jackson’s private obsession

when the coverage stayed vague and hungry, something in michael loosened. one night in the hotel, looking at a folded tabloid left on the table, he glanced over at you with a quiet, almost secretive smile. his thumb brushed the band on your finger.

“they know you’re mine,” he murmured, voice low and pleased. “they just don’t get to see you. i decide how much of you the world gets. and right now they get nothing but the proof that you belong to me.”

the secrecy thrilled him. it made the bubble feel tighter, more sacred. you felt it too. the strange pleasure of being hidden, claimed, unseen by anyone but him. you didn’t mind living in the shadows. it kept your love private. secure. it let the two of you hold onto the same domesticated bliss you had built at neverland, even while the rest of the world screamed his name every night.

the first stretch of dates moved quickly. munich. then rotterdam. then rome. the cities blurred together in blacked-out cars and under-stage tunnels, but the rhythm of the tour settled over both of you like a second skin.

michael came alive under the lights in a way that still left you breathless. the adrenaline carried him through the long days and longer nights. he would find you the second he stepped off stage, eyes bright, skin damp, still vibrating with the leftover electricity of the performance.

in rotterdam he backed you into an empty dressing room and kissed you until you were dizzy, laughing against your mouth like he couldn’t believe you were real.

in rome he had his staff decorate the hotel suite while the two of you were at the stadium. when you got back to the room, the lights were low, and the entire space smelled like your favorite flowers. soft music was playing. the bed was covered in rose petals. he closed the door behind you, took your face in both hands, and just looked at you for a long moment like the surprise itself had been for him as much as for you.

“i wanted to give you something that felt like home,” he said quietly. “even if it’s only for one night.”

the ritual the two of you built stayed consistent. every night before a show, he still chose what you wore, stood behind you at the mirror, and made sure everything was exactly the way he wanted. the smile when he finished never faded. “perfect,” he would say, voice low and pleased, and you would feel the same warm, heavy satisfaction in your stomach every single time.

you loved the tour. you loved the private language of it: the way he always found your hand in the dark of the car, the way he still pulled his jacket over your head to shield you from cameras even when there were none, the way he looked at you across a crowded backstage hallway like you were the only solid thing in the building. the bubble had simply learned how to travel.

the days took on their own rhythm. soundcheck, the long stretch of waiting, the sudden roar of the crowd, then the sharp drop afterward when the lights went down, and there was only the two of you left in the noise. you learned the shape of his adrenaline. the way it still lived in his hands and his mouth long after the final bow, the way it needed somewhere to go.

half the time he didn’t even make it back to the hotel after a show. the adrenaline was too high, the need too sharp. he’d push you into the nearest empty dressing room or the back of the blacked-out suv and fuck you hard and fast, still in stage clothes that smelled like sweat and lights and fog machines.

it reminded you of the way he’d take you when he was jealous, only this time it was pure adrenaline. nothing like the slow mornings you had shared at neverland. and you became obsessed with the intensity of it.

after dublin, he was especially eager. the show had only been over for twelve minutes when the door of the blacked-out suv slammed shut behind you.

the second the privacy partition was rolled up, michael was on you.

he didn’t speak at first. he just took your face in both hands and kissed you like he’d been starving for it the entire performance. the kiss was deep, open-mouthed, almost rough. his tongue sliding against yours like he was desperate for you. you could taste the salt on his upper lip and feel the sweat from his curls brushing against your face as he devoured you.

“come here,” he ordered against your mouth, already pulling you into his lap so you straddled him.

the leather seat creaked under the shift of weight. his hands were impatient, shoving the dress he chose for you up around your waist, dragging your underwear to the side with his fingers. the second he felt how soaked you already were, he made a low, dark sound in his throat. he freed himself from his pants and boxers quickly, and wasted no time pulling you down onto his cock in one hard, unbroken thrust.

the stretch punched the air out of your lungs. he was so thick, so deep, so fast that your thighs trembled around his hips. he immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide.

“be quiet,” he rasped, voice low and firm, breath hot against your cheek. “not a sound. you take me, and you stay quiet. understand?”

you nodded against his palm, already clenching around him. he kept his hand there and started fucking up into you with deep, relentless strokes that made the whole back of the suv rock slightly. the wet, filthy sound of it filled the small space.

every time he bottomed out, you felt it in your stomach, moaning and whimpering against his hand. outside, dublin moved past the windows. you could hear the sounds of other cars nearby, but none of it mattered. the world had narrowed to the heat of his cock splitting you open and the way he watched your face like he was addicted to every expression you made.

“that’s it,” he murmured, voice rough with need, still watching you. “take it. such a good girl for me. you feel how deep i am? how you’re already dripping down me? that’s mine. you’re mine.”

he thrusted harder, the leather squeaking under you, the wet slap of skin against skin making you wetter. every time a broken noise tried to escape your throat, he pressed his palm firmer against your mouth, eyes dark with satisfaction.

you could tell how much he needed this. you could feel how hard he was inside of you, how he was twitching and pulsating while buried deep. he was consumed with lust… the same desperate hunger that lived under your own skin. the more he took, the more you wanted to give it to him. the addiction ran both ways, and neither of you could stop feeding it.

“good. stay quiet for me. let me use what’s mine. fuck. you get so tight when i talk to you like this.”

he sounded absolutely filthy underneath you. he was running off pure adrenaline, and desperate to claim something that couldn’t be scheduled or controlled by anyone else.

only when he felt your thighs shaking around his hips did he finally pull his hand away from your mouth. he moved it to fist your hair and pulled you down until your lips were pressed against the sweat-damp skin of his ear.

“now let me hear you,” he demanded, voice wrecked and low. “moan for me in my ear. whimper for me. i want every fucking sound right here. i earned this. after everything i give, i deserve to know how good i fuck you. be a good girl and let me hear exactly what i do to you.”

the second the permission came, the sounds spilled out of you; broken, desperate, wet little whimpers and moans right against his ear the way he wanted.

he groaned like the noise itself was pushing him closer to the edge and kept driving up into you. he moved his hand from your hair to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. claiming. the other locked on your hip hard enough to bruise as he pulled you down onto every thrust.

“that’s it, fuck, just like that. let me hear how bad you need this. you’re addicted to the way i fuck you, aren’t you? say it while you’re moaning in my ear. tell me.”

“fuck, i need you. i’m so addicted to you—” you gasped against his skin, the words broken and shameless.

“i know you are.” his voice was almost vicious with satisfaction. “cum for me. make a mess on my cock like the needy little thing you are.”

the orgasm hit so hard your whole body locked around him, pulsing so tightly he cursed under his breath. he fucked you through it without slowing down, chasing his own release with short, brutal thrusts until he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken groan, pulsing deep inside you in thick, hot waves while he kept your face pressed to the side of his neck. you could feel every spurt of him, the way he held you there like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

he stayed inside you until he softened, forehead pressed to yours, both of you still breathing hard. when he finally lifted you off him, it was careful, gentle. he tugged your dress back down, wiped you clean with a folded napkin from the back seat, then pulled you sideways into his lap and wrapped the oversized jacket around both of you. his hand settled on your lower back, thumb stroking slow and steady.

“i love you so much it scares me,” he whispered against your hair, voice soft and completely stripped of the roughness from minutes before. “sometimes i look at you, and i can’t believe how lucky i am. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you nuzzled yourself deeper into him, placing a gentle kiss to his neck before looking up at him.

“you’re my entire world,” you said honestly, moving your hand to play with the loose curls hanging in front of his face. “i love you more.”

you were happy. obsessively, almost stupidly happy. it still felt like the two of you against the world.

────୨ৎ────

part VI: the quiet.

the exhaustion settled in slowly, like fog.

at first you barely noticed it. the shows were still electric, the crowds still deafening, but the man who walked off stage started to look smaller somehow.

the bright, almost feverish focus that used to live in his eyes dimmed a little more each week. he still chose your clothes every night… the dress, the lingerie underneath, the lipstick, the way your hair should fall, but the ritual changed.

his hands moved through the motions without the same quiet intensity. he no longer stood behind you at the mirror and murmured “perfect” like the word itself settled something in him. now he would simply nod once, sometimes without even looking at your reflection for more than a second, and turn away.

the ritual had lost its softness. it felt like a chore.

some nights he asked you to stay at the hotel.

“the venue’s too chaotic tonight,” he’d say, rubbing the back of his neck. “security’s stretched thin. i’d feel better if you stayed here.”

or

“my throat’s rough. i’m going to need the quiet after. just… wait for me?”

the reasons were always believable. always gentle. you never argued. you would kiss him at the door, watch the blacked-out cars pull away, and spend the next six to seven hours in the suite trying not to count the minutes.

time stretched differently when he was gone.

you tried to fill the hours. you reorganized the already-neat closet twice. you sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched the water run until it turned cold. you opened your journal and wrote the same three lines over and over before tearing the page out and starting again. everything came back to him; how he had looked at you when the intensity was still there, how quiet the room felt without the sound of him moving through it, how the silence had stopped feeling luxurious and started feeling like proof that you were becoming easy to leave behind.

once you picked up the hotel phone and started dialing your mother’s number before hanging up halfway through. you didn’t know what you would even say. that you were fine? that you were happy? that the man you had given up everything for was slipping into a politeness that made your stomach turn? the words felt impossible. so you set the receiver down and went back to waiting.

you started watching the clock more than the television. you learned the exact sound of the elevator doors opening down the hall, the particular rhythm of his footsteps when he was truly spent. every time the door finally opened, you felt a small, humiliating rush of hope; and every time it died the same way.

he would walk in already half-gone, stage makeup only partially removed, the scent of the stadium still clinging to his skin. the kiss he gave you was soft and almost absent, barely there, before he dropped onto the bed or the couch like his bones had given out. sometimes he didn’t even make it out of his stage clothes. you would sit beside him, fingers gently working the heavy jacket off his shoulders, and he would murmur a tired “thank you, baby” without ever fully looking at you.

the attention that used to feel like a living thing between you had thinned into something polite and distant.

it triggered the same old panic.

you knew he was exhausted. you knew the tour was eating him alive, but knowledge didn’t stop the familiar, sick twist in your stomach. it was the same one you’d felt the week after mr. harlan gave you that ride. the quiet voice that whispered you did something wrong. he’s pulling away because of you. even when the rational part of your mind insisted it wasn’t true, the fear still settled under your ribs and stayed there.

so you tried harder.

you became almost frantic in your perfection. every morning you made sure the suite was exactly the way he liked it; temperature, lighting, the right tea steeping when he woke. you pressed cool cloths to the back of his neck when the headaches hit. you sat on the edge of the bathtub and carefully removed the rest of his stage makeup with shaking hands when he was too tired to do it himself.

he always thanked you.

sometimes he even pulled you against his chest and let you listen to his heartbeat until he fell asleep. but the electricity was gone. the hungry way he used to look at you, like you were the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to dissolve him, had been replaced by exhausted gratitude. it should have been enough. it wasn’t.

the loneliness wasn’t loud. it was quiet and constant, like a low hum under everything. you had built your entire world around being needed by him, and now you were discovering what it felt like when that need went dim. the worst part was how small you felt inside it, and how willing you still were to rearrange yourself into whatever shape might bring even a fraction of his focus back.

you’d lay awake most nights staring at the ceiling, his arm heavy across your waist, and felt the same hollow ache you’d felt during that long week of silence months ago. the difference was that this time there was no clear mistake to fix. no neighbor to explain. only the slow, terrifying realization that the version of him who needed you with every nerve ending was slipping further away with every show, and no amount of perfect care seemed able to call him back.

by the time the glasgow show arrived, the ache had settled so deep it felt structural.

that show had drained him more than most.

when the suite door finally opened, he barely made it to the edge of the bed before his legs gave out. he sat heavily, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

you watched him from the bathroom doorway for a long moment.

the new black leather lingerie felt different against your skin; tighter, cooler, more deliberate. you always wore lace for him, never leather. the way the material hugged your body made something restless and determined settle in your chest. you needed him to see you. you needed the electricity back, even if you had to drag it out of him.

you crossed the room quietly and stepped behind him. your hands slid over his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight knots of muscle there. he didn’t lift his head. you leaned down, lips brushing the damp skin of his neck, and opened your mouth against him. your tongue traced a slow path through the salt of his sweat, tasting the night still clinging to him.

he sighed, the sound heavy and apologetic. “i’m sorry, baby… i’m too tired. too tired to fuck you tonight.”

you stayed close, mouth near his ear, voice soft but steady.

“then let me fuck you.”

for a second he didn’t move. then he slowly lifted his head.

you stepped around in front of him and sank to your knees between his spread thighs. surprise flickered across his exhausted face as he looked down at you; the leather, the deliberate way you were already reaching for his belt, the expression in your eyes. you kept your gaze on him as you undid the buckle, pulled the zipper down, and freed him. he was only half-hard, heavy and warm in your hand.

“you don’t need to do anything,” you murmured, voice low and coaxing. “you don’t need to touch me. you don’t need to think. you don’t even need to look at me. just let me take the stress away.”

you leaned in and took him into your mouth.

the first slow slide of your lips around him pulled a quiet, involuntary sound from his throat. you worked him carefully at first; tongue pressing along the underside, cheeks hollowing as you took him deeper, the wet heat of your mouth surrounding every inch until your nose brushed his stomach.

you could feel him hardening against your tongue, growing thicker, longer, until he filled your mouth. spit gathered at the corners of your lips and slipped down his length as you moved with steady, focused need. you wanted him fully hard. you wanted him to feel how desperate and willing you were for him.

when he was rigid and pulsing against your tongue, you finally pulled off with a wet sound and rose. you pushed gently at his chest until he fell back onto the mattress. his eyes closed the moment his head hit the bed… and he didn’t open them again.

you climbed over him, knees bracketing his hips, and reached down to guide him to your entrance. the head of his cock nudged against you, slick from your mouth, and you sank slowly, taking every inch until he was buried to the hilt. a shaky breath left you at the stretch. he felt thick and hot inside you, filling you completely, the leather of your lingerie cool against your thighs in contrast. he only exhaled, eyes still shut.

you began to move.

“let me be useful,” you whispered, voice tight as you rolled your hips. “just feel me. i’m yours. i’m right here for you to get off in.”

his only response was a quiet, low moan. one of his hands drifted up and settled lightly on your waist; not guiding, not gripping, just resting there as you rode him. the wet sound of your body taking him filled the quiet room. you kept talking, the words spilling out soft and desperate between the wet sounds of your body taking his.

“i exist for this… for you”

“let me do all the work baby, you just relax”

“you make me so fucking desperate”

you hoped the vulgar words would spark something in him again, the way it normally does... making him pin you down and take control. but he never opened his eyes. he never spoke. the hand on your waist stayed loose and passive.

you watched his face the entire time, the furrow of exhaustion between his brows, the way his lips parted on heavier breaths as you moved faster. when his breath started to stutter, you clenched around him deliberately, milking him with every upward stroke.

“cum whenever you want,” you told him, voice soft and wrecked. “fill me up. i’ll take all of you. i don’t need anything back.”

when he finished, it was with a low, almost pained sound, hips twitching once beneath you as he spilled inside you in thick, hot pulses. you felt every spurt, the heat spreading deep, and kept moving through it, hoping the aftershocks might pull something more from him. they didn’t.

he stayed inside you, and you could feel the tension leaving his body completely. his hand slipped from your waist. his eyes remained closed, like he was already falling asleep.

“…thank you, baby,” he murmured, voice already drifting. soft. polite. distant.

you stayed straddling him for several long seconds, still full of him, still aching and unfinished. the leather suddenly felt cold against your skin. the quiet ‘thank you’ sat in the air like a door being gently shut in your face.

you had offered him everything. your body, your pride, the chance to take without giving anything back, and even that hadn’t been enough to make him look at you.

you carefully lifted yourself off him, the loss of him making your throat tight. you plopped down next to him, and his hands immediately found their way around you, pulling you slightly closer to him. he nuzzled his face in the nape of your neck, and you could feel his heart rate slow down as he dozed completely.

you laid there for a long time, feeling his breath against your neck as the realization settled in: he never even kissed you that night. it was stupid. unreasonable. he was right there with you, his cum still warm between your thighs, but he never felt further away.

the next two nights followed the same pattern. he came back later and later, the stage still clinging to his skin, the exhaustion heavier each time. the first night you tried again; softer this time, fewer words, just your hands and your mouth and the quiet offer of your body. he accepted it the same way he had in glasgow: eyes closed, passive, murmuring a tired thank-you when it was over.

the second night you didn’t even try. you simply laid beside him in the dark while he slept, listening to his breathing and feeling the hollow space where the intensity used to live.

by the third morning, the nausea had settled into something sharper.

you stood in the bathroom staring at your own reflection and finally admitted what you had been circling for days. the politeness sat in your stomach like something spoiled. the more perfectly you behaved, the more invisible you became.

he wasn’t reacting because you weren’t giving him anything to react to.

there was no threat. no reason for jealousy. no reason for that dark, focused intensity that used to take over his entire body when he thought he might lose even a fraction of you. you had made yourself so easy, so careful, so useful that there was nothing left for him to fight for.

and the most sickening part was that you missed it.

you missed the version of him that got sharp and possessive. you missed the way he used to look at you like he needed to remind both of you who you belonged to.

the thought that you were starting to crave the toxic heat of his jealousy, so much so that you were considering doing something just to pull it out of him, made your hands shake against the porcelain sink. but the craving didn’t go away.

that was when the small tests began.

you started going to bed before he arrived back at the suite. instead of waiting up to give him a massage or run him a shower, you’d keep your eyes closed as he returned to the room.

he’d be quiet, moving slowly around the bed, undressing in the dark so he wouldn’t wake you. you’d lie there, heart pounding, facing away from his side of the bed, waiting to see if he’d wake you up. instead he climbed into the sheets, leaned over, and placed a quick kiss to the top of your head, then settled in without a word.

the next morning you waited… and waited… and waited for him to make a comment about you not waiting up. it never came.

the lack of reaction made something restless and ugly twist in your chest. if quiet withdrawal didn’t reach him, you would have to push harder.

he had asked you to come to the show with him that night. while he was in the shower, you opened the closet and slipped into the dress he had specifically told you he didn’t like; the one that was too short when you sat down and too bright under cameras. you stood in front of the mirror and waited.

when he came out of the bathroom, he stopped short. his eyes moved over you slowly.

“that’s what you’re wearing?” his voice was flat. “i don’t like it.”

you met his gaze in the mirror and didn’t reach for anything else.

“i know.”

a longer silence stretched between you this time. something flickered behind the exhaustion, not full anger yet, but a sharper tightening of his jaw. a brief flash of the intensity you had been starving for.

for a second, you thought he might actually demand you change. instead, he only looked at you for another beat, then turned away and finished getting ready in silence. the quiet withdrawal that followed felt heavier than the night before, and the fact that even this didn’t pull a real reaction out of him only made the ache in your chest worse.

before he stepped on stage at wembley, he cupped the side of your face briefly, eyes already half in performance mode, and said, “wait in my dressing room, baby. i’ll come get you when it’s over.”

you nodded.

you didn’t stay there.

the restlessness under your skin had become too loud to ignore. halfway through the show, you left the dressing room and wandered the backstage corridors, listening to the muffled roar of the crowd through the walls. when the show ended, you drifted toward the dancers’ area.

two of the male dancers were there. one was packing. the other- the one michael had disliked since the first week of tour, the one he had quietly warned you about- looked up and smiled as he invited you to join them.

the conversation stayed light. cities, sore legs, bad catering. at some point, you both laughed at something small and your knees brushed on the couch. neither of you moved away. every minute that passed without you returning to his dressing room felt like another deliberate step further from the version of yourself who used to wait exactly where he told you to.

about thirty minutes later, the door opened. michael stood there with a towel around his neck, stage makeup still smeared, curls damp with sweat. for the first time in weeks, the exhaustion wasn’t the strongest thing on his face. irritation was. sharp and immediate. his eyes moved from your face to the dancer sitting too close to you, then to the place where your knees still touched.

you didn’t get up. you didn’t cross the room the way you always did, the way he had come to expect you to. he was used to you moving straight to his side like gravity, but this time you stayed seated, looked over at him, and said simply,

“hey.”

the word landed wrong. it was too casual. too light. the kind of greeting you might give an acquaintance, not the man whose dressing room you were supposed to be waiting in, not the man who was used to you appearing at his side the second he entered a room.

the irritation on his face sharpened into something colder. the two dancers read the air instantly. they grabbed their bags, offered quiet excuses, and filed out.

once the door was shut, michael’s voice was low.

“get up. we’re leaving.”

the car was silent the entire ride back. london slid past the windows in a blur as you tried to figure out exactly what you had just set in motion… and whether the reaction you had been chasing would be worth whatever came with it.

when the hotel came into view, a small cluster of paparazzi were already waiting near the entrance. michael reached over without looking at you, pulled the oversized jacket up over your head, and muttered under his breath,

“this fucking dress.”

he guided you through the flashing cameras with one hand firm on your back, body angled to block as much of you as possible, until the lobby doors closed behind you and the noise cut off.

the second the suite door locked, he spoke.

“you didn’t wait in my room as i told you to.”

your pulse was already climbing. you knew the risk. you had known it the moment you left his dressing room, the moment you sat down next to the dancer he disliked, the moment you stayed seated and didn’t run towards him. you knew what usually happened when you pushed him past a certain point. and still the restless, hollow ache had been louder than the fear. you needed him to react. you needed to feel the sharp edge of him again, even if it cut.

you set your bag down and met his eyes.

“i was bored.”

something shifted in his expression. the irritation sharpened into something flatter and more dangerous.

“so you decided to go sit with him.”

“we were just talking.”

he stared at you for a long moment, jaw tight. then he crossed the space between you. your heart lurched hard. hope flared that he might grab your face, kiss you hard, press you against the wall, give you the consuming intensity you had been starving for.

instead, he stopped directly in front of you, close enough that you had to tip your head back to hold his gaze. when he spoke, his voice was low and cold, but the control in it was paper-thin.

“take the ring off.”

the words knocked the air out of your lungs.

you looked down at the diamond on your finger, then back up at him, completely disoriented.

“what?”

“take it off.” his eyes didn’t leave yours. “if you’re going to act like you’re not mine, then don’t stand there with my ring on your hand.”

you didn’t move. you couldn’t. the demand sat between you like something far too sharp. for a second, the only thing you could hear was your own pulse. the ring suddenly felt heavier on your finger, like it had become the only solid thing left in the room.

when you still didn’t reach for it, something in his expression tightened further. his voice dropped even lower.

“i mean it. take it off. if it doesn’t mean the same thing to you anymore, then i don’t want it on you.”

the second push landed harder than the first. this wasn’t the reclaiming you had been chasing. this was him trying to take back the only solid thing left between you. the ring had been a promise; we belong to each other. now he was using it like a threat. the unfairness of it, the deep wrongness of it, made your eyes burn.

michael waited another second, watching your face. when you still didn’t move, he let out a quiet, humorless breath, turned, and walked toward the bedroom. the door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

you stood alone in the living room. the dress he hated still clung to your skin, the ring heavy on your hand, and tears streaming down your cheeks. the hurt settled so deep it made it hard to breathe.

────୨ৎ────

part V: the freeze.

the next few days were torture.

it wasn’t the full silent treatment. he still spoke when necessary. he still sat in the same car. he still slept in the same bed. but he removed every trace of softness. the absentminded touches vanished. he stopped choosing your clothes. he answered questions with short, flat replies and looked at you like you were someone he used to know.

for the first time, you matched his energy.

every second of it hurt. the instinct to fix it clawed at you constantly; to soften your voice, to reach for him, to close the distance the way you always had. you pushed it down harder each time it rose. if he was going to withdraw the warmth, then you would too. you stopped making his tea. in the car, you sat further away, eyes on the window. at night you kept your back turned even though the cold space between your bodies felt like an open wound.

the longer the silence stretched, the more the suite itself started to feel like a third presence in the room.

at first his coldness was steady. controlled. the same flat withdrawal he had always used when he was angry. he seemed to be waiting, the way he always waited, for you to be the one to close the gap. for the soft apology. for the quiet “i’m sorry” that used to come easily from you. you could feel the expectation sitting between you like an open hand he kept holding out.

you didn’t take it.

instead, you moved through the days with careful, deliberate distance. when he entered a room, you no longer looked up right away. when he asked a quiet question, you answered in the fewest words possible. every small refusal cost you something. each time you swallowed the urge to break, you felt the ugly, complicated satisfaction of watching him feel even a fraction of what you had felt for weeks.

and that was when something in him began to change.

by the second day, the controlled coldness started to fray. you saw it in the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t looking, restless and searching. you saw it in the tight line of his mouth whenever you answered him with the same flat politeness he had once given you.

once, in the middle of the afternoon, he stood in the doorway of the living room and just watched you for a long time without speaking. the weight of his attention was almost physical. you kept your eyes on the book you weren’t really reading and refused to give him the softness he was silently asking for.

the guilt sat heavy under your ribs.

so did the darker relief.

for the first time, the helplessness was shared. he was the one left reaching. he was the one left wondering if the distance would become permanent. every time he tested the edge with a lingering glance, a quiet “did you eat?”, or hovering his hand near your back without quite touching, you didn’t meet him halfway. and you felt a sick, sharp satisfaction.

the symmetry was toxic, and you knew it.

you also weren’t ready to give it up.

by the evening of the second day, the fear in him had become impossible to miss.

he barely ate. he paced more. when he finally came to bed, he laid rigid on his side of the mattress for a long time before sleep took him, and even then his body stayed restless. turning toward the space between you as if searching in his dreams.

the next day, the two of you sat in silence on the private flight from london to vienna.

the cabin was quiet and plush, but the distance felt heavier in the smaller space. michael sat across the aisle with headphones on, eyes fixed on the clouds.

vienna was colder. the suite was larger, the windows overlooking a grey city you barely registered. the freeze simply continued, heavy and unbroken, through the third day and into the fourth.

before leaving for his show, he tried one last quiet reach, coming to sit on the opposite end of the couch. he sat close enough that you could have shifted toward him if you wanted. he asked in a low voice if you wanted anything from room service.

the question was ordinary. the look in his eyes was not. it was open and tired and almost pleading. the same man who had told you to take the ring off was now looking at you like the possibility that you might actually stay distant was starting to frighten him.

you kept your gaze on the window and answered without turning.

“no. thank you.”

the silence that followed was heavier than any of the ones before it. you felt him stay there for another full minute, waiting, before he finally stood and left the room. you sat very still after he was gone, hands cold in your lap, and let the truth settle.

you were both hurting.

you were both spiraling.

you were both choosing the wound over the risk of being the first to reach.

michael got in later than usual that night from the show. you were already in bed, back turned, all of the lights off. you kept your breathing steady, and your eyes closed. every muscle in your body was braced for the familiar weight of him settling onto the mattress without reaching for you.

instead, the footsteps crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the bed.

a second later, the lamp clicked on.

soft light spilled across the sheets, forcing you to open your eyes. michael stood at the end of the bed, still in his stage clothes, towel draped around his neck, looking more undone than you had seen him in weeks. the exhaustion was still there, but underneath it was something raw and open that made your chest tighten.

he didn’t speak right away. he just looked at you for a long moment, then walked around to your side of the bed and slowly sank to his knees on the floor beside you.

the movement was so unexpected that for a second you could only stare.

the last time someone had been on their knees in this relationship, it had been you. the first time you ever apologized to him, he had you drop to the floor and take him into your mouth until he decided you were forgiven.

that memory surfaced sharp and clear as you watched him lower himself now, the king of pop, the man who controlled every detail of your days, kneeling beside the bed like the power had finally shifted.

he reached out and took your left hand, holding it between both of his like he was afraid it might disappear.

“you’re still wearing it.” his voice was rough, stripped of the cool distance he had been maintaining. his thumb brushed over the diamond, unsteady. “you didn’t take it off.”

the words came out quieter this time, like he still couldn’t quite believe them. he kept his eyes on the ring, then finally lifted them to your face.

“i kept waiting for you to do it,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “every time i walked into a room, i thought that would be the moment you’d finally take it off and hand it back.”

you stayed still, heart slamming against your ribs, the cold façade you had been holding onto for the past few days starting to fracture under the sound of him breaking.

he looked up at you from where he knelt, the exhaustion still etched into his face, but underneath it was something frightened and completely unguarded.

“thank god,” he whispered. “i don’t know what i would’ve done if you had. i can’t lose you. i don’t know how to do any of this without you.”

the last of your resistance crumbled.

you turned toward him. the second you moved, he rose just enough to pull you into his chest, face pressing into your neck, arms locking around you so tightly it almost hurt. you felt him shake once, a quiet, uncontrolled breath against your skin.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair, over and over.

it wasn’t lost on you that in all the time you’d been with him, this was the first time he had ever apologized.

and he was doing it from his knees.

the rest of the night passed in near silence. he didn’t try to take things further. he just held you, face buried in your neck, one hand spread wide across your back like he was still convincing himself you hadn’t disappeared.

every few minutes, his fingers would find the ring and rest there, tracing the band as if the metal itself was proof. you stayed awake longer than he did, listening to the gradual slowing of his breath, feeling the wetness of his quiet tears against your skin long after he had stopped shaking.

morning came gray and slow.

you woke to find him already watching you, eyes red-rimmed, expression stripped of every defense. for a long time, neither of you spoke. he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face with the gentlest motion.

when he finally kissed you, it was soft and searching. nothing like the claiming intensity you had been starving for, and nothing like the cold distance of the previous days. something in between. raw and unsteady.

“stay close today,” he said against your mouth, voice still rough. “please.”

the fevered softness began from there.

he cancelled everything that wasn’t essential. no interviews. no meetings. the first day he filled the suite with your favorite flowers until the air smelled thick and sweet. he barely let you out of reach. if you stood, he stood. if you moved to the window, his body followed.

that morning he brought you breakfast in bed and sat on the edge of the mattress watching you eat before he touched anything himself. later, when you shivered, he got up without a word, turned the heat higher, and pulled an extra blanket over both of you. at night, he drew you into his lap and simply held you, face pressed to your hair, breathing you in like the contact itself was keeping him steady.

the second day passed the same way. quiet. careful. devoted.

when he took you, it was different from the hungry, punishing sex you had been chasing. he laid you down and kissed every inch of skin he could reach, lingering, respectful. he moved inside you slow and deep, eyes open, watching your face the entire time. whispering over and over how much he loved you, how sorry he was, how he couldn’t lose you. every time he came, he held you through it, arms locked around you, trembling slightly like the release still scared him.

his attention never left you. not once.

it was the softest, most careful version of him you had ever been given.

it should have been enough.

on the second night, you laid tangled together in the dark. his chest against your back, one of his hands resting loosely over your stomach. the suite was quiet except for the low hum of the city beyond the windows. his breathing had already slowed, heavy and even against the back of your neck. every so often, his fingers would flex slightly, like even in sleep he was checking that you were still there.

it was the safest you had felt in weeks.

and still, staring at the faint outline of the curtains, you felt the old twist in your stomach. the quiet, shameful wish that he would wake up, pin you down, and take you like he was afraid of losing you all over again.

the softness was real. it was everything he knew how to give right now. but the part of you that had been shaped by the cycle still ached for the freefall, for the kind of claim that left marks and stole the air from the room.

you closed your eyes and tried to let the safety be enough.

────୨ৎ────

part V: the cage.

on the third morning, the banging started at the door just after dawn.

michael answered it shirtless, still half-asleep. a member of his security team stood there with a stack of tabloids and a grim expression. “you need to see these. and turn on the television.”

the photographs were clear and intimate.

you and michael in a backstage hallway, his hand low on your back, faces close. another of you leaning up to kiss him, your hand on his chest, your expression soft and open. for the first time, your face was fully visible. your name was already printed underneath in bold letters. the commentary was vicious.

michael jackson’s secret girlfriend exposed

the ordinary girl who quit everything for him

ultimate yes-girl: how a nobody became the king of pop’s shadow

friends say they haven’t heard from her in over a year

is this really the best he could do?

gold digger or just desperate to be chosen?

anchors spoke over the images and dissected every single thing about them; the way you looked at him, the way you leaned in, the fact that no one had ever seen you before. the bubble that had protected the two of you for months was gone. strangers were looking at the most private parts of your dynamic and deciding what it meant.

michael stood in the middle of the room, staring at the screen, the papers clenched in one hand. the anger that settled over him was hot and immediate. it was the fury of control slipping through his fingers. he turned the television off abruptly, threw the entire stack of newspapers onto the floor, and started pacing. one hand dragging through his hair, while his jaw locked so tight the muscle jumped.

you watched him from the bed, sheet still pulled up around your waist, heart already climbing into your throat. the photographs were still burned into your mind. your own face, soft and open and completely exposed. the words they were using about you sat under your skin like glass.

ordinary.

nobody.

shadow.

for the first time, you felt the full weight of what it meant to be seen next to him. he was the most famous man in the world. and you were the girl who had disappeared into him so completely that even your own friends no longer recognized your life. the scrutiny didn’t just hurt; it confirmed every quiet fear you had tried not to name.

he paced for another full minute before he finally stopped and crossed the room to you. his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes, but the touch was almost frantic.

“they’re going to tear you apart,” he said, voice low and shaking. “they’re already doing it. i won’t let them. i’m going to protect you. you’re safe with me, okay? i won’t let them ruin what we have.”

you nodded.

what else was there to do?

the fear in his voice was the same fear living in your own mind. but as the hours and days that followed unfolded, you began to feel the difference in how that fear moved through him. the control tightened quickly, and more intensely than anything that had come before.

he no longer simply chose your clothes; he decided what you were allowed to wear even inside the suite when staff might enter. certain necklines disappeared entirely. he determined which rooms of any venue you could wait in, and which ones were now off-limits without him present.

in public, his hand stayed on the small of your back constantly, not affectionate, directional. a clear signal that you moved only when he moved. once, when a member of the crew asked you a direct question, michael answered for you without even glancing your way.

the message was unmistakable: she does not speak unless i allow it.

you felt the shift.

this wasn’t the control that used to come from wanting you. this was containment. it was driven by the terror of what the outside world could still take from him, and every new restriction carried the same silent plea: i can’t lose you to them.

the grip was tighter than ever, but it didn’t feel like the claim you had been starving for. it didn’t feel like desire. it felt like fear wearing the shape of possession. and the difference sat heavily in your chest.

sometimes, when michael wasn’t in the room, the headlines got louder in your head. ordinary. nobody. the girl who gave up everything. the more you turned them over, the more they started to feel true. you had given up everything. the version of yourself that existed before him felt further away every day.

looking in the mirror had started to hurt. the face staring back at you looked smaller somehow, like it belonged to someone who had already been erased and was only still visible because he hadn’t let go yet.

and underneath all of it lived the quiet, sick fear that kept you awake: that he would eventually see what the papers saw. that one day the intensity would fade for good, and he would look at you and realize you were ordinary. that you had never belonged in his world. that the only reason he was holding on so tightly now was because he was afraid of the headlines, not because he still wanted you.

one afternoon he walked in and found you on the floor with your journal open, a small pile of torn pages beside you. you had ripped out every entry that tried to name what you were becoming. when he asked what you were doing, you only said “nothing” and closed the cover. he didn’t push, but the fear in his eyes sharpened, and the control tightened another degree.

another night he came out of the bathroom and caught you crying in front of the mirror, quiet tears while you stared at your own reflection in the dress he had chosen. you wiped your face the second you saw him, but not fast enough. he crossed the room, cupped your face, and kissed you with a sudden, almost desperate softness. when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and stayed there for a long moment.

“don’t listen to them, baby,” he said, voice low and tight. “they don’t know you. you’re perfect.”

but some of their words had already moved in and made themselves at home.

he tried to offset the coldness of the new rules with gifts. a new birkin, new dresses, earrings that matched your ring. each present appeared when your silence had stretched too long. he would watch your face when you opened them, searching for proof that the gesture had reached you. when you softened under the attention, he softened too. when you leaned into his touch, he held on tighter.

the mixed signals left you unsteady. the underlying truth was simple and devastating: both of you were terrified of the same loss, and both of you were willing to disappear a little more if it meant the other stayed.

the day before the paris show, he came into the living room holding a small cream-colored card.

“there’s a dinner tonight,” he said. “private room. only a few people. now that they know your face, staying completely hidden will only make the speculation worse. we go together. we stay controlled. we leave when i say.”

it wasn’t a request.

you looked at him; you really looked at him. you noticed the tension in his shoulders, you noticed the way his thumb kept brushing over the ring on your hand as he spoke, and you felt the familiar need to soothe it, to make yourself smaller and easier so the fear in him would quiet.

“okay,” you said.

he exhaled, leaned in, and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“i’ll be right with you the whole time, baby.”

the words should have settled you. instead, they sat wrong in your chest. you were going to be displayed. not hidden, not protected like before, but walked into a room full of people who had already read the headlines and decided what you were.

the ordinary girl. the nobody who got chosen. the thought made your hands go cold. you nodded anyway, because the alternative was telling him you weren’t ready, and you weren’t sure if you could do that.

the private room was all low light and dark wood, the kind of place designed to make conversations feel exclusive. there were maybe twelve people total. lots of producers, a couple of executives, one or two familiar industry faces.

michael kept you close from the moment you entered, his hand steady at the small of your back as he guided you between short conversations. you smiled when required. you answered when spoken to.

you felt yourself starting to dissociate under the weight of being both displayed and tightly held to his side. it was during one of the introductions that the comment came. an older man looked between the two of you with a thin smile, eyes flicking to the ring on your hand.

“gotta say,” he said, “it’s something else seeing you settled. didn’t think anyone would ever get michael jackson on a leash.”

the words landed in the middle of the small group, causing everyone to chuckle. michael gave a small laugh and pressed into your back slightly. you felt the expectation that you should stay quiet and smile.

instead, something restless and sharp moved through you. the same control that currently felt like both protection and erasure pressed against your ribs, and the word leash sat too close to the truth.

you met the man’s gaze and said, voice even, “oh no. trust me, i’m the one on the leash.”

a short, uncomfortable silence followed. michael’s hand went rigid against your back. he politely excused the two of you and steered you away a moment later without finishing the conversation, the line of his shoulders tight.

“what’s wrong with you?” he whispered lowly against your ear.

you just looked up at him and shrugged.

his jaw tightened, but before he could say anything else, someone called his name from across the room. a producer he needed to speak with. michael hesitated, hand still firm on your back, then leaned in close enough that only you could hear him.

“stay where i can see you,” he said, voice low and tight. “don’t wander.”

he waited until you gave a small nod before releasing you and moving across the room.

for a few minutes, you remained near the edge of the group, glass in hand, watching the easy way he slipped back into conversation. the tension from the leash comment still lingered under your skin. you took a slow sip of your drink and let your gaze drift across the private room.

that’s when you saw her.

she moved through the space as if she belonged in it. tall, self-assured, the kind of beauty that didn’t have to announce itself. you recognized her from one of his videos earlier that year. she had drifted into the small circle around michael and was already laughing at something he said, the sound light and practiced.

her fingers brushed his forearm, lingering just long enough to be intentional. he didn’t step away. instead, his hand came up and rested briefly against her elbow, casual and familiar.

and then you saw it: his eyes moved over her once, quick and almost automatic, taking in the long line of her figure before returning to her face with that soft look on his face.

the glance lasted less than a second.

it was enough.

jealousy and something colder roared up so fast it made your ears ring. the tabloid words that had been living under your skin for days rose with it; ordinary, nobody, the girl who didn’t belong. you felt the intense fear that she was the opposite of everything the papers said you were; that she was the kind of woman who belonged in rooms like this without needing to be managed or hidden or carefully dressed.

the thought of being replaced, of him one day looking at someone else the way he used to look at you, made you feel like you were going to die. it was overwhelming. toxic. but underneath the pain was the sharp recognition that this was the exact voltage you had been starving for.

for the first time, you saw the opening clearly. you saw the opportunity to force the version of him that didn’t freeze: the one that claimed, the one that hurt, the one that still wanted you badly enough to lose control.

you set your glass down and crossed the short distance to a man you vaguely recognized from earlier in the tour. the conversation you started was warmer than it needed to be. you smiled, laughed once without guarding it, and when he said something mildly funny, you let your hand rest on his arm. your body stayed angled open, fully visible from where michael stood.

the entire time, your eyes stayed locked on michael’s across the room.

you watched the exact moment his composure cracked. the way his expression darkened, the way his body went still, the way every bit of careful control drained out of his face and left only raw, focused intensity behind.

a moment later, you stepped closer, both hands lightly on the man’s shoulders, and rose onto your toes to speak near his ear. long enough for michael to see it. long enough for the point to land. his hand settled on your back as you leaned in, just for a second, casual and easy.

that was the moment michael moved.

he was at your side in seconds. he didn’t even bother to look at the man. his hand closed around your upper arm, firm, and his voice was low enough that only you could hear it.

“we’re leaving.”

his grip on your arm was tight as he steered you through the private room. conversations dulled. eyes followed. he pushed the back exit open, and the night air hit your flushed skin, cool against the heat still rising in your face.

the blacked-out car was already waiting. he put you inside, slid in after you, and the privacy partition rose the second the door shut. the car pulled away from the curb.

michael sat rigid beside you, one hand braced on his knee, the other locked around the edge of the seat. city lights moved across his face in broken gold and white. the silence between you was thick.

you could feel the rawness on him. the focus. the anger that had finally broken through. this was the version you had been starving for. your pulse was still racing from the risk, from the way he had come for you across the room. the air between you felt alive again.

and underneath the high was the fear.

the fear that you had pushed him towards the coldness again. that he wouldn’t fight for you in the way you were pushing him to. that he didn’t desire you enough to show you who you belonged to.

then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“you did that on purpose.”

it wasn’t a question.

you kept your eyes forward for a second, pulse loud in your throat, then glanced over at him. your voice came out low and almost light.

“did it work?” you glanced over at him through your lashes, eyes dark and daring, cheeks already flushed, holding his gaze just long enough to make the challenge clear.

he turned his head. the look he gave you was darker than anything he had worn in weeks; stripped of exhausted politeness. it was pure, focused intensity. when he finally answered, his voice was quiet and rough.

“don’t look at me like that.”

“like what?” you asked, purposely acting dumb, twirling a piece of your hair around your finger.

his jaw flexed. for a second, his eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up, and the air between you tightened. he didn’t answer right away. he just looked at you like he was deciding how much restraint he still had left.

“like you already know what you’re getting when we get upstairs.”

the words landed low in your stomach. you felt your pulse quicken. your stomach twisted in excitement. he was finally looking at you like he had to have you.

by the time the car stopped in front of the hotel, the air between you felt ready to break.

the second the suite door locked behind you, he turned and backed you against the wall.

the kiss was nothing like the soft ones from the past days. it was hungry, almost angry, his hands already dragging the dress up your thighs. you kissed him back just as hard, then you pulled away enough to speak against his mouth, voice low and deliberately provocative.

“she looked good on your arm.”

his eyes flashed. “don’t.”

you smiled, small and sharp. “what? i’m just saying. you seemed comfortable. maybe i should get more comfortable too.”

that was all it took.

he growled, spun you around, and shoved you face-first against the wall, one hand fisting in your hair to pull your head back. his other hand yanked the dress higher and ripped your underwear aside. you felt him hard and heavy against you, but instead of pushing in, he only rubbed the head of his cock through your wetness, slow and deliberate, never giving you more than the tip.

“this is how you repay me?” he rasped against your ear. “i get on my knees for you, and you let another man put his hands on you in front of me?”

you pushed your hips back, trying to take more of him. he pulled away just enough to deny you, one strong hand locking on your hip to keep you from sinking onto him.

“ah-ah. you don’t get it until you ask nicely.”

“no.”

the refusal came out breathless and defiant. you tried again to push back onto his cock.

his hand left your hip. the first spank landed sharp and open-palmed across your ass. the sound cracked through the quiet suite. heat bloomed instantly under your skin, bright and stinging. the force of it pushed you forward against the wall. a broken moan slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“beg,” he ordered.

“no,” you said, smiling back at him, teasing him by wiggling your hips gently, moving your soaked pussy over the tip of his cock.

“brat.”

the second spank came harder, right over the same spot. the sting sank deeper this time, making your thighs clench. you felt yourself drip down your own skin, the ache between your legs sharpening with every passing second.

he kept the thick head of his cock slipping through your folds, pressing just barely inside before sliding away again, his hand firm on your hip so you couldn’t take more than he allowed.

“you’re already shaking,” he muttered, voice dark with satisfaction. “you want it so bad, yet you’re still talking back. be a good girl and say please.”

you gritted your teeth, hips trying to chase him. “make me.”

he laughed once, low and almost mean, and spanked you a third time. the impact forced another sound out of you, half moan, half sob. your skin was hot and throbbing, every nerve lit up, and for the first time in weeks the intensity you had been starving for was finally here, sharp and undeniable.

then he finally pushed in halfway with one hard thrust and stopped, stretching you open around him while you cried out. he held you there, filled but not fucked, and leaned over your back so his mouth could reach your neck.

he sucked hard enough that you knew it would bruise, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, then sucking again until the blood rose under your skin. he did the same to the other side of your throat, leaving a matching mark, while his hips stayed perfectly still.

the feeling of being physically marked by him made you clench around his cock. it was exactly the feeling you’d been chasing, the feeling of him consuming you.

“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he muttered against your wet skin. “you wanted me jealous. you wanted me like this. say it.”

“i wanted you like this,” you gasped. “i missed it so much. i missed you like this—”

only then did he give you the rest of his cock in one deep, punishing stroke. the stretch forced a broken cry from your throat. he fucked you hard from behind, one hand still in your hair, the other pulling you further down onto his cock before suddenly pulling out.

you barely had time to make a sound of protest before he spun you around to face him, shoved you back against the wall, and lifted one of your legs around his hip. he pushed back inside you in one smooth, deep thrust and immediately dropped his mouth to your chest.

he yanked the top of your dress down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and wet while his tongue flicked over the sensitive peak. his free hand cupped your other breast, thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the nipple before pinching just enough to make you gasp. he switched sides, mouth latching onto the other breast with the same focused hunger, tongue circling and sucking while his fingers kept teasing the wet, sensitive one he’d just left.

“look at you,” he growled against your skin, voice rough and filthy. “soaking my cock after disobeying me. you love this. you love it when i put you in your place.”

he kept his mouth on you, alternating between deep, wet sucks and the light scrape of his teeth. his hips never stopped driving into you, the wet sound of it filthy in the quiet suite.

“you’re mine,” he said, the words punched out of him with every thrust. “say it again while i’m inside you.”

“i’m yours—”

“again.”

“i’m yours. only yours—”

“that’s right.” he reached down and rubbed tight circles over your clit, still driving into you without slowing. “cum on the cock that you belong to.”

the orgasm hit so hard your vision whitened out. your leg tightened around his hip as your knees buckled, the sudden weakness making you drop hard against him. he caught you immediately, one arm locking tight around your lower back to hold you up while the other stayed braced against the wall. he fucked you through it without slowing, short, brutal strokes that kept the pleasure crashing over you in waves.

“good girl,” he rasped against your mouth, voice rough and breaking. “that’s it. i’ve got you. look so pretty falling apart around my cock. so fucking tight when you cum for me.”

he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken groan, pulsing deep inside you in thick, hot waves. his mouth latched onto yours, tongue shoving in aggressively as he moaned into the kiss and kept grinding his release deeper into you, holding your trembling body upright the entire time.

for a long moment, the only sound in the suite was the two of you trying to catch your breath. he stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, one arm still locked around your waist to keep you from sliding down the wall. your leg was still hooked around his hip, weak and shaking.

when he finally pulled out, it was slow, almost reluctant. you made a soft sound at the loss of him. he steadied you with both hands, careful and quiet, then bent and lifted you into his arms. one arm under your knees, the other around your back, he carried you the short distance to the bed like you might break and laid you down gently against the sheets.

he followed right after, stretching out beside you and pulling you into his chest with a tenderness that felt almost fragile after everything that had just happened. his hand moved slowly up and down your back, soothing, grounding.

“are you okay?” he asked softly.

“yes. more than okay,” you whispered, tipping your face up to look at him.

the absolute adoration in your expression made his breath catch. he stared at you for a second; his expression was unreadable.

he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the marks on your neck. he kissed them slowly, one after another, whispering how much he loved you against your skin.

the next morning, you woke to soft gray light and the quiet sound of paper.

michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, shoulders curved forward. in his hands were the crumpled, torn pages from your journal. he was staring at them intently, thumb moving slowly over a ripped edge, eyes fixed on the ink like it might change if he looked long enough.

the pages were full of the entries that tried to name what you were becoming, the ones that admitted how much of yourself you had already given away. you had thrown them away. seeing them in his hands made your stomach drop.

“michael-“

you sat up. the sheet slipped to your waist. the cool air touched the fresh marks he had left on your neck, and you watched his eyes lift and take them in. he looked at the bruises for a long moment, then at your face. something in his expression fractured.

he set the pages down carefully on the nightstand.

“you should leave.”

the words didn’t make any sense. you stared at him, heart already starting to climb into your throat.

“what?”

“you should leave,” he repeated, voice low and rough from sleep and something heavier. “even if it’s just for the rest of the tour. go home. go back to your apartment or to your parents. we can find each other again when it’s over… if you still want to.”

the sentence hit like a physical blow. panic slammed into you so hard it stole the air from your lungs. your vision tunneled. for a second you couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing in your ears. the room felt too small. the sheets felt too cold. you scrambled up onto your knees on the mattress, the sheet falling away completely, and reached for him with shaking hands.

“no. michael, don’t. you can’t say that.”

“look at yourself.” his eyes moved over the marks on your neck, then your face, then the torn pages on the nightstand. “look at what we’re doing. you tore pages out of your own journal because the truth in them scared you. you’re disappearing. you’re not happy.”

“i don’t care—”

“you should care.” his voice cracked on the words. “i’m trying to do the right thing for once. everyone leaves eventually. they always do. you should go before i make it impossible for you to.”

a broken sound escaped your throat. you shook your head hard, already crawling closer, both hands gripping his wrists like he might vanish if you let go. your pulse was so loud you could feel it in your teeth. the idea of a life without him- empty rooms, ordinary mornings, the absence of his gravity- opened under you like a drop with no bottom.

“i can’t.” your voice came out thin and frantic. “michael, please. don’t do this. don’t say that again.”

“you need to hear it.”

“no, i don’t.” tears were already burning at the corners of your eyes. “you don’t get to decide that for me. i’m not leaving. i won’t.” you grabbed his hand and pressed it hard against the ring on your finger, holding it there so he had to feel the metal.

“you promised. you put this on me, and you said we belonged to each other no matter how crazy things got. you don’t get to take that back.” your voice broke on the last word. you kept his hand locked over the ring, shaking. “you promised me. you can’t take it away.”

he looked down at where your fingers were clenched around his, at the diamond catching the gray morning light, and something in his face twisted. you could see the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost pleading.

“you’re allowed to want something that isn’t just me. you’re allowed to have a life that doesn’t disappear around me.”

“i don’t want a life that isn’t you.” the words tumbled out raw. “i tried. i had one before. it didn’t feel like this. nothing has ever felt like this. if you send me away, i won’t know how to be a person anymore. i won’t know how to breathe without checking where you are. you don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.”

your hands were shaking so hard you could barely keep hold of him. the panic had nowhere to go. it just kept climbing.

“please,” you whispered. “please don’t make me leave. i’ll be better. i’ll stop pushing. i’ll stop needing so much. just don’t send me away. i can’t survive it. i won’t survive it.”

he closed his eyes. for a second, he looked like the words had physically hurt him. the resolve in his face wavered, then cracked. he reached up, cupped the back of your neck, and pulled you in until your forehead rested against his.

“i know,” he whispered, voice raw and tired. “i know you can’t. i can’t either.”

a broken sob slipped out of you. he held you tighter.

“i keep telling myself to let you go,” he said against your skin, “and then i look at you, and i can’t do it. i’m not strong enough. i need you. i need you so much it scares me.”

you felt the truth of it settle between you. heavy. irreversible. mutual. neither of you was under any illusion that this was good. both of you were choosing the cycle anyway, because the alternative felt worse than the damage.

you pulled him in for a frantic, needy kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. his hands slid up your bare back, fingers pressing hard into your skin like he was still afraid you might change your mind and disappear.

the kiss tasted like relief and surrender simultaneously. you could taste the salt from the tears you hadn’t realized were falling, the lingering heat of the night before, the quiet, devastating acceptance that neither of you was going to be the one to walk away.

in that moment, you closed the door on the version of yourselves that might have left.

and he let you.

[mikaylajacksonnn]

we can all agree this was one of his finest eras .

his afro sits like a halo, like he’s genuinely an angel

[invinor]

if i keep seeing this gif i might jus bustttttttt he looks so YUMMYYYYYY 😩. n’ his hair here is so fucking perfect literally obsessed

[blkkbratt]

I just seen something saying Micheal would be a bratty sub and now I need thattt could you do a brat tamer fic pleaseee🥹

Brat tamer

🍫pairings: Michael Jackson x black!reader

🍫contains: Explicit content, strong language, sub!Michael, dom!reader, brat!Michael

🍫summary: Michael was getting on your nerves and you had to handle that!

Michael was on his last straw with you. During you and Michael’s supposedly fun day at a theme park that he begged you to go to. He’s been nothing but irritating. Not the usual ‘cute and teasing’ way but purposely finding ways to make the vein in your neck bulge.

“No, we don’t need that right now.” You say. “Don’t care!” He said while showing an evil grin as he proceeds to buy the comically large cup anyway.

“Stop touching me.” He proceeds to pinch your butt every second he gets. “Cut it out.” You gritted through your teeth.

“You don’t control me.” He said, rolling his eyes. You couldn’t fight the throbbing headache at the base of your skull. “Stop fucking playing, Michael.” Grabbing his wrist, you tugged him towards the parking lot.

In excitement? Confusion? Arousal? Maybe all. A hard lump settled in his throat, looking around to see if anyone noticed but of course everyone was too caught up in the next ride, they were about to get on.

A bit let down he was leaving early, he knew it was deserved. He knew what he was doing, pushing you to your limits until you snapped. A strike of fear ran through his heart feeling the almost painful grip of his wrist in your hand.

Once you both got into the car, you remained quiet. “Do you want me to drive?” Michael’s meek voice spoke up, a sad attempt at a peace offering. You were so irritated, you couldn’t even fathom to respond. He shut his mouth, fidgeting around during the drive home.

The car was dead silent, radio on mute, windows rolled up, only the sound of tires driving and other cars. Michael's shoe tapped against the car floor, making quick glances at you. Once you parked into the driveway, you didn’t get out.

“Go upstairs and take your clothes off.” You told him while your eyes remained on the windshield, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He knew better than to respond, settling on getting out the car and going upstairs.

You waited a few more minutes and let out a sigh, getting out of the car and heading inside. The house was dead silent, only sound being keys jingling in your hand as you ascended upstairs.

Stepping in, there sat Michael on the bed, hands clasped together on his thighs, soft bare skin revealed. His doe eyes looked up at you, hands now resting on his knees.

The silence felt heavy between the two of you and his lips rubbed together waiting for your next move.

A small smile formed on your lips, and he felt his heart drop to his ass.

•••

“P-please.” He begged, eyes glazed over in tears. The wet squelching of your hand pumping his dick sounded in the room. The television played lowly as you fixated on it, legs keeping a tight hold on Michael’s body with his back pressed against your chest.

Your shoulder caught the weight of his head as it fell back against you. He swiped his tongue against his lips, swollen from biting on them. “M-mama—”

“Shut up and watch.” You sped up your pace, using your other hand to grasp his jaw, directing his focus to the tv. The rule was he couldn’t cum before the movie ended, and he could’ve cried realizing he hasn’t even reached the hour mark yet.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Tears began to roll down his face. “You sorry, baby? Should’ve thought about that earlier.” You sarcastically pouted. The angry, leaking head wet your palm as you focused on his tip.

A whine fell from him, thrusting his hips into the air involuntarily. “M-mama, I’m gonna cum.” He warned, fingers squeezing your thighs. Your actions came to a halt and a smile graced your face as you tightened your grip around his dick.

Michael’s breath caught in his throat as you denied him yet another orgasm. All because he wanted a little attention. Just to see how far he could take it, now he’s stuck between your legs going through absolute torture.

A painful cry rung in the air, body screaming for his release. “Breathe. In and out.” You instructed him noticing the quick breaths he was taking. As he followed your directions, he closed his eyes, chest slowing down.

Once his body returned to its starting point, you began pumping again. Sensitive and tender, his breathing hitched followed by the slow roll of his eyes. Drool spilled from the corner of his lips and his fingers twitched against your thigh.

A sinfully angelic sight.

Broken moans spilled from his lips, and not a single thought was going through his head. Only the feel of your hand pleasuring him. Sweat was glazed over his body, overheated from the constant stimulation he was under.

You pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, damp skin against your lips. A small whimper tumbled from his mouth. His lips opened to say something but was choked back by a moan.

“You need something, baby?” You cooed, using his jaw to turn his head towards you. He forced his eyes to look at you before nodding.

“I don’t know, do you think you’ve been good?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I promise. I-I’ll do anything for you.” He whimpered. Mind teetering between the edge of reaching his breaking point, his dick twitched in your hand. Stiff and thick. Beads of pre cum rolling out in a hurry.

Even though the movie isn’t close to over, you could tell he was starting to lose it. Delivering a soft kiss to the shell of his ear, you whispered, “cum for mama.”

With a sharp inhale, Michael let out a whiny moan as ropes of nut immediately shot out of his tip. Lanky limbs shaking against you, you held him tighter as he let go.

Thick spurts of cum splayed across his abdomen and your knuckles. Continuous whimpers spilled from his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he watched your fist continue stroking him.

Overstimulation wasn’t too far behind, legs twitching with a quick yelp when your fingers brushed against his tip. “I-I came already.”

“I know, baby, but you said you’ll do anything for me,” you pressed a kiss against his cheek, noticing his eyes widen.

“And mama wants you to take everything she’s gonna give.”

Taglist: @swavydadon, @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression, @delicate-ray-of-sunshine, @angelfacediary, @burrowsbaddie0609, @bigsisbria, @uh444, @savagenctzen, @syrndollie, @kissmyglxck, @backlikearash2, @strangeinyouuuu, @gogoyubari888, @4ngelonmars, @multifandomposts-blog, @tojiswifeforlife, @dollthoughtz, @bangchanunofficial, @killathrxlla, @starliqhtsworld, @imbetterinstereo, @brillionnillion, @tiredasfk, @freaky1nterlude, @softchaosdiary505, @superstar-t20, @crypytlc, @areaniee, @blacclotusss, @michaelsbabymother, @whyxo, @gingerrsnapp, @nobleumbrashrine, @theyluvchanel, @princesspluuto, @sayyoulovemeziya, @luxechaos, @prettygirlwmula, @veewhomismichaelspyt, @yeaiamme2, @pnd-luvr, @valentinaaaapple, @mrsjacks0nn, @pumpkinlover07, @xoxookaii, @mjsfavetomboyy, @peachtreeinthegarden, @iiamjzz8, @imsweetaspie, @pixieelixer-24

[laimemoir]

I just sent another ask kill me now

[thiccbambi58]

Always Caring For You

Needs

Summary: Michael becomes desperate as communication is no longer in order.

Era/Pair: History/Mature Era!Michael x SuccessfulCEOBlackfem!Reader

Tags/Warning: Eating disorders; Fluff and Smut; Masterbation; hurt/comfort; Chubby Michael; improper weight loss; TLC; pet names-mama, Bambi, mommy- is used; angst with a happy ending; fighting with Michael… mommy is used in this part

Part 1: Part 2: Part 3: Part 4: Part 5: Part 6:

The days blurred in Michael's mind. His body was tired, and the forced sleep and the constant fluctuations in his vitals made the company uneasy enough to postpone the tour for six months.

Michael felt as though he was in hell. He could no longer tell the days apart, but that did not stop him from watching the door for any sign of you. He asked Bill for his phone every day. If you didn't answer, he would leave a message. If the message didn't work, then he would stalk you. Anything to make sure he was still in your world. He needed to be with you.

The feeling was strong enough to make Michael hyperaware that he was the reason he had to stay in the hospital longer. He actively chose to be better, and that choice paid off when he was released after just two weeks.

Without telling his team, Michael had booked a flight to New York. His disguise was just good enough for him to slip out of the hospital and make it to the back entrance of the airport.

It took a while to make it to your place, but he was there. His body finally caught up with his actions, making him drag his feet slowly to the elevator that led to your living room. He didn’t know whether to be grateful that you forgot to ask for the key back or hurt that you didn’t bother to reach out about it.

Tears glistened down his cheeks as his large brown eyes clouded over. He was tired. Tired of everything, and now he didn’t even have you to lay his head down on your thighs and tell him how to breathe.

Loneliness seeped through his skin. His heart seemed to slow as he shuffled into your home. The grey skies from your floor-to-ceiling windows seemed to mock him. He wasted no time slogging through your closet for comfortable clothes that he knew he left here. A whimper broke the air when it took him longer to find them, his mind immediately telling him that you threw them away. Luckily, they were there, lying forgotten at the bottom of a drawer.

Michael changed before walking to your bed. When he finally got the stretched, well-loved t-shirt on, he pulled the plush covers back just enough that he could curl in. His eyes closed at the smell of you, and the comfort settled his soul enough that he drifted into peaceful rest. Not even a dream disturbed him.

This was the first time Michael had entered R.E.M. sleep since he had left you to go on tour. For over a year now, he had been drifting in between consciousness, floating from the high of the shows to the restlessness of the nights.

Coming through the door, you quickly kick off your heels, sighing in relief at the coolness of the flooring chilling your sore feet. You were bone tired, having worked back-to-back long days to forget what had happened in the months before. Moving toward the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, you pause when a shuffling sound came from your bedroom. A million thoughts ran through your head as you crept to your bedroom door and peeked around the corner. Your thumb was just about to press the dial button for 911, only to stop when you saw a tussle of black hair sticking from under your covers. Before your brain could even question the sight, it supplied you with the thought that this was Michael.

A sigh breezed through the air as you tried to calm your pounding heart, only for it not to listen when you moved forward carefully to see Michael's relaxed body snuggling the very pillow you slept on every night. Half-buried under the covers, the sight was almost too precious. His long lashes brushed the tops of his cheeks, a small smile curled the ends of his lips, and for once the space between his eyebrows was smooth. You sat on the bed, careful not to disturb the tranquil atmosphere. You couldn't help but tuck a stray curl behind his ear, pausing when you saw that he didn't bother to take off the hospital tag around his wrist.

Your mind screamed at you when you remembered that you were supposed to be upset with him, but how could you work up the courage to be angry when he looked so young in his oversized shirt? You knew that he needed this sleep more than you needed to be upset, so you walked around the house, closing windows and locking doors before walking to the kitchen and grabbing two glasses of water. You carried the water back into the bedroom, placing one on each nightstand before changing your clothes and sliding into bed next to Michael.

It was not long before the pillow Michael was holding had been forgotten and replaced with you. His arms were squeezing as if you might leave him alone again. His sleepy warmth was felt through your silk pajamas, leaving you blinking as your body caught up to your tiredness. With his breath warming your neck, you finally succumbed to sleep.

Some hours later, you felt a tickle in your ear. You squirmed to move away from the annoyance, only for it to pull you back. A whine left your throat as you finally opened your eyes, only to be welcomed with the sound of Michael muttering in your ear and into your neck as he left wet kisses.

His soft voice was low with need as he pleaded, “I’m so sorry. Mommy, please.”

His hands moved under your button-up silk shirt, “Don’t leave me. I'll listen from now on, just please…"

His whines became sobs when you sat up. His breathing was hazardous as he grabbed onto your shirt and pulled you back down. His strength nearly left you wheezing as his arms and legs squeezed around you, nearly pulling himself to lie on you completely, "NOO... Please, mommy, please. I'll be good. Don't leave me. I can't take it. I'll die. I’LL DIE! Please…"

You finally get a hand free from his grip and reach up to place his ear over your chest where he can listen to your heartbeat; a familiar gesture that never failed to quiet his mind, "Michael, baby, breathe with me."

It took a while for him to take in deep breaths and gather himself enough to raise up and look you in the eyes. Your brows furrowed as you saw his face wet with silent tears and flushed; his eyes were bloodshot, making it clear that he had been crying way before you woke up. Leaning up, you kissed both his swollen eyes and the tip of his nose.

"Mommy," he sighed, leaning forward in an obvious question for more kisses.

"No, Bambi, we need to talk." You say back.

Watching as more tears welled into his eyes, you brought his head back to your chest. “Only after you calm down and after we fill your tummy with some food. Who knows how long you've been asleep?”

His broken voice sounded into your skin, "Will you stay?"

You pat his wild hair, scratching your nails at the base of his head, feeling him melt into you more, "Yes, I'll stay." His sniffles paused enough for you to feel him smile. You roll your eyes, then move your hand to pat his back. "Get some more rest; we will start our day after you've had another nap."

@scccm0182 @melodiesmurakamis @diaryofmichaelsgf

[michaeldiary]

　　﹕   (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈)   ┈  neapolitan prince syndrome.

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ thrad era! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ summary : michael’s feeling a bit insecure because his vitiligo is starting to affect his private parts and it’s making you spiral because you haven’t gotten dick in months so you think you’re the problem. fortunately for him? you think his dick is still pretty and you’re still going to slobber on it and show him a REAL thriller night.

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ byi : smut 🔞, michael’s vitiligo is the main point of “conflict”, oral sex (male receiving), shy michael, reader is high strung and a little ditzy (bimbo), a little bit of angst if you squint. some self esteem issues. had fun writing this!

The first few times, you didn’t think much of it.

Michael was busy and exhausted, that was expected. Michael had always carried the entertainment industry on his back, and it wasn’t unusual for work to follow him home. So, when he rolled over with an apologetic smile or distracted you with a kiss against your forehead before things could go any further, you accepted it without question.

Then weeks became months.

The affection never disappeared. If anything, it seemed to increase. Michael still reached for your hand in public. Still pulled you against him on the couch. Still buried his face in your neck when he came home after long days. He still looked at you with love so obvious that you could see tiny little hearts in his pupils. Yet somewhere along the way, a distance had developed between you. Not emotional distance but physical distance. You know.. sexually. Every time the relationship threatened to cross a certain.. threshold, he found a reason to retreat.

Michael took care of you in other ways though: his hands, his mouth, even his thigh but you couldn’t remember the last time he really fucked you. Or, actually maybe you could! It was about three months ago—you rode him at four in the morning before he had to get ready for an early morning flight out to attend an award show. But that’s not the point here! The point is, when he came back, things changed. And of course, you enjoyed the alternatives but there is truly nothing like feeling all six inches of his dick digging into you.

And at first, you blamed circumstances.

Eventually, you started blaming yourself.

The following weeks were a disaster, diva.

You changed your hair, changed it again. Then you became convinced the first version had actually looked better and spent three days mourning it. You switched nail colors so many times that your nail tech eventually stopped asking questions and just started staring at you with growing concern because you were starting to work her nerves. Long nails! Short nails! Red! Pink! Nude! French tips! Nothing seemed helped. Every appointment had the optimism of a woman who was genuinely convinced that the solution to her problems might be hiding inside a bottle of acrylic powder. It never was.

You bought new clothes.

You rearranged your makeup routine.

You spent a ridiculous amount of (his <3) money on skincare products advertised by women who were so obviously professionally done in makeup.

At one point, you became convinced that a boob job would somehow save your relationship.

A boob job would not save your relationship but mostly because your relationship wasn’t actually in danger. But to be fair, you just didn’t know that yet.

The problem was that once insecurity took root, it became impossible to think normally. Suddenly every mirror was an enemy, every picture of yourself fueled your dilemma and every minor flaw you found turned into a very big one. You stood in front of mirrors turning your head from side to side like a confused puppy.

Maybe it was your hair.

Maybe it was your body.

Maybe your skin looked weird.

Maybe your face looked weird.

Maybe you needed botox?

The theories became increasingly unhinged.

By the end of the second month, you had somehow managed to convince yourself that Michael no longer desired you because of a collection of microscopic imperfections that literally nobody else on Earth had ever noticed. The longer Michael avoided sex, the easier it became to convince yourself that there had to be a reason. A person didn’t simply wake up one day and stop wanting someone they loved.

So naturally, the explanation had to be you.

There was simply no other possibility.

Certainly not Michael Jackson, like.. thee Michael Jackson? Get real. A man who instinctively apologizes to inanimate objects after bumping into them. A man who asks you to send his food back because he doesn’t want the staff to feel bad. A man whose default response to conflict is both palms up and hoping the issue is resolved without much confrontation.

No. Clearly the issue wasn’t him.

By the time Michael finally came home from the studio that night, you’d already prosecuted the case, delivered the verdict, and sentenced yourself accordingly. The only problem was that nobody had bothered informing the defendant.

Michael knew something was wrong the moment he walked through the front door.

And not because you said anything weird. In fact, the opposite. You greeted him with a bright smile and an enthusiastic, “Hi, baby!” before immediately returning to furiously wiping down a perfectly clean kitchen counter. The surrounding area smelled aggressively of purple fabuloso. Every surface sparkled pristinely, the furniture had been rearranged—there wasn’t a single thing out of place.

Michael glanced at the clock on the stove. It was nearly two in the morning and exhaustion lingered in the slope of his shoulders. The Bad sessions had been consuming him lately, turning days into nights and nights into mornings. Normally he returned home looking drained, tonight however, the fatigue seemed to disappear the second he got a proper look at you.

He smiled to himself.

Stress cleaning.

He’s learned this quirk of yours long ago. Stress cleaning only happened when something was deeply upsetting that pretty little heart of yours. Normal people cried. Some people yelled. You wanted to flip houses. And that was okay.

“How was the studio?” you asked cheerfully, already moving on to a cabinet door that did not need cleaning. Michael slowly set his bag down on the kitchen island. The smile on your face looked.. suspiciously forced and assembled in a hurry, your eyes red and puffy.

“It was real good.”

“That’s good.” You continued scrubbing.

For a few moments, Michael kept watching you. The way you moved from one task to another without actually accomplishing anything. The way you wiped surfaces that were already spotless. The way your smile appeared and disappeared depending on whether you thought he was looking. A lesser man might have missed it. Michael didn’t.

Slowly, he crossed the room. “Baby love.” The nickname was soft, gentle. And it usually made you look at him.

This time, it didn’t.

Michael’s smile faded slightly. He’s worried.

“Hey.” His hand settled lightly against your arm, stopping your endless circuit around the kitchen and only then did you glance up. The concern in his eyes nearly made you cry all over again. After spending weeks convincing yourself that Michael no longer wanted you, it felt deeply unfair that he still looked at you like that. With that stupidly beautiful face like your sadness mattered.

“You okay?” The question was simple.

And you hated it because it would’ve been much easier if he’d been cold. So much easier if he’d actually done something wrong. Instead, here he was. Standing in front of you after a fourteen hour day, still more interested in your feelings than his own exhaustion.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m fine, Mikey.”

Michael tilted his head. Patient. Skeptical. And entirely unconvinced. “You’re not.”

His statement wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t even challenging. Just super matter of fact like noticing rain through a window.

You laughed weakly and turned back toward the counter. “I am.”

“This spot is about sick of you wipin’ it..” Your hand froze and Michael’s mouth twitched. “You wiped it about five times.”

The laugh that escaped you sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Immediately, the hint of amusement vanished from his face. Without saying anything else, he gently took the rag from your hand and set it aside. And he reached for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Michael rested his cheek against the top of your head, one hand slowly smoothing over your back as he held you there. Waiting. Patiently. The way he always did. Because Michael had never been the sort of person who demanded answers.

The problem was that once you finally opened your mouth, you weren’t entirely sure you could stop.

The first sound that escaped you wasn’t a sentence.

It was a wail.

A loud, ugly sob that seemed to surprise even you.

Michael immediately froze.

Because one second he was rubbing slow circles into your back and the next he was staring down at you with wide eyes, completely confused. “Hey..”

“I’ve been tryin’ to fix it!” You managed to get out through your cry.

“Fix what?”

“Whatever’s wrong with me!” You wiped your nose. “I changed my hair. I changed my nails. I bought all those dresses!”

Michael looked bewildered. “Why? Why would you think you need to fix somethin’? There’s nothing wrong with you, pretty girl..”

“Because!” You cry again. “You won’t fuck me!”

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Complete, suffocating silence.

You watched the realization arrive in stages. First confusion, as he tried to understand what you were actually saying. Then understanding. Then immediate, unmistakable embarrassment. His entire face went red so quickly it was almost impressive. The color climbed from his neck to his cheeks and straight into the tips of his ears. Michael looked away at once, suddenly finding the refrigerator, the cabinets, the floor, and quite possibly the structural integrity of the kitchen tiles more interesting than making eye contact.

“Oh.” The word emerged strained.

You sniffled miserably. “’s what I've been talking about this whole time..”

Another pause followed. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more flustered with every passing second. He looked like a man desperately searching for an emergency exit that didn’t exist.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“No, not okay,” He corrected immediately. “I mean..” His voice trailed off and the poor man looked completely mortified.

“That's what this is about?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, Michael!”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.

Because he was embarrassed.

Utterly, completely embarrassed.

For months you’d apparently been carrying this hurt around by yourself, blaming your hair, your nails, your clothes, your body, your face, your existence. Meanwhile, he had been operating under an entirely different misunderstanding. Now he had to explain himself, which unfortunately required discussing a subject that already had him blushing so hard he looked overheated.

The heat spread further down his neck.

“Michael.”

“I’m trying..”

”You’re making me anxious!”

He groaned softly and covered part of his face with one hand. “’m trying to figure out how to say it..”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting back tears because the sight would’ve been funny under different circumstances. Here you were having the emotional breakdown while Michael looked seconds away from dissolving into the floorboards.

“Baby,” he said quietly.

“What is it, Michael?”

His gaze dropped again. “You really thought I didn’t want you.. like that anymore?” The sheer disbelief in his voice almost offended you.

“Well, what was I supposed to think!” The question seemed to connect the dots for him because from your perspective, the conclusion made perfect sense. And suddenly his embarrassment gave way to guilt.

Deep, genuine guilt.

Because now he understood what these past months had looked like through your eyes. You hadn’t been obsessing over your hair or your dresses because you were vain, not that he would even mind anyway. You’d been trying to solve a problem, trying to fix something you believed was wrong with you.

When in reality, it had never been about you at all.

Michael swallowed then looked down at the floor. “It’s spreading.”

Your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

There’s long pause. “The vitiligo.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “It’s spreading.” It seemed like he might stop there, he’d already said more than he wanted to but he forced himself to continue.

“On..” He swallowed. “Those parts.” The blush returned.

“Oh.” Your expression was unreadable.

Michael laughed softly, humorlessly. “It looks different now.” His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “I know it shouldn’t bother me.. but it does.” The words came out small as he continued. “I just..” He shook his head. “It’s ugly.”

You just stared at him and then stared some more. Blinked.

Because you were furious.

Absolutely, incandescently furious.

Months?

You had spent months without his dick, crying in bathroom, changing your hair, buying new clothes, and conducting increasingly deranged investigations into your own appearance while this man had been convincing himself that you would somehow stop loving him.

First of all, you didn’t even play like that.

“Ugly?” You repeated.

Michael visibly shrank. “Lovey, I—”

“Ugly?”

His eyes squeezed shut.

Before Michael could start apologizing, you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Hard. And the sound he made was mostly surprise as you felt it more than heard it.

When you finally pulled back, Michael looked thoroughly stunned, curls slightly disheveled, cheeks still hot.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Okay.” Its all he can say, really.

Another kiss. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

Somewhere between your outrage and Michael’s flustered attempts to explain himself, the conversation dissolved completely. Every time he tried to apologize, you interrupted him with a kiss. Every time he attempted to look away, you guided his attention back. By the time you found yourselves stumbling toward the bedroom, Michael looked overwhelmed in the particular way he always did whenever he realized he was being loved much more aggressively than he’d anticipated.

Michael lingered at the edge of the bed, still looking uncertain with the traces of insecurity that had brought the two of you here in the first place. You could see it in the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the way he avoided your gaze.

You moved closer as you sat between his thighs on your knees. “Michael.”

He glanced up at you. “Show me.”

Michael blushed as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, hesitating before lifting his hips an inch to slide them down along with his boxers in the hooks of his thumbs. His initial reaction when he settled back down was to cover himself, for his big hands to hover protectively over his cock to shield your pretty eyes but he knew better. His hands trembled slightly as he revealed his semi hard cock, glancing up at you with eyes that look like he’s maybe expecting rejection or laughter. But he’s not met with any of that. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes because you’re staring at it and maybe if he closes his eyes, it would make him invisible. Michael knows it won’t but, it makes him feel a little better about exposing the dick he’s hid for months.

He hesitantly reached down, his beautiful fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped them loosely around his length. He gave it a gentle tug upward, his breath hitching at the soft sound that escaped him. The motion was tentative—careful he was unsure if he should even be doing this in the first place. Was this even a good idea? What was he thinking? What are you thinking?

Michael opens his eyes a little, to peek at you. Wait. Why were you looking at him like that? Like you.. like this or something? His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he kept his gaze lowered, unable to meet your gaze.

Because.

The look in your eyes was genuinely humiliating. Women had fought for your right to vote and own property only for you to sit there staring at Michael like you’d never had a coherent thought in your life. The look in your eye wasn’t remotely mysterious. There are novels worth of yearning written across your face.

You looked at him with shameless affection and a viseral need that would’ve embarrassed a lesser woman. Every thought seemed to be written plainly across your face. A very obvious: oh my God, it’s so fucking pretty. I need this in my throat.

Your hands slid slowly up his thighs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He let out a shaky breath as you gently pushed his hands away, replacing them with your own. His hips twitched instinctively at the contact and he squeezed his eyes shut again, face burning as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his length instead.

Fuck, its been so long since you had his dick in your hands.

You could see what he’d been referring to. What he’s been so insecure about enough to hide from you and lose sleep over.

It’s different than what it was the last time you saw it. Yeah.

But his vitiligo had created a beautiful, unique pattern across his cock. His shaft was like a piece of abstract work of art; creamy ivory petal shaped patches mixed with brown and pink sections in a way that reminded you of neapolitan ice cream. His balls sat beneath with the same splashes of paler pigment.

“It’s so pretty, Michael.. You were hiding this from me?” you murmured softly, leaning in close. Before he could stammer out a response, your tongue darted out to taste him, starting at the base of his beautiful marbled shaft. You dragged your tongue upward along one of the paler patches, earning a sharp, breathless gasp from him.

Michael’s thighs trembled under your hands as your tongue traced the intricate patterns across his sensitive flesh. “You—you think it’s still pretty?” he breathed, voice cracking with disbelief as he finally looked down at you through lidded eyes. His hips bucked forward instinctively as you swirled around his tip, his shyness melting into need. ”I always thought it was ugly..”

“So pretty, baby..” You murmured against his cock. “Can’t believe you were worried about me not liking it.. God, Michael, he’s gorgeous—can’t wait to feel him cum. Missed him so much, did he miss me?”

“Don’t—don’t talk like that about it..” He manages to say.

The pattern continued across his pelvic area, lighter patchwork breaking through some of his deeper skin tone like poured cream, soft patches drifted across his mons pubis into delicate maps of contrast. Further down, his thighs bore the same mesmerizing pattern, ivory splashes dancing along the inner and outer legs that stretched down toward his knees.

Michael had gotten very good at hiding it. The lower half of his body was easy enough. He rarely wore anything that revealed much skin anyway, so long pants, socks, loafers, and layers concealed most of the areas the public never saw. It was the visible places that required the real effort. His face. His hands. His arms. The parts constantly photographed, filmed, and scrutinized. Topical treatments and makeup helped even out some of the discoloration there, making it easier to step in front of cameras without drawing attention to every new change.

The areas hidden beneath clothing were different. There was no makeup artist touching them up before an appearance. No careful lighting or tricks to soften what he saw. They existed entirely in private, which somehow made them harder to ignore. Michael knew his body intimately and because he spent so much time looking for changes on his face and hands, he noticed every new patch everywhere else too. What most people never would have thought twice about became impossible for him to overlook, leaving him alone with insecurities nobody else even knew he carried.

Standing at its full size, Michael’s cock was a sight—thick and long but it wasn’t.. overly large. He had perfect boyfriend dick, a dick big enough to stretch you out but not so big it would hurt every time you attempted to just sit on it.

He looked down at himself, then at you and his cheeks flushed deeply as he realized how hard he was and just how good you were sucking his dick. He’s not going to last long.

Your mouth closed around him, taking him deep into your throat while your fingers gripped the sparse curls of his pubic hair. Michael let out a broken moan, head falling back and surrendering completely as your warm mouth overwhelmed his usual hesitance.

You pressed your tongue flat against the sensitive underside of his cock, dragging it slowly from base to tip. The broad and smooth surface of your tongue applied pressure against a particular throbbing vein, earning a deep and guttural moan from him. His hips jerked involuntarily, his knuckle in between his pearly whites as he watched you with furrowed brows.

It was filthy.

“M gonna—finish, gonna—’M gonna..” He whined, voice strained. ”Where do you want it? In your m-outh? On your face? Don’t know where to put it..” His hands gripped the sheets tightly, tugging just slightly as his body coiled with impending release.

You pulled back, wrapping your hand around his cock instead, jerking him off fast and tight just how he liked it. ”Cum on my face, baby.” You urged, looking up at him with lust glazed eyes. “Paint me so pretty, just like this fucking dick..”

It only took three more rough strokes before he was cumming, a strangled moan escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled across your face. It landed on your cheeks, dripped down your chin, splashed across your lips and even some hitting your forehead and hair. His hips stuttered against your fist as he emptied himself completely, trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. “Baby.. baby..”

As the last few drops dripped onto your face, Michael slumped forward slightly, breathing heavily as he looked down at you with gratitude. He gently moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing away some of the cum that coated your skin. “Thank you..”

You smiled sweetly. “My turn.”

© michaeldiary. 2026. do not copy, repost, translate, or feed into ai.

[neytheking]

say somethin’

a one shot. inspired by this.

context: you and michael have been together for 2 years. he frequently has bouts of possessiveness and moodiness, so you thought this would just blow over.

nutritional info: michael is whiny as hell, he holds a grudge towards you, angst!!!, SMUT!!!!, masturbation (mostly Michael), peeking (mostly you), facefucking, silent treatment, cum play, needydom michael, makeup sex (ish), possessive/jealous/controlling michael, emotional edging through denial, begging, light name calling (slut, bitch), crying, light aftercare, FILTH.

writers note: trying to get better at writing emotions so theres more angst in this. not proofread yet. around 3.4k words, slow burn tension with little smut in the middle then lots of smut at the end. enjoy divas.

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

this war began at a party. or rather a mingling event that michael had to attend. this particular one wasn’t so bad, there weren’t any ultra rich people (except for michael) and instead there were some good spirited creatives.

you were sat at the bar, wrapped in a pink bandage dress, chatting with a man you didn’t know. as you two laughed together about things that didn’t matter, he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek. it was awkward and out of place, but you didn’t want to cause a scene.

Michael is already painfully overstimulated. its dim, theres tons of drunk people around, the music sounds like its being played from cheap speakers, and you aren’t by his side. as he spots you from across the room, he also spots this unknown man. you’re basically leaning over the counter, using it to support yourself.

did you let him get you….drunk? you never get drunk with anyone, only ever with michael when you two want to fuck like animals. never in public. he just didn’t like the way you were portraying yourself. you looked comfortable. way too comfortable.

his gaze narrows slightly. the man says something and you laugh. you really laugh, not a polite chuckle, a laugh. your head falls back slightly, even Michael feels allured by the skin on your neck being exposed, and the man smiles triumphantly as he steps closer.

too close.

Michael pauses. his entire demeanor switches. he tries to tell himself to calm down, that its nothing.

the man touches your arm. you don’t pull away. you don’t look around for Michael to come get this creep away from you, because if you had, you would’ve saw him directly behind you already enraged enough to kill this mystery guy.

before Michael can even process anything, the man plants a kiss on your cheek. fully confident, like you belonged to him. how dare he? and how dare you?

you laughed. not startled or offended, but almost flattered. is that what this was?

Michael’s eyes filled with tears around the bottom rim. his mind immediately flashed to when you told him you loved him. when you kissed his cheek, kissed the tip of his nose, held him in your arms as you slept skin to skin, told him he was the only man ever, that you only wanted him.

lying slut. he thought to himself.

you were just like everyone else. says one thing and does another. you don’t actually love him. this isn’t love. this is classic betrayal.

Michael moves swiftly through the establishment. you don’t notice Michael until he’s standing behind you, locking eyes with the man.

“oh hey-“

you began, but quit when you realized that Michael was not worried about you. he was focused entirely on the man.

“step back.”

Michael’s voice is still smooth and soft, still the same voice you loved to wake up to. but his tone was imposing, heavy. he commanded this man to step back as if he was a literal peasant.

the man is caught offguard.

“relax man, we were just ha-“

“i said step back.”

there was a pause. Michael’s eyes stayed laser focused on the mans pupils. you place your hand on Michael’s chest, trying to calm him down a little, as the man raises his hands and says “alright, no problem.”

he disappears just as Michael intended.

“what the hell Mikey? what was that?”

“lets go.”

“Michael-“

“now.”

he grips your wrist and leads you out of the venue, managing to not look at you the entire time. his tone leaves no room for argument, and is empty of emotion. the lack of emotion made it worse. he had never been robotic like this.

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

the entire car ride is silent. not the usual calm silence that you and Michael frequently shared. silence with tension. stretched past its limit, ready to snap and injure someone nearby.

the highway lights illuminate his face, his cheekbones and his jawline. you leaned over to kiss it, like you always did. Michael leaned away, making sure your lips couldn’t reach his face. for a second it didn’t register. Michael not wanting you to kiss him had never happened before. you always kissed him. there wasn’t an inch of skin on his body that you hadn’t kissed, licked, smiled against. you loved touching his body. you were addicted to feeling him, even innocently.

his grip on the steering wheel was excessive. his posture was rigid, tense, way different from his usual graceful, soft attitude.

it simmers a few minutes.

“are you going to talk to me?”

silence. 3 street lights illuminating Michael’s face for a couple seconds. the hum of the road underneath you two.

you swallow.

“baby? i’m sorry, are you mad at me?”

silence. blank expression. he’s giving you absolutely nothing to work with.

“Michael, it was nothing. it was awkward and i didn’t want to start anything…”

5 unbearable minutes of silence later, you arrived in the driveway. seatbelts unbuckled in unison, but you lingered behind as Michael entered the house.

did he seriously just ignore you for a full 22 minutes? he didn’t even look at you. no acknowledgement. zero reaction to anything you said. he even dodged a kiss from you.

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

as you walked up the stairs to your shared bedroom, Michael walked down, a neat stack of what looked like clothes in his hand, with toothpaste and a toothbrush on top.

drama king. he’ll get over it.

you thought (wrong).

three days. you would suffer for three days, actually.

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

day one.

Michaels silence was surgical. so cold it seemed effortless, like he didn’t mind your nonexistence. in the kitchen that morning, you said goodmorning to him. his mouth was full of cereal but he raised his eyebrows at you, a sign of recognition that made you feel like the conflict was over. it was far from over.

Michael’s blood was boiling. it had been about 12 hours now. he was still as angry as ever at you. you embarrassed him. you lied to him. you hurt him. he didnt feel like he owned you anymore, which was a problem. a very big problem. he had flashbacks to when you were his. when you did as he said. when he touched you where he wanted. only him. he would touch you in your sleep, kiss you, bite you, fuck you. you never minded, because you knew who you belonged to. he wasn’t sure that you were still aware.

as he poured the creamer, you summoned behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, your breasts pressing against his back. he picked up his mug, stepped outside of your reach, and left the room. the click of the door to the den shutting felt like a slap in the face.

later, you caught him sitting on the couch, reading. you sat beside him and draped your legs across his lap, a pathetic attempt at holding him hostage there. as you faced your boyfriend, you saw nothing. as your boyfriend saw you out of the corner of his eye, he saw a filthy, lying whore. the type his mom warned him about. he felt ashamed for being so naive. he believed everything you said.

“its only you, michael, always you, baby.”

“the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.”

“i love you, mikey.”

lies. he wondered how long you had been torturing him. how many other men had kissed your skin, touched your body, imagined their dicks sliding into your warmth while you smiled in their faces.

he felt so fucking hurt. so heartbroken.

he gently moved your legs to the floor, and stood before returning to the den. you called out to him, and he ignored. you cried, and he ignored. you didn’t care when he cried. you didn’t beg for forgiveness, because you didn’t care. all he got was a “sorry Mikey.” and its just supposed to be over??

that night you laid awake, alone, and miserable. the familiar creak of the couch in the den told you that Michael had laid down as well.

the slow, wet sound of his hand stroking his dick filled the vents between your room and the den. it was so low that you had to stop breathing to hear it better.

“fuck… you’re hurtin’ me,”

Michael muttered to himself, his voice was so low and raw you almost didn’t recognize it.

“laughed for him…disrespectful bitch…. so fucking dirty.”

you should’ve felt disrespected. he had never called you those things…not out loud at least. but it made you feel something. he was finally speaking. it was him- his voice, his tone, his lips moving just to tell you what he thought of you.

a needy, moody moan followed.

you felt the urge to clench your legs shut, there was so much pressure in the bottom of your stomach. you wanted to be touched so bad. so, so badly. you needed his hands on you.

instead, your fingers drifted beneath your sleep-shorts. slow, gentle circles around your clit. guilt slammed into you. it felt so wrong to touch yourself. your body was his. he was so good at pulling pleasure from you, nobody did it like him, not even you. it was wrong. so you stopped.

as you imagined what his pretty face looked like while he was stroking, he came. you could tell by the sound of the couch squeaking suddenly and vigorously.

Michael’s exhale afterward was so deep, so relieving, so beautiful. you were happy he felt better. it didn’t matter that he was mean to you, or that he was punishing you. or that he called you those things. the truth was that he could have slapped you, choked you, spit on you, it wouldn’t matter.

you just wanted attention. you wanted things to be normal again.

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

day two.

it was worse now. you woke up thinking he’d be ready. that expressing himself the night before had fixed things.

in the hallway, you grabbed his wrist and pushed him against the wall and pressed your body flush to his. you tilted your chin up to meet his pretty face, at first he somehow managed to avoid looking at you.

“Michael!”

his eyes finally met yours. finally. but only for a second. his gaze went back to the staircase a few steps away.

“Michael, please….”

your voice was so pitiful. you sounded like a peasant speaking to a king.

“i’m hungry, stop this.”

he pried your hands from around his wrist and made his way to the kitchen.

as he made his food, you hugged his waist from behind.

“Michael please just talk to me, i’m sorry…”

you whispered against his back.

he stiffened, set your arms at your sides and carried his plate to the den.

the soft click of the door, once again, made your heart skip a beat.

you couldn’t believe it.

he was serious about all of this. your mind began spiraling into panic. was he planning to leave you? did he already have someone else?

in the den, Michael couldn’t believe your audacity.

“please talk to me.”

“i’m sorry.”

you weren’t sorry when that other man was there. you weren’t sorry when he kissed you. you were sorry that you got caught. for all Michael knew, you wouldn’t have even told him about it if he hadn’t been stalking you like a hawk the entire evening.

he was silent until nightfall.

as you passed the den to go upstairs, you noticed the door was cracked. Michael was down there, sprawled across the couch, legs wide open, one hand behind his head, the other fisting his dick.

the nice creamy sounds made you crumble. you couldn’t stop watching. his face was soooo pretty, you could see a little bit of his stomach, his shirt was pulled up above his belly button.

he began doing slow short strokes just around the tip, his head fell back, his mouth opened, a soft “fuck,” escaped his lips.

“..hurting me… fuck baby.”

you watched helplessly.

“miss your mouthhhh” his words dragged as he came, the sounds of him being satisfied and happy brought tears to your eyes.

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

day three, morning.

morning came too soon. you didn’t sleep much.

he’s already awake.

you hear him calmly opening drawers in another room, like nothing is happening. like everything is normal.

you cant take another day of this.

he’s in the next room over, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, focused as usual. he doesn’t look up when you enter.

“Michael.”

no response.

“are you seriously going to keep ignoring me?”

“i’m not ignoring you, i’m getting ready.”

the calmness kills you. he doesn’t fucking care. none of this matters to him. did he ever care?

“its been three days! three full days Michael!”

your voice is a little hoarse from inactivity.

he doesn’t respond.

“fine. if you don’t want to talk thats fine.”

the words begin spilling out before you can stop them.

“but can you please just…touch me?” you pause a second after your voice cracks.

“can you please just- can you please fuck me??”

for the first time in days he looks at you. really looks at you. and you almost wish he hadn’t. you’ve never felt more subhuman in your life. you didn’t realize he could affect you this much.

“i just need something, Mikey. i cant keep feeling like i don’t exist to you….”

for a second, just a split second, it seems like it worked. like he was finally giving in. he stood, now towering over you perfectly. you couldn’t take your eyes off his lips, you felt like a lion that hadn’t eaten in days.

instead of giving you what you wanted, he leaned in ever so slightly, and broke your heart.

“i have work.”

he stepped around you and left. the front door gently clicked shut.

begging me to fuck her now? after being a slut for someone else like that?

she can wait.

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

day three, night.

the tension in the house was the most miserable sensation you had felt in years. you had never thought about your parents relationship in comparison to your until now. originally you were a helpless victim, now you decided that two can play at this game.

after he arrived home, you spent the evening ignoring him. when he passed through the living room you didn’t look up from your phone, despite wanting to peek at his hips as he walked by.

you made dinner for yourself only. humming softly to soothe yourself and distract yourself from the fact that you were dying inside.

when nine pm hit, you began getting ready. styling your braid out, putting on a little black dress, and heels you knew he liked.

you felt him watching you from the hallway. perfect.

he stepped inside of the doorway, arms crossed, jaw radiating nothing but irritation.

“where do you think you’re going?”

he really emphasized the “think”

“out.”

“with who?”

“some friends.”

he let out an amused chuckle as he dropped his arms.

“you aren’t goin’ anywhere.”

“you won’t talk to me or touch me so who cares? i deserve to have fun.”

you were standing in front of the door now, waiting for him to move out of the way and let you out.

he didn’t.

“so after all this time you didn’t learn your lesson? still trying to throw yourself at other men??”

the argument exploded.

“don’t you dare do that.”

“do what Michael! what the hell have i done to you, please explain.”

his silence after was worse than any rebuttal he could’ve had. you could see how he was trying to stay kind and calm even though he was pissed after being provoked for days.

“you don’t get to punish me like this. you don’t get to make me beg to be wanted. you’re cruel, Michael.”

his jaw flexed as your voice trembled.

“you think i don’t want you? you think thats what this is?”

your mental was reacting in a way you didn’t like. all of your defiance was gone.

“so then tell me what this is.”

he crossed his arms again.

“its just as you said…punishment.”

you dropped to your knees in front of him, holding onto his belt as an anchor.

“so forgive me, Michael.”

tears.

“please just forgive me, i’m so sorry.”

more tears.

“i just want to be normal. please just touch me…talk to me.”

he dropped his arms once more. looked down on you. really looked down on you, as if you were a dog that needed to be put out of its misery.

he turned, and left.

you began a crying fit, gasping in disbelief. how could he? how could he become Lucifer in only 3 days?

you followed him, eyes streaming with tears, legs shaky and weak.

in the den he sat on the couch, legs spread. his voice was kind again, like how it was before the party.

“on your knees. here.”

he gestured toward the floor in front of him.

you did as he said, still wiping tears from your eyes.

he helped you.

he wiped stray tears from your jawline away with his thumb.

“its okay. don’t cry.”

he muttered, trailing his thumb across your plump lips, looking at them as if they were old friends he couldn’t wait to hang out with again.

he unbuttoned his pants. it was so hard that it sprung out, standing up straight in the air between you two.

he began stroking. very very softly, even moving a bit forward to bring it closer to your face, careful not to let his length touch you yet.

“tell me you love me.”

“i love you.”

you whispered immediately, a tear falling from your eye.

“i love you so much, Michael.”

Michael let out a shaky needy moan. a moan of satisfaction. his tip began to leak more.

“tell me you’re mine.”

“i’m yours baby, i love you, i’m only yours.”

you leaned in and rested your cheek on his knee, one hand gently rubbing his calf in slow, soothing motions, trying to keep him comfortable while he stroked himself over your face. he kept mumbling, voice wavering at times.

“why would you want to hurt me like that? dressing like that, trying to leave me…”

his eyes were so beautiful, ever so slightly filling with tears. you didn’t realize he cared this much.

“you ruined me. i touched myself every night thinking about you, you didn’t even check on me. you did this to me…”

his hips twitched up into his fist on accident, he stroked faster for a few moments. the wet sounds filled the room, filled your brain, filled your heart. you were so happy that he was feeling better.

“watch me baby, okay?”

he continued the long strokes. base to tip, thumb caressing his tip on every upstroke, spreading each bead of precum that leaked from the pretty little slit at the top until every vein glistened.

his moans became more and more broken.

his hand became faster and faster.

“asking me to fuck you this morning like a slut? taunting me like that- mhmph- yeah, stay right there.”

some long strokes, some short strokes around the tip, occasional squeezes around the base as he stopped himself from nutting all over your face a couple times.

his breathing became a little irregular, his thighs began to tense. precum was steady now, a few drops landing on your lips as you sat obediently, trying to help your baby feel better.

his moans became erratic.

he stood.

“open for me, please… baby, open.”

just as you parted your lips, Michael slid into your mouth and fucked into it with long strokes. he immediately threw his head back in pleasure.

“oh my… good girl… missed that mouth so fucking much, you hurt me so bad baby- why?”

tears resumed falling down your face as he fucked deeper, making your whole head move with his hips. slobber flowing down your chin and down the side of your neck as the wet, muffled sounds of your mouth being used as a sex toy filled the den.

you knew he liked the noises. you liked them too. he liked that you couldn’t speak, or else you’d choke on his dick.

he threw his head back as he kept fucking your face, getting about 11 more strokes in before your throat started feeling too good.

he pulled out, stroking fast over your face as you messily pushed the excess spit out of your mouth, sending it slithering down your chin like a pornstar. he was having trouble looking at you, it was all too much. too perfect. he whimpered as he painted your face, at the end placing his tip on your forehead triumphantly.

he dragged his tip over one of the ropes he left on your cheek.

“help me clean baby. eat the cum off my dick, okay?”

you licked every drop off his dick as he guided the tip across your face, moaning affectionately as your face became cleaner while you two worked together.

he stood you up and walked you to the bathroom. he grabbed a towel from the closet, wet it with warm water, stood behind you in the mirror, and cleaned your face, neck, and chest. it was so messy he had to get a second towel.

after that, you two fell asleep, skin to skin.

“please don’t hurt me like that again. i love you too much.”

“im sorry, mikey.”

𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟

The end.

tags: @liberiangirl7 @violentvirgosgroove @myfavoriteflavorchocolate

[blkkbratt]

Heyyy,I love your work! I just wanted to ask if you could do a Pervy!Jackie x Reader except reader isn't oblivious or ditzy at all and entertains it. Maybe even the brothers know something is up but they dont know the extent? Thank you so muchh

🍫pairings: Jackie Jackson x black!reader

🍫contains: explicit content, pervbsf!jackie,

🍫summary: Jackie think he slick but little did he know you’ve been caught on!

°❀⋆Perv!bsf Jackie who makes you sit on his lap whenever and wherever. Sometimes the brothers would side eye you both. “Y’all dating yet?” Marlon asked. “Man, you know we friends.” Jackie said, large hand resting on your thigh, enjoying the warmth radiating from your clothed pussy. Right above the bulge in his pants. He thought you didn’t notice as you giggled and shifted in lap. Not realizing you shifted just to feel him press against you more.

°❀⋆Perv!bsf Jackie who couldn’t help but notice your tiny skirt as you two watched a comedy movie. He could just imagine sliding his fingers right under to access your soft pussy. He brushed it from his head focusing back on to the movie. You, who noticed his lustful eyes, swung your legs on his lap, not sparing him a second glance. Your skirt rode up, giving him a view of your red panties. “New panties, ma?” He questioned. You nodded with a smile, spreading your legs for him to see more. “Your favorite color too!” Your calf rubbed against his rising erection and he lifted his hips a bit, slyly grinding his hips into you. Rather than pulling away, you pressed down farther, hearing a sharp exhale come from him.

°❀⋆Perv!bsf Jackie who tossed his head against his headboard trying not to thrust his hips against your head that rested on his boner. You nuzzled your head farther into him feeling the hard and firm bulge against your cheek. playing as if you were getting comfortable. He rested his hand on your back, taking a shaky breath. Slow circles on your skin as if he was comforting you. You lifted your hips a bit, becoming noticeable in his peripheral. He couldn’t help as his hand drifted down your body, landing on the fat of your ass, and began rubbing. A hidden smirk formed on your lips. He fought the urge to slide his fingers inside of you, while his dick was down your throat, if only he knew that’s exactly what you wanted.

°❀⋆Perv!bsf Jackie who asks you to help him search for his headphones. “You look under the bed.” He pointed and you didn’t hesitate to agree. His hands patted around his desk, not even looking where he was touching. His eyes were fixated on you crawling on all fours, arching your back and pushing you ass up to fit your upper half under his bed. Your shorts rise, showcasing the soft skin of your butt. Seeing absolutely nothing under his bed, you still have a show, turning every which of way, moving your hips. Your jean shorts molded your folds, giving him a view of your covered pussy. “Jackie, I think I’m stuck.” You sighed. He trudged over, licking his lips before kneeling behind. “Let me help you, mama.”

°❀⋆Perv!bsf Jackie who couldn’t take his eyes off the butterfly tramp stamp displayed towards him. Your back faced him, shirt tugged upwards revealing the ink. “It’s so pretty, mama.” His hand felt warm against your waist as he kept you still to look at it, eyes drifting towards your jeans that hugged your ass every so often. “It’s a bit sore, can you kiss it?” You asked, looking back at him with a furrow in your brows. “I got you.” He muttered while leaning to press a soft kiss to the ink. His hands eased down, thumbs pressing into your plump ass.

°❀⋆Perv!bsf Jackie who jumped at the offer to help you after you said a man never made you cum. Soft wet squelching of his fingers pumping into you surrounded the room. You arched your back against his chest, as you felt the knot build up in your stomach. “I see them legs shaking baby, give it to me.” He whispered, leaving a soft kiss on the shell of your ear. “F-fuck Jackie!” You cried out, coating his fingers in your orgasm.

Taglist: @swavydadon, @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression, @delicate-ray-of-sunshine, @angelfacediary, @burrowsbaddie0609, @bigsisbria, @uh444, @savagenctzen, @syrndollie, @kissmyglxck, @backlikearash2, @strangeinyouuuu, @gogoyubari888, @4ngelonmars, @multifandomposts-blog, @tojiswifeforlife, @dollthoughtz, @bangchanunofficial, @killathrxlla, @starliqhtsworld, @imbetterinstereo, @brillionnillion, @tiredasfk, @freaky1nterlude, @softchaosdiary505, @superstar-t20, @crypytlc, @areaniee, @blacclotusss, @michaelsbabymother, @whyxo, @gingerrsnapp, @nobleumbrashrine, @theyluvchanel, @princesspluuto, @sayyoulovemeziya, @luxechaos, @prettygirlwmula, @veewhomismichaelspyt, @yeaiamme2, @pnd-luvr, @valentinaaaapple, @mrsjacks0nn, @pumpkinlover07, @xoxookaii, @mjsfavetomboyy, @peachtreeinthegarden, @iiamjzz8, @imsweetaspie, @pixieelixer-24

Keep tiny font or nah?

KEEP IT

sista I can’t see

Voting ended onAug 1

[neocharm]

otw!michael smut x asfab reader

WARNING, THIS WRITING CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING…

OTW!era Michael, implied first time for Michael, mentions of him being big so maybe size!kink?, accidental creampie, unprotected sex, accidental dumbification, p!in!v and more. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, GO AWAY! I WILL BLOCK YOU! if any of these things are triggering to you, please look away.

Fem pet names used, plus size friendly, no mentions of size, height or shape. Black women friendly, no mentions of skin tone, hair color, hair type, or hair coverings/wraps. Intended for black women🤎 I know I was supposed to post like three fics and I’ve been posting just like drabbles and stuff, but I’m constantly getting stomped so plz forgive me😭I promise that thriller era and mature era fic is still coming. Also, this is unedited so please ignore any mistakes! I hope you enjoy, sorry for any mistakes this is unedited. Reblogs, comments, likes are all appreciated. Constructive criticism is always welcomed, enjoy! 🩷

Michael is completely unaware that he’s fucking you dumb. He doesn’t mean to at all, he’s so deep, fucking you nice and slow-, hard but pacing himself. He has no idea how he’s drilling every thought away. “You feel good love? Hm?” He genuinely expects a response, looking at you with his brows knotted and his big doe eyes full of love. He expected for this to be a romantic experience for the both of you, to be present in one another. But when he sees your eyes rolling back, mouth agape and notices the way your breathing has become labored, it dawns on him just how good you feel. At least a little anyway.

“You’re so b-beautiful, baby.” He praises, half expecting you to look at him with those pretty eyes and thank him. Instead, a whine purrs from your throat—long and quiet—as you shake your head and push again him with weak hands. He’s almost worried. He’s never seen you make a face like that before or heard you make a sound like that before. It’s so sexy. It only gets worse when he shifts, bringing his body even closer—as if possible—and his thick length slips even deeper inside of you.

A gasp finally cuts through, bringing you back for a moment long enough for you to babble out to him. “M-Michael—Michael, Michael Michael.” You chant his name, hand out stretched but not touching him as he contemplates stopping to allow you to think. “To-Too big…so-s-so big.” His fat cock presses against your gummy walls, right underneath your clit as he nudges your soft cervix. You almost can’t take it. The way he splits you open and fills you completely, reaching so deep inside of you, makes your whole body tremble as he stops to make sure you’re okay.

“Does it hurt, pretty?” He’s so oblivious to what he’s doing. He leans down and caresses your face, still buried deep inside of you as he strokes your cheek. Your body is shivering, you jerk as you whimper and shake your head. He’s so fucking big but it feels so good.

“Pl-Please don’t stop Michael, please.” Your passionate begging is all he needs to hear for him to start again. Those slow strokes torture you, he’s being so careful. It’s his first time and although you don’t seem to be in pain now, he doesn’t want to cause you even a slither of discomfort. But then you ask for him to go faster-, no, no-, you BEG for him to go faster. Through heavy breathing you plead with him, looking into his eyes as he begins to lose the piece of himself that was too shy to even hold your hand two months ago. The sight, the sound and your scent drive him wild. His hips grow a mind of their own as he begins to fuck you faster, completely melting as his hips snap forward in a rhythmic pace.

“Li-Like this? Is…Is this good?” This time he knows you won’t respond, when he looks at you he can see it all over your face. Twisted in pleasure as ecstasy washes over you, there isn’t a thought behind those eyes. And the longer he watches you, feeling your soft warm walls flutter and squeeze around him, the faster he goes. Giving into the pleasure that creeps up his spine. “F-Feels so good—feel so…you feel s-so good.” His words are punctuated by his thrusts, unintentionally drilling into you. Every stroke dissolved the logic in your mind. Not even one thought could form before it was fucked out of you. This time when you reached out to him he caught your hand and held it against his chest, then brought it up to his lips to kiss it. The passionate gesture only made it harder for you to form a coherent sentence. The bed rocked and hit the wall, shaking and squeaking as you moaned and silently mouthed his name. “S-So good. Such—such a pretty g-girl takin’ me so good...” He murmurs almost to himself.

He can feel it too. That mind numbing pleasure and that tingle up his spine. Every time he slams into you the air is knocked out your lungs and it spurs him on more to hear you gasp for air. “S-So…deep…s’too deep.” Your words are slurred, drool trailing down your cheek as he pushed your legs back and squeezed your thighs tightly. His anxious hands gripping and groping anywhere he could grab as he felt himself growing closer. Your walls hugged him so tightly, your love—hot and creamy—coating him as your heart raced like crazy in your chest. You were so close. So fucking close. You slapped your hand against the bed, waving the other and hitting his chest as you tossed your head side to side and almost cried out to him. You couldn’t take it. He was fucking you so good, your brain felt like mush.

“B-Baby…m’gunna c-cum…m’so close.” He warned, he knew he should pull out. You were both in such a rush to have sex that he wasn’t even wearing a condom. But the moment he said that your legs wrapped around his waist and locked him there. “g-gunna…gunna c-cum insi—inside…” He whispered as a warning to himself. Yet, he didn’t stop. In fact, when you cried out that you were close he fucked you faster and harder, pressing your body into the mattress as he drilled himself into you. It only took a few heavy thrusts—so deep your breathing staggered. Your walls batted around him and something bursted inside of you. Rushing out as your vision went blurry and your body tensed. You came around him with no warning, the warm embrace and the mess you were making was his doom. Before he could pull out Michael felt it. His abdomen tightened and a chill ran up his spine, his body jerked and he planted himself deep inside of you as hot ropes of sticky cum flooded you. Deep and pulsing as he came inside of you till he was completely drained.

He didn’t pull out right away. He held you, stroking your head as the both of you caught your breath and lied in the sticky mess of love. The buzzing feeling felt like it was loud last forever, your bodies could’ve fused together and Michael wouldve been in heaven. His mind was still in a state of bliss, not nearly as foggy but still oozing with ecstasy when he finally spoke.

“Sorry if I got carried away.” His tone is thick and lazy, voice a gentle breeze as he almost whispers to you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” It takes you a moment to finally land back on earth with him, but when you do you assure him that youd never felt better.

“You were amazing Michael.” Your praise fills him with wan overwhelming warmth. He’s already on cloud nine, but hearing you say that made him feel higher than he thought he could ever be. “I loved every second of it.” You proclaimed. A shy smile tugged at his two toned lips as he listened to you so passionately speak. “I don’t think it could get any better.” You continue to shower him in press, watching as he reverted back into that adorable shyness.

“S-Stop it, you’re embarrassin’ me…” That thick accent slipped through, making you smile as he let out a breathless laugh and hid his face in your neck.

“You’re so cute Michael.”

[maturehotgf]

i am your toy, i am your boy. where michael gets bratty and jealous when he thinks your co-worker is taking the title of being your favorite boy and he's just not having it but neither are you. 18+ mdni.

this is based off the toy by mikey! that song just gives pouty boy bratty micheal fr and also this is for giving me 100 followers! so sub!michael for the win and this is baby thriller mike era or bad bratty boy mike era! (sorry this is so late i fell asleep LMAO)

beep beep beep! the sound of your alarm made which woke you and michael up.

michael groaned at the sound and put his head under the pillow trying to tune out the sound and you lazily opened your eyes to see the clock read 6:30 am. you sighed and turned off the alarm.

michael had his arm around your waist from when you guys had fell asleep last night trying to keep you by his side and he gripped you tighter when he felt you slowly leaving the bed to get ready for work.

you laughed lightly at his action knowing michael hated when you went to work. he wanted you to be with him 24/7.

he wanted to be in your skin if he could to be honest.

"michael, baby i have to go to work." you said trying to get him to let you go.

instead of responding to you, he began snoring louder. you shook your head at his dramatic antics and lifted his arm out your way to leave from the bed.

he immediately went from under the pillow to see you walking to the bathroom to start getting ready for work.

he furrowed his eyebrows and got out the bed to follow you.

you entered the bathroom and started to brush your teeth until you see michael behind you in the mirror preparing to give you a hard time with his arms folded by his chest and leaning between the door way.

you raised your eyebrows at him with your toothbrush in your mouth. "hello?" you muffled looking at him from the bathroom mirror.

"can't you just take the day off?" he whined and you rolled your eyes at such question.

you finished brusing your teeth and washing your mouth out to turn around to face michael.

"no, i can not michael. neither can you either. you need to start getting ready also before you be late again to the school." you said walking out the bathroom passing michael making you way to the closet to find something to wear for work.

you had your own book publishing company for children's books and michael had his own performing arts school for children also. you guys were always working especially michael.

some nights he wouldn't come home till 1:00 in the morning because he would be at so many meetings and public ceremonies that had to with the children while you were at home reading over documents and contracts in your office.

the only time you guys spent time with each other mostly was when you guys were getting ready for bed or getting ready to go to work.

sometimes he would be late on purpose to be with you until you went to work, he usually takes you when he's off to work himself.

michael sighed and made his way to the bed to sit on the edge to watch you shuffle clothes in the closet.

"well, i rather be late to work than not spend another minute with you." he pouted.

you smiled and shook your head while your heart did flips at the statement. you peeked your head out the closet to see him sad on the bed. the sight made you so sad.

you almost considered not going in but you had a important meeting today and you couldn't miss it even if you wanted to.

you walked out and towered michael while he grabbed your waist and held you close to his cheek that rested on your stomach.

you massaged his curly hair while he embraced you. "oh baby, i want to be home all day with you too but you know i have my meeting today and it's really important. i can't miss it." you explained to him.

"i know. how about i see you on my lunch? we could go to your favorite restuarant." michael suggested looking up at you with those doe eyes that you just can't say no to.

"of course, my big baby." you teased bending down kissing him passionately on his lips.

"and maybe we can sneak somewhere to show each other how much we really miss eachother." michael said smirking against your lips.

you rolled your eyes at him and his dirty remark. "you're so nasty." you said removing yourself from his embrace and continuing to get ready to leave.

"only for you!" he said loudly while you went back into the closet.

you made it to work and you had just finished your meeting you were in your office with your co worker john while you guys dicussed over the books that needed to be published.

"i think we should wait on that book, it's not quite ready yet." you said reading over the pages that was sent over from the author. john laughed.

"mrs. jackson, we can't keep pushing back the date and plus you've read over those pages for a hour now." he said taking the large packet from you.

you chuckled at him and your perfectionism. "i know, i know but it has to be relatable to the kids and their imagination you know? i really care about them and their opinion." you explained passionately.

"i can see. i completely understand." john said signing off documents. "have you and mr jackson thought about kids?" he asked curious.

you smiled knowing how much of a dream that was for both of you.

"yes, all the time. he wants 18 of them but i don't where the hell he's going to get them from. damn sure not me." you said which made john laugh harder.

michael had pulled up to your company building later than usual meeting you for lunch but also concerned because you didn't call to remind him as usual.

he assumed you were still in that meeting so he didn't really sweat the thought.

once he entered the building, he went up to the receptionist desk.

"hi, mr jackson! mrs. jackson is in her office you can go right in!" the receptionist said buzzing him in.

he smiled at her. "thank you jen!" he said walking towards your office.

as he walked to your office, he starts to slow down and furrow his eyebrows when he sees you were already eating lunch with your co- worker.

it stung his heart immediately. he has been waiting to spend this little time with you knowing how busy you guys were and you were spending it with someone else.

which also had him thinking if that who was taking your time from him.

michael started to heat up and he stormed inside your office which made you and john jump up startled.

you looked up happy to see michael not knowing he was indeed not happy to see you.

you got up from your desk and made your way over to michael to give him a kiss but he moved his head away.

you looked confused by the sudden rejection. "baby, is everything alright?" you asked rubbing his arm up and down but he moved his arm also which really made you bothered.

"i don't know is everything alright?" he asked you with irritation laced in his voice as he bumped you out the way with his shoulder to sit on the couch in your office.

john looked over at you and then michael and you shrugged your shoulders in confusion while mouthing "i don't know?" at the sudden attitude.

michael side eye the interaction "don't look at her confused now." michael slyly remarked.

you turned your head so fast at michael like he lost his mind talking to your employees like that. "mr jackson-"

"i don't want to hear your explanation as to why your in my wife's office laughing having lunch." he interrupted.

"michael, stop it now." you demanded not allowing anymore disrespect from him.

he scoffed at you and rolled his eyes. "you want me to be nice to a man who's in your office alone with you?" he said directing his attention to the magazine in his hands.

"michael, it don't matter who's alone in my office with me you do not come in here being rude to anybody" you aruged getting angry at his attitude.

"yeah, just like you don't care if your husband sees you or not." he mumbled.

"michael what the hell are you... you know what, john can you excuse us?" you said trying not to cause a scene in your office.

john smiled nervously and grabbed some documents then left out the office closing the door behind him.

you went over to lock it and made your way infront of michael who was ignoring your anger by skimming through the magazine.

"michael what the hell is the issue?" you asked but michael was being a jerk by still skimming through the magazine purposely ignoring you knowing that sends you through the roof.

you snatched the magazine out his hand and threw it across the room. "what the fuck is your problem?" you repeated as he looked up at you with his arms crossed like kid throwing a temper tantrum.

"why do you care what my problem is now? you didn't care when he was in the room nor did you care when i didn't show up to take you to lunch." he explained.

you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. "michael, i told you-"

"you were not in a meeting! don't give me that bullshit!" he said loudly lifting up from the couch.

"stop yelling in my office now michael i'm not playing with you." you said squinting your eyes at him walking towards your desk

"why?! why can't i yell now?! you don't want everybody to know the real reason you aren't at home anymore?!" he aruged following you behind you.

"michael, my whole fucking life does not revolve around you okay?! i have shit i have to do just like you and you can not throw temper tantrums like a child when someone doesn't give you the slightest bit of attention! " you aruged to michael.

"if something like that upsets you so bad i don't know how you're gonna get through anything!" you continued letting out your anger caused by him.

he looked at you very shocked and hurt. "you promised me that time! you said yes when i asked you! you lied to me! and your mad at me?!" he yelled.

you slammed your papers that you had in your hands on the desk and looked at michael with the most angriest look you've ever had because he would just not stop.

he was pressing your buttons, getting under you skin and you were about to pop.

"stop fucking whining and get out my office, i don't want to hear you anymore and your dumb ass reasons on why you are acting like a big ass child!" you yelled pointing at the door.

he huffed at you and sped towards the door. "i guess your going to be working late again with john huh?" he slyly said not ending the arugment.

you rolled your eyes and looked at him with squinted eyes. you smirked at him knowing the arugment is way past a disagreement with michael. you guys were now full on in war.

"yeah i am and don't even worry about dinner because i'll be having it here also." you said not even caring about how he felt anymore because he just pushed you at your limit.

his jaw clenched so hard you could the veins popping out his neck. he swallowed the lump in his throat and he exited your office slamming the door.

you sighed loudly while running your hands over your face knowing when you got home michael was officially going to make your night a living hell but you weren't going to let him and he also knew that also.

hours later, you pulled up in your driveway and sat there for a while trying to mentally prepare yourself for the battlefield you were about enter on.

you got out the car and made your way inside. you seen michael watching tv in the living room eating popcorn not greeting you like he always did.

he had his feet propped up on your table in the living room knowing that's a pet peeve of yours.

you sighed really not having the energy to start with him. "can you please take your feet off the table michael?" you asked him exhausted by his behavior.

he ignored you. obviously.

you rolled your eyes and made your way to the room and slamming the door in the process.

you plopped yourself on the edge of the bed and took your heels off.

you tried to calm yourself down not trying let him get you all riled up like he did at work.

you began taking off your clothes that was leaving you in your bra and panties and you walked over to your vanity to start preparing yourself to get ready for bed until you got an idea.

you went into your drawer and remembered that you had a vibrator you had bought one time for shits and giggles with your friends.

you devilishly smirked. you knew exactly how to win this war once and for all.

you took it out then looked at your door.

you got up from the vanity immediately and went outside the door to look out over the staircase to see michael still holding a grudge.

you mentally smiled as you realized the ball was in your court.

"michael are you sleeping in the guest room tonight?" you asked.

he ignored you.

"are you still mad?" you kept questioning trying to check the temperature.

you were still ignored.

he scoffed at your attempts to make conversation with him thinking that he would forgive you that easily but he didn't know he was going to be the one begging for the forgivness.

you went back to the room slightly cracking the door so that he can peek through it.

you went back to your vanity and fixed your makeup, putting more red lipstick on and applying the perfume he liked on.

once you finished, you made your way to the bed and got comfortable.

you stared at the vibrator like it was a ancient artfifact, you never thought you would have to use it to make your husband behave.

you turned on the toy and you realized it had higher settings.

you eyes widened at such invention, you loved your husband you did but you started to wonder why you've never used it when he was away especially when you missed him.

you first tried at the lowest setting and started lowering it down in between your legs. you spreaded your legs wide to where if michael peeked through the crack of the door he can get a good view.

you took your finger and hooked your panties to the side while you moved the vibrator up and down your clit. teasing yourself.

you exhaled loudly after holding your breathe for so long, you keep the motion to lubricate yourself before you turned it up so you can insert in yourself.

you propped up on your elbows watching the toy do it's work. you began to heat up and getting more turned on at the scene.

you started to moan a little bit enough to where michael could hear you a little bit.

you turned up the setting and putting it towards your aching hole then insert it inside that you made you moan so loud that michael definitetly couldn't ignore it.

"fuck!" you moaned as you started pumping the toy in and out of you.

michael heard you from downstairs and immediately turned off the tv to see what was going on with you.

he slowly walked up the stairs as he heard "oh my god.." "fuck.." "ohhh..." the moans made him hard. harder than rock.

he made his way to the top to see the door cracked and peeked through to see you masturbating with a toy. his eyes widened.

you were rubbing your breast with one hand fucking yourself with the other. michael started to get hot and his pants began getting tighter.

the more you rode the toy, the more he was aroused. he's never seen you like this before. he always was there to please you the way you wanted. he was your toy.

he started unknowingly rubbing himself through his slacks trying to relieve the pain he was feeling needing to be inside of you. he moaned softly as he watched you.

you opened your eyes to see michael watching you through the peek just like you imagined. you smirked once you saw him palming himself at you and you moaned louder teasing him "oh yes michael!"

once he heard his name, he couldn't take another moment not being inside of you.

he walked inside the room then kicked off his shoes pants and shirt trying to speed his way to the bed with you.

he crawled on the bed slowly on his knees to get in between your lrgs but you pushed him back with your foot.

"baby, please i need you." he whined trying to go past your foot but your strength did not let him.

you kept the motion of your wrist pushing in and out keeping the vibrator inside of you hitting your spongy spot which was making you out of breath.

"n-no you don't deserve it" you tried to say while you kept pleasuring yourself.

"baby please." he begged just trying to feel the warmth inside of you.

you stopped the vibrator and lifted yourself up more to look him in his eyes.

"i said no. you don't want to act right you don't get to touch me." you said with authority laced in your voice.

"actually..." you said while biting your lip.

"come here." you said making the motion with your fingers while putting the toy in the drawer on your nightstand.

michael gulped nervously and went towards you in between your legs.

"turn around. lay your back on my chest." you demanded. he did what was told and waited for the next move your were going to do.

"you are going to explain why you were being such a baby today and if you stop i'm not going to let you cum. do you understand?" you said while pulling him out of his boxers.

he shudder at the sudden touch of your thumb running over his tip that was leaking with precum.

"yes. i understand." he agreed just wanting something to be done to him.

you began rubbing him up and down slowly and his head fell back into your chest. he began to thrust his hips inside your hand but you stopped. "do not move. talk." you said in his ear.

he nodded and tried to keep his composure.

you started rubbing him up and down again with a slow twist motion included. "i- i was upset that-" he tried to explain as you keep teasing him the slow motion that you were peforming on him.

"are you stopping?" you asked getting ready to stop again he shook his head fast. "no- no." he replied fast.

you kept going now speeding up the pace a little bit more. “i was upset you were um-" he stuttered trying to bite his moans. “you were with another man instead of me” he finally answered so you would not stop.

you now went a little more faster than before on him which made him finally let out his moans.

“oh baby” he moaned out with his eyes closed shut trying to enjoy the pleasure of the moment.

“awe baby that’s all you were mad about?” you asked teasingly while kissing him on neck softly which made him harder than before.

“yes baby yes.” he responded sneakily grinding his hips inside of your hand. you didn’t stop him.

“you know your my favorite boy right?” you said while going from kissing his neck to sucking on it lightly now.

he opened his eyes to look at the way your were getting him off through hazy vision getting close to cumming all over your hand.

he gripped the bed tightly while he imagined your hand was him inside of you.

“yes i know” he moaned out. “say it michael baby, say your my favorite boy come on.” you whispered in his ear as you stroked faster and faster feeling his release.

“i’m your favorite boy! i’m your favorite boy baby please” he pleaded.

“now say you’re sorry and you won’t ever ever throw temper tantrum like that again.” you said slowing down your pace so you can make sure he says it.

he felt that your pace was stopping and he pouted. “i’m sorry baby i’m sorry i won’t do it again just let me cum please.” he begged.

you smirked and went back to the original pace. “you are such a good boy mikey. i love you.” you said now helping him get back to his release.

“i love you too baby” he said breathless by your touch again.

as you kept going, he said loads of i love yous and i’m sorries and he promised to never cause a scene like that again but knowing michael that wasn’t going to register until you really punished him.

but for now, you’ll let him cum and be satisfied tonight.

because you weren’t going to sleep alone mad at him and you wasn’t going to allow it for him. that’s not how you guys worked.

the love always outweighed the hurt was the motto of your guys relationship.

“baby i need to cum please.” he notified seeing if he had permission.

“go head mikey it’s okay” you whispered in his ear watching him get ready to unravel.

“thank you! thank you so much!” he moaned loudly while he begin to cum all over your hand.

loads of it came out as you rubbed his sensitive tip.

it went everywhere on his stomach, around his pubic area, on your hand and even on his thigh.

he grinded into your hand riding out his orgasm and making sure all of it came out of him.

once he finished, he got up off of you and ran to the bathroom to clean himself out of embarrassment.

you laughed at him knowing he always did that. you took some wipes you had in your nightstand and cleaned your hand off.

he came out of the bathroom making his way towards you trying to kiss you on your neck but you stopped him with your hands on his lips.

he looked at you confused. “what?” he mumbled behind your hand at your rejection.

“no no no you my sir you are on punishment! no nookie cookie for 2 weeks!” you smirked booping his nose then getting under the covers to get comfortable for bed

“punishment?! 2 weeks?! baby, i just said sorry!” he said while crawling on the other side of the bed trying to justify himself.

you turned off the lamp and turned on your side where your back was facing him.

“sorry doesn’t cut it!” you said really putting him over the edge.

“yes it does! baby don’t do this! this is not fair!” he whined throwing a temper tantrum once again

you turned around to see exactly what you said earlier.

“is that a attitude i hear? i can add on another 3 weeks.” you said making sure he didn’t want that.

his eyes widened and immediately shook his head. “no, no not all! you don’t hear anything!” he smiled giving you a fast kiss on your cheek.

“hmm, thought so.” you said turning back around.

he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you in his embrace.

“can i eat it during the punishment?” he asked which had you busting out laughing.

“goodnight michael.” you said closing your eyes trying to drift to sleep.

“please? it’s not sex!” he begged.

you laughed softly “maybe. you might be able to if you have good behavior.” you replied to him.

he kissed you really hard on your cheek and hugged you tightly. you laughed softly.

“i’ll start cleaning the house first thing tomorrow.” he said falling asleep. “i love you goodnight”

you shook your head and giggled.

“i love you too dummy.”

[michaeldiary]

　　﹕   (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈)   ┈  neapolitan prince syndrome.

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ thrad era! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ summary : michael’s feeling a bit insecure because his vitiligo is starting to affect his private parts and it’s making you spiral because you haven’t gotten dick in months so you think you’re the problem. fortunately for him? you think his dick is still pretty and you’re still going to slobber on it and show him a REAL thriller night.

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ byi : smut 🔞, michael’s vitiligo is the main point of “conflict”, oral sex (male receiving), shy michael, reader is high strung and a little ditzy (bimbo), a little bit of angst if you squint. some self esteem issues. had fun writing this!

The first few times, you didn’t think much of it.

Michael was busy and exhausted, that was expected. Michael had always carried the entertainment industry on his back, and it wasn’t unusual for work to follow him home. So, when he rolled over with an apologetic smile or distracted you with a kiss against your forehead before things could go any further, you accepted it without question.

Then weeks became months.

The affection never disappeared. If anything, it seemed to increase. Michael still reached for your hand in public. Still pulled you against him on the couch. Still buried his face in your neck when he came home after long days. He still looked at you with love so obvious that you could see tiny little hearts in his pupils. Yet somewhere along the way, a distance had developed between you. Not emotional distance but physical distance. You know.. sexually. Every time the relationship threatened to cross a certain.. threshold, he found a reason to retreat.

Michael took care of you in other ways though: his hands, his mouth, even his thigh but you couldn’t remember the last time he really fucked you. Or, actually maybe you could! It was about three months ago—you rode him at four in the morning before he had to get ready for an early morning flight out to attend an award show. But that’s not the point here! The point is, when he came back, things changed. And of course, you enjoyed the alternatives but there is truly nothing like feeling all six inches of his dick digging into you.

And at first, you blamed circumstances.

Eventually, you started blaming yourself.

The following weeks were a disaster, diva.

You changed your hair, changed it again. Then you became convinced the first version had actually looked better and spent three days mourning it. You switched nail colors so many times that your nail tech eventually stopped asking questions and just started staring at you with growing concern because you were starting to work her nerves. Long nails! Short nails! Red! Pink! Nude! French tips! Nothing seemed helped. Every appointment had the optimism of a woman who was genuinely convinced that the solution to her problems might be hiding inside a bottle of acrylic powder. It never was.

You bought new clothes.

You rearranged your makeup routine.

You spent a ridiculous amount of (his <3) money on skincare products advertised by women who were so obviously professionally done in makeup.

At one point, you became convinced that a boob job would somehow save your relationship.

A boob job would not save your relationship but mostly because your relationship wasn’t actually in danger. But to be fair, you just didn’t know that yet.

The problem was that once insecurity took root, it became impossible to think normally. Suddenly every mirror was an enemy, every picture of yourself fueled your dilemma and every minor flaw you found turned into a very big one. You stood in front of mirrors turning your head from side to side like a confused puppy.

Maybe it was your hair.

Maybe it was your body.

Maybe your skin looked weird.

Maybe your face looked weird.

Maybe you needed botox?

The theories became increasingly unhinged.

By the end of the second month, you had somehow managed to convince yourself that Michael no longer desired you because of a collection of microscopic imperfections that literally nobody else on Earth had ever noticed. The longer Michael avoided sex, the easier it became to convince yourself that there had to be a reason. A person didn’t simply wake up one day and stop wanting someone they loved.

So naturally, the explanation had to be you.

There was simply no other possibility.

Certainly not Michael Jackson, like.. thee Michael Jackson? Get real. A man who instinctively apologizes to inanimate objects after bumping into them. A man who asks you to send his food back because he doesn’t want the staff to feel bad. A man whose default response to conflict is both palms up and hoping the issue is resolved without much confrontation.

No. Clearly the issue wasn’t him.

By the time Michael finally came home from the studio that night, you’d already prosecuted the case, delivered the verdict, and sentenced yourself accordingly. The only problem was that nobody had bothered informing the defendant.

Michael knew something was wrong the moment he walked through the front door.

And not because you said anything weird. In fact, the opposite. You greeted him with a bright smile and an enthusiastic, “Hi, baby!” before immediately returning to furiously wiping down a perfectly clean kitchen counter. The surrounding area smelled aggressively of purple fabuloso. Every surface sparkled pristinely, the furniture had been rearranged—there wasn’t a single thing out of place.

Michael glanced at the clock on the stove. It was nearly two in the morning and exhaustion lingered in the slope of his shoulders. The Bad sessions had been consuming him lately, turning days into nights and nights into mornings. Normally he returned home looking drained, tonight however, the fatigue seemed to disappear the second he got a proper look at you.

He smiled to himself.

Stress cleaning.

He’s learned this quirk of yours long ago. Stress cleaning only happened when something was deeply upsetting that pretty little heart of yours. Normal people cried. Some people yelled. You wanted to flip houses. And that was okay.

“How was the studio?” you asked cheerfully, already moving on to a cabinet door that did not need cleaning. Michael slowly set his bag down on the kitchen island. The smile on your face looked.. suspiciously forced and assembled in a hurry, your eyes red and puffy.

“It was real good.”

“That’s good.” You continued scrubbing.

For a few moments, Michael kept watching you. The way you moved from one task to another without actually accomplishing anything. The way you wiped surfaces that were already spotless. The way your smile appeared and disappeared depending on whether you thought he was looking. A lesser man might have missed it. Michael didn’t.

Slowly, he crossed the room. “Baby love.” The nickname was soft, gentle. And it usually made you look at him.

This time, it didn’t.

Michael’s smile faded slightly. He’s worried.

“Hey.” His hand settled lightly against your arm, stopping your endless circuit around the kitchen and only then did you glance up. The concern in his eyes nearly made you cry all over again. After spending weeks convincing yourself that Michael no longer wanted you, it felt deeply unfair that he still looked at you like that. With that stupidly beautiful face like your sadness mattered.

“You okay?” The question was simple.

And you hated it because it would’ve been much easier if he’d been cold. So much easier if he’d actually done something wrong. Instead, here he was. Standing in front of you after a fourteen hour day, still more interested in your feelings than his own exhaustion.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m fine, Mikey.”

Michael tilted his head. Patient. Skeptical. And entirely unconvinced. “You’re not.”

His statement wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t even challenging. Just super matter of fact like noticing rain through a window.

You laughed weakly and turned back toward the counter. “I am.”

“This spot is about sick of you wipin’ it..” Your hand froze and Michael’s mouth twitched. “You wiped it about five times.”

The laugh that escaped you sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Immediately, the hint of amusement vanished from his face. Without saying anything else, he gently took the rag from your hand and set it aside. And he reached for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Michael rested his cheek against the top of your head, one hand slowly smoothing over your back as he held you there. Waiting. Patiently. The way he always did. Because Michael had never been the sort of person who demanded answers.

The problem was that once you finally opened your mouth, you weren’t entirely sure you could stop.

The first sound that escaped you wasn’t a sentence.

It was a wail.

A loud, ugly sob that seemed to surprise even you.

Michael immediately froze.

Because one second he was rubbing slow circles into your back and the next he was staring down at you with wide eyes, completely confused. “Hey..”

“I’ve been tryin’ to fix it!” You managed to get out through your cry.

“Fix what?”

“Whatever’s wrong with me!” You wiped your nose. “I changed my hair. I changed my nails. I bought all those dresses!”

Michael looked bewildered. “Why? Why would you think you need to fix somethin’? There’s nothing wrong with you, pretty girl..”

“Because!” You cry again. “You won’t fuck me!”

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Complete, suffocating silence.

You watched the realization arrive in stages. First confusion, as he tried to understand what you were actually saying. Then understanding. Then immediate, unmistakable embarrassment. His entire face went red so quickly it was almost impressive. The color climbed from his neck to his cheeks and straight into the tips of his ears. Michael looked away at once, suddenly finding the refrigerator, the cabinets, the floor, and quite possibly the structural integrity of the kitchen tiles more interesting than making eye contact.

“Oh.” The word emerged strained.

You sniffled miserably. “’s what I've been talking about this whole time..”

Another pause followed. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more flustered with every passing second. He looked like a man desperately searching for an emergency exit that didn’t exist.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“No, not okay,” He corrected immediately. “I mean..” His voice trailed off and the poor man looked completely mortified.

“That's what this is about?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, Michael!”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.

Because he was embarrassed.

Utterly, completely embarrassed.

For months you’d apparently been carrying this hurt around by yourself, blaming your hair, your nails, your clothes, your body, your face, your existence. Meanwhile, he had been operating under an entirely different misunderstanding. Now he had to explain himself, which unfortunately required discussing a subject that already had him blushing so hard he looked overheated.

The heat spread further down his neck.

“Michael.”

“I’m trying..”

”You’re making me anxious!”

He groaned softly and covered part of his face with one hand. “’m trying to figure out how to say it..”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting back tears because the sight would’ve been funny under different circumstances. Here you were having the emotional breakdown while Michael looked seconds away from dissolving into the floorboards.

“Baby,” he said quietly.

“What is it, Michael?”

His gaze dropped again. “You really thought I didn’t want you.. like that anymore?” The sheer disbelief in his voice almost offended you.

“Well, what was I supposed to think!” The question seemed to connect the dots for him because from your perspective, the conclusion made perfect sense. And suddenly his embarrassment gave way to guilt.

Deep, genuine guilt.

Because now he understood what these past months had looked like through your eyes. You hadn’t been obsessing over your hair or your dresses because you were vain, not that he would even mind anyway. You’d been trying to solve a problem, trying to fix something you believed was wrong with you.

When in reality, it had never been about you at all.

Michael swallowed then looked down at the floor. “It’s spreading.”

Your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

There’s long pause. “The vitiligo.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “It’s spreading.” It seemed like he might stop there, he’d already said more than he wanted to but he forced himself to continue.

“On..” He swallowed. “Those parts.” The blush returned.

“Oh.” Your expression was unreadable.

Michael laughed softly, humorlessly. “It looks different now.” His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “I know it shouldn’t bother me.. but it does.” The words came out small as he continued. “I just..” He shook his head. “It’s ugly.”

You just stared at him and then stared some more. Blinked.

Because you were furious.

Absolutely, incandescently furious.

Months?

You had spent months without his dick, crying in bathroom, changing your hair, buying new clothes, and conducting increasingly deranged investigations into your own appearance while this man had been convincing himself that you would somehow stop loving him.

First of all, you didn’t even play like that.

“Ugly?” You repeated.

Michael visibly shrank. “Lovey, I—”

“Ugly?”

His eyes squeezed shut.

Before Michael could start apologizing, you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Hard. And the sound he made was mostly surprise as you felt it more than heard it.

When you finally pulled back, Michael looked thoroughly stunned, curls slightly disheveled, cheeks still hot.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Okay.” Its all he can say, really.

Another kiss. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

Somewhere between your outrage and Michael’s flustered attempts to explain himself, the conversation dissolved completely. Every time he tried to apologize, you interrupted him with a kiss. Every time he attempted to look away, you guided his attention back. By the time you found yourselves stumbling toward the bedroom, Michael looked overwhelmed in the particular way he always did whenever he realized he was being loved much more aggressively than he’d anticipated.

Michael lingered at the edge of the bed, still looking uncertain with the traces of insecurity that had brought the two of you here in the first place. You could see it in the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the way he avoided your gaze.

You moved closer as you sat between his thighs on your knees. “Michael.”

He glanced up at you. “Show me.”

Michael blushed as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, hesitating before lifting his hips an inch to slide them down along with his boxers in the hooks of his thumbs. His initial reaction when he settled back down was to cover himself, for his big hands to hover protectively over his cock to shield your pretty eyes but he knew better. His hands trembled slightly as he revealed his semi hard cock, glancing up at you with eyes that look like he’s maybe expecting rejection or laughter. But he’s not met with any of that. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes because you’re staring at it and maybe if he closes his eyes, it would make him invisible. Michael knows it won’t but, it makes him feel a little better about exposing the dick he’s hid for months.

He hesitantly reached down, his beautiful fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped them loosely around his length. He gave it a gentle tug upward, his breath hitching at the soft sound that escaped him. The motion was tentative—careful he was unsure if he should even be doing this in the first place. Was this even a good idea? What was he thinking? What are you thinking?

Michael opens his eyes a little, to peek at you. Wait. Why were you looking at him like that? Like you.. like this or something? His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he kept his gaze lowered, unable to meet your gaze.

Because.

The look in your eyes was genuinely humiliating. Women had fought for your right to vote and own property only for you to sit there staring at Michael like you’d never had a coherent thought in your life. The look in your eye wasn’t remotely mysterious. There are novels worth of yearning written across your face.

You looked at him with shameless affection and a viseral need that would’ve embarrassed a lesser woman. Every thought seemed to be written plainly across your face. A very obvious: oh my God, it’s so fucking pretty. I need this in my throat.

Your hands slid slowly up his thighs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He let out a shaky breath as you gently pushed his hands away, replacing them with your own. His hips twitched instinctively at the contact and he squeezed his eyes shut again, face burning as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his length instead.

Fuck, its been so long since you had his dick in your hands.

You could see what he’d been referring to. What he’s been so insecure about enough to hide from you and lose sleep over.

It’s different than what it was the last time you saw it. Yeah.

But his vitiligo had created a beautiful, unique pattern across his cock. His shaft was like a piece of abstract work of art; creamy ivory petal shaped patches mixed with brown and pink sections in a way that reminded you of neapolitan ice cream. His balls sat beneath with the same splashes of paler pigment.

“It’s so pretty, Michael.. You were hiding this from me?” you murmured softly, leaning in close. Before he could stammer out a response, your tongue darted out to taste him, starting at the base of his beautiful marbled shaft. You dragged your tongue upward along one of the paler patches, earning a sharp, breathless gasp from him.

Michael’s thighs trembled under your hands as your tongue traced the intricate patterns across his sensitive flesh. “You—you think it’s still pretty?” he breathed, voice cracking with disbelief as he finally looked down at you through lidded eyes. His hips bucked forward instinctively as you swirled around his tip, his shyness melting into need. ”I always thought it was ugly..”

“So pretty, baby..” You murmured against his cock. “Can’t believe you were worried about me not liking it.. God, Michael, he’s gorgeous—can’t wait to feel him cum. Missed him so much, did he miss me?”

“Don’t—don’t talk like that about it..” He manages to say.

The pattern continued across his pelvic area, lighter patchwork breaking through some of his deeper skin tone like poured cream, soft patches drifted across his mons pubis into delicate maps of contrast. Further down, his thighs bore the same mesmerizing pattern, ivory splashes dancing along the inner and outer legs that stretched down toward his knees.

Michael had gotten very good at hiding it. The lower half of his body was easy enough. He rarely wore anything that revealed much skin anyway, so long pants, socks, loafers, and layers concealed most of the areas the public never saw. It was the visible places that required the real effort. His face. His hands. His arms. The parts constantly photographed, filmed, and scrutinized. Topical treatments and makeup helped even out some of the discoloration there, making it easier to step in front of cameras without drawing attention to every new change.

The areas hidden beneath clothing were different. There was no makeup artist touching them up before an appearance. No careful lighting or tricks to soften what he saw. They existed entirely in private, which somehow made them harder to ignore. Michael knew his body intimately and because he spent so much time looking for changes on his face and hands, he noticed every new patch everywhere else too. What most people never would have thought twice about became impossible for him to overlook, leaving him alone with insecurities nobody else even knew he carried.

Standing at its full size, Michael’s cock was a sight—thick and long but it wasn’t.. overly large. He had perfect boyfriend dick, a dick big enough to stretch you out but not so big it would hurt every time you attempted to just sit on it.

He looked down at himself, then at you and his cheeks flushed deeply as he realized how hard he was and just how good you were sucking his dick. He’s not going to last long.

Your mouth closed around him, taking him deep into your throat while your fingers gripped the sparse curls of his pubic hair. Michael let out a broken moan, head falling back and surrendering completely as your warm mouth overwhelmed his usual hesitance.

You pressed your tongue flat against the sensitive underside of his cock, dragging it slowly from base to tip. The broad and smooth surface of your tongue applied pressure against a particular throbbing vein, earning a deep and guttural moan from him. His hips jerked involuntarily, his knuckle in between his pearly whites as he watched you with furrowed brows.

It was filthy.

“M gonna—finish, gonna—’M gonna..” He whined, voice strained. ”Where do you want it? In your m-outh? On your face? Don’t know where to put it..” His hands gripped the sheets tightly, tugging just slightly as his body coiled with impending release.

You pulled back, wrapping your hand around his cock instead, jerking him off fast and tight just how he liked it. ”Cum on my face, baby.” You urged, looking up at him with lust glazed eyes. “Paint me so pretty, just like this fucking dick..”

It only took three more rough strokes before he was cumming, a strangled moan escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled across your face. It landed on your cheeks, dripped down your chin, splashed across your lips and even some hitting your forehead and hair. His hips stuttered against your fist as he emptied himself completely, trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. “Baby.. baby..”

As the last few drops dripped onto your face, Michael slumped forward slightly, breathing heavily as he looked down at you with gratitude. He gently moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing away some of the cum that coated your skin. “Thank you..”

You smiled sweetly. “My turn.”

© michaeldiary. 2026. do not copy, repost, translate, or feed into ai.

[michaeldiary]

　　﹕   (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈)   ┈  woof.

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ off the wall era! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ summary : michael is a lovesick loser boy and you get off on that. you say jump, and he says how high. why? because you’re pretty, give him attention and you have the pussy he can’t last three minutes in.

　　┊   ♡   ﹒ byi : smut! 🔞, submissive michael, mentions of face fucking.. but its not you getting your face fucked :), full on intercourse, reader is a D1 dirty talker, michael struggles with premature ejaculation, talks of loss of virginity, age gap (reader in mid to late twenties, michael is twenty one), strong emotional dependency, jealousy, codependent tendencies, idolization/idealization of a partner, insecurity (michael), power imbalance, bossy reader, lovesick michael. “daddy” is used to tease. reader is also a socialite. girl idk! there’s a lot to unpack here.

The roller rink was pulsing with life beneath a haze of colored lights. Purple, blue and red beams chased each other across the polished floor, reflecting off sequined jackets and the mirrored disco balls suspended from the ceiling.

The venue itself smelled of an array of things: hints of red icee and cotton candy, colognes, heavy hairspray and cigarette smoke as music thundered from enormous speakers mounted in the corners, bass vibrating through the walls and floor alike.

The rink was one of Los Angeles’ worst kept secrets. On any given weekend, half the city seemed to pass through its doors, LA personalities, aspiring musicians and even well known ones, actors, and industry kids all looking for a few hours of normalcy beneath the disco lights. Michael had even performed there once or twice over the years, drawing crowds that packed the floor shoulder to shoulder. Tonight though, he was there because it was Friday night, the music was good—or so he says.

He sat perched on the edge of a vinyl booth near the rink, one leg bouncing restlessly beneath the table. At twenty one, he occupied an awkward space between abandoning boyhood and stepping into superstardom. Off the Wall had transformed everything. People stared now. People whispered. Girls gathered the courage to approach him and then dissolved into nervous giggles halfway there. Yet somehow he still looked slightly uncomfortable with the attention, dressed in a fitted button down and dark bell bottoms, curls falling around his face as he watched the skaters glide by.

Across from him sat Bill, who had spent the better part of the evening pretending not to notice Michael checking the entrance every five minutes.

“Gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep doing that, Joker.”

Michael looked away from the doors immediately. “Doin’ what?”

Bill chuckled. “Keep those feet still.”

Beside them, one of Michael’s managers leaned back with folded arms. “She’s not coming.”

Michael frowned. “Who?”

That earned him three unimpressed stares.

The manager laughed first. “Right. Sure.”

Michael rolled his eyes and reached for his orange juice, hiding a shy smile. “You guys are trouble..” The real truth was embarrassing enough without them making a spectacle of it.

You’d simply mentioned a few days ago that you might stop by the rink on Friday night around eleven. Any accusations that he was waiting for any particular person were completely unfounded. Baseless, even! The fact that he’d arrived early, picked a booth with a clear view of the entrance, and couldn’t seem to stop looking toward the doors was merely an unfortunate series of coincidences. Right? Right.

The music shifted into another song, drawing a fresh wave of skaters onto the floor. Michael watched absentmindedly, fingers drumming against the side of his cup.

Unfortunately for Michael, the second he saw you every carefully constructed fantasy he’d been rehearsing in his head before he went to sleep these past couple nights went poof! Oh, baby had the vision planned out so perfectly too. You would arrive alone, right? Perhaps a little late knowing how you girls were. Your eyes would find him across the rink.. he’d wave you over with a pretty smile, say something clever to make you giggle, something charming to make you blush, and the two of you would spend the whole evening together. Simple! Romantic! And honestly.. the sort of thing that only ever seemed possible in his imagination.

Instead, you arrived wrapped in a world that had nothing to do with him.

You were laughing before you had even fully stepped inside, surrounded by friends who seemed to orbit you as naturally as planets around the sun. One of them hooked an arm through yours. Another leaned close enough to whisper something that sent you into another fit of giggles. You moved through the crowd completely absorbed in your circle, tucked safely inside a bubble of conversation and affection that Michael found himself staring at with an intensity that bordered on painful.

It was ridiculous, really. He knew that. These were your friends. People who loved you. People who had every right to occupy your attention. Yet all he could think about was how easily they had access to you. They could stand beside you without overthinking. They could make you laugh without rehearsing every sentence beforehand. They could touch your arm, lean into your space, steal your attention for entire evenings without their heart threatening to beat itself clean out of their chest. Michael hated the ugly little stab of jealousy the realization inspired but it settled in anyway, impossible to ignore.

The worst part was that you looked so happy. Not even looking for him. Not wondering if he had shown up. Not scanning the room in search of a familiar face. You were perfectly content exactly where you were and that simple fact managed to burst his fantasy more effectively than outright rejection ever could have. It forced him to confront the embarrassing truth that while he had spent the better part of a week thinking about you, you had probably spent the week simply living your life.

His fingers tightened around his cup as he watched you laugh again, your head tilting back beneath the colorful lights. God, you were beautiful. So beautiful it almost felt unfair. There was something doll like about you tonight, something soft and luminous that seemed untouched by the chaos around you. For a moment, Michael forgot entirely about the drink in his hand. Orange juice slipped over the rim and splashed across the table, but he barely noticed. The pounding in his ears had grown so loud that the rest of the rink seemed to fade into the background.

All he could see was you.

And all he could think, with a mixture of longing and frustration that made him feel like an awkward teen instead of twenty one, was that every single person standing between him and you suddenly felt like an obstacle because they were occupying the exact place he wished he was.

The pounding in his ears was so loud he didn’t even hear Bill calling for him. “Michael.”

No response. “Michael.” Still nothing.

“Yeah, that brotha’s starvin’.” Bill says shaking his head, causing the other two in his party to chuckle at how adorably absurd this entire situation was.

The longer he watched, the worse it became.

At first, Michael told himself he was being dramatic. You had only been there a few minutes. There was no reason to assume you wouldn’t acknowledge him eventually. No reason to let his imagination run wild simply because you were occupied talking with your friends.

Yet with every passing moment, his confidence seemed to shrink.

You looked so settled over there. Every now and then another person would stop to greet you, extending the circle around you further. You laughed, listened, smiled, completely absorbed in whatever conversation was unfolding. Meanwhile, Michael remained exactly where he was, nursing a cup of orange juice and feeling increasingly foolish for having spent the entire evening waiting for you.

The ugly little voice in the back of his mind began whispering all the things he hated most.

Maybe you hadn’t come for him. Maybe you’d only mentioned stopping by in passing. Maybe you hadn’t even noticed he was there.

His stomach twisted.

The more he thought about it, the more embarrassed he became. Suddenly every hopeful fantasy he’d entertained over the past week felt very childish. Of course you weren’t looking for him. Why would you be? You had a life, friends, people you genuinely wanted to see. You were a socialite. The world did not stop spinning simply because Michael Jackson happened to have a crush.

Across the table, Bill watched the slow collapse unfold in real time. The slumped shoulders, distant stare, the deepening pout.

“Don’t start.”

Michael frowned. “’M not startin’ anything.” Oh! He has a little funky attitude now.

“Alright now.” Bill warned and Michael looked away.

For a moment, Michael seriously considered leaving the booth altogether. Maybe he’d skate a few laps, find something else to focus on. Anything was preferable to sitting there feeling sorry for himself while you remained blissfully unaware of the emotional catastrophe taking place twenty feet away.

Then it happened.

Your laughter softened as the conversation around you shifted, and for the first time since you'd arrived your attention wandered. Almost absentmindedly, your gaze swept across the rink drifting over the crowd until it landed on him.

Michael forgot how to breathe.

The feeling was instantaneous and overwhelming. One moment he had been sitting there stewing in his wounded pride, thoroughly convinced that you hadn’t noticed him all evening. The next, he found himself trapped beneath the weight of your attention, every insecurity he’d managed to accumulate over the last ten minutes suddenly feeling ridiculous.

Because you had noticed him.

And apparently, you’d noticed him quite a while ago. A smile began to form on your lips, and Michael felt his stomach drop for an entirely different reason.

It wasn’t a grin nor was it playful enough to be teasing or sweet enough to be innocent. It was something far more dangerous than either of those things. A smile touched with amusement and recognition, as though you’d caught sight of something you found particularly endearing. As though the sight of him sitting over there, staring at you from across the rink like a lovesick puppy had confirmed something you’d suspected all along.

Heat climbed his neck and the longer you looked at him, the more certain he became that you’d seen everything.

You’d seen him checking the entrance, seen him watching your group from across the room. Seen the way his mood had visibly soured the longer he convinced himself you weren’t coming over.

The realization should have mortified him. Instead, all it seemed to do was make him feel validated.

God.

You looked beautiful.

The colorful lights flashed across your face as you stood among your friends on the rink, completely at ease in a way Michael had always envied. While he spent half his life overthinking every conversation, every interaction, every glance, you moved through the world so effortlessly confident that made everything look easy. You never seemed concerned with whether people liked you. They just did. You never chased attention because it found you anyway.

And right now, all of that attention was directed at him.

Neither of you looked away as the skaters continued moving around you. Music thundered from the speakers. Laughter echoed throughout the rink.

Yet somehow the space between you felt strangely quiet.

Then you lifted your hand.

Just one finger.

Crooked toward yourself.

Come here.

It felt like a command because it absolutely was, with the confidence of someone who already knew exactly what would happen next. And the truly humiliating part was that you were right.

Michael was on his feet before his brain had fully processed the gesture. His knee struck the edge of the table and all the drinks nearly spilled over as the booth rattled violently.

A chorus of protests erupted behind him as he nearly sent the entire setup crashing to the floor, but Michael barely heard any of it. He was already moving through the crowd, abandoning every ounce of composure he’d spent the evening trying to maintain.

Behind him, Bill watched the scene unfold with the exhausted expression of a man witnessing something both embarrassing and completely predictable.

“Oh, man. That boy is gone.”

Because after all that moping, it had taken exactly one finger to get Michael Jackson moving. Not a greeting or even his name.

Just a look and a simple little come here.

And off he went.

You stood on the other side of the low barricade that separated the rink from the seating area, balanced easily on your own personal skates. Colored lights skimmed across the polished wood beneath your feet, catching on your jewelry every time you moved. Up close, Michael found you even more distracting. You smelled so good.

The journey across the rink had done absolutely nothing to improve his condition. If anything, it had made it worse.

“Hi, Michael.” You tilted your head slightly as you looked at him, your smile lingering at the corners of your mouth.

“Hi.” The response came out embarrassingly quiet.

For all the confidence he’d managed to summon while crossing the room, it deserted him the second he arrived. He was suddenly intensely interested in the floor, the barricade, the wheels on your skates, anything except your eyes.

A soft laugh escaped your lips. “You look nice.”

Before he could respond, your hand rose to straighten his collar. The gesture was casual and like muscle memory, and Michael felt every nerve in his body come alive beneath your touch. Your fingers smoothed the fabric before sliding behind his neck, settling briefly against the nape.

Your acrylics scratched lightly through his curls just enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine.

You noticed the way his shoulders stiffened and your smile widened. “Miss me?”

Michael swallowed. The honest answer sat so heavily in his chest that he couldn’t think of a clever way around it.

“Yeah..” His voice was barely above a mumble.

You heard him but you pretended like you didn’t just to hear him say it again. “Hm?”

Then he nodded and a little louder, “Yeah.”

Something softened in your expression, satisfaction. You’d suspected that was going to be the answer and you were merely waiting to hear him say it.

“That’s sweet.”

Michael felt his face grow hotter. You, meanwhile, appeared completely unaffected.

“Go get skates.” You ordered

Michael blinked. “Pardon?” He wasn’t listening, he was staring.

”Go get skates.” You gave his shoulder a light push. “You’re not gonna sit over there all night, are you?”

“Oh, right!” Another blink. “Okay.”

You stared at him.

Michael stared back.

A laugh escaped you. “Michael.”

“Yeah?”

”Go.”

He nodded immediately. “Right. Okay.” Then he turned and started walking away to rent some skates for the night.

By the time the night was halfway over, the pattern had become impossible to ignore.

Michael had spent most of the night orbiting you.

Not hovering awkwardly across the room or lingering nearby under the pretense of doing his own thing. Deadass on you. Every time you moved, he ended up moving too. If you skated toward the opposite side of the rink, he followed. If you stopped to talk to someone, he appeared a few feet behind you waiting for you to get done. More than once, you’d looked over your shoulder only to discover him on your heels, wearing the innocent expression of a man who had absolutely no idea how he’d gotten there.

The funniest part was that he never seemed aware he was doing it, but you were no better.

At one point you’d hooked a finger through one of his belt loops and dragged him through a crowd because he kept getting distracted by people stopping to talk to him. Michael hadn’t protested, he was right where he wanted to be and simply allowed himself to be steered wherever you wanted him, weaving obediently between skaters and crowds alike while your friends tried not to laugh. Which by the way? You didn’t like very much, because you should always be the one giggling him out of his underwear.

Then later, there was a point where the music grew too loud and you’d grabbed his jaw to pull his face closer so you could hear him better.

“What?”

You’d tugged him forward. “What’d you say?”

Michael had repeated himself, this time barely three inches from your ear. The poor thing had nearly short circuited.

Now he was standing at the concession counter retrieving the drink you’s sent him to get, and your friends were watching him with poorly concealed amusement.

“Girl,” One of them said, glancing between you and Michael. “He’s been overly going. All night.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. “I know.”

Across the room, Michael accepted the drink from the cashier before immediately turning to look for you. The second he spotted you, he started heading back like clockwork.

You watched him approach, taking in the sight of him weaving through the crowd with such earnest determination that somehow managed to be both charming and ridiculous.

“He’s just as cute in person, right?” you asked.

Your friend barked out a laugh. “He’s cute but what if the shy thing is for appearances?”

You shrugged, not minding her. “I’ve known him for a while through my dad, he’s really like that. I think it’s charming.”

“How old is he again?”

“Twenty one.”

Your friend made a face. “Girl..”

“What?” You laughed. “I’m twenty (number).”

"I don't know— younger guys.. they be lowkey annoying.”

Your gaze drifted back toward Michael. He was almost there now, protecting the drink from being knocked out of his hands while navigating around people.

The sight made something warm settle in your chest.

“Mm.” You tilted your head slightly, she eyes him. “He’s been good to me though..”

Michael finally reached the group and immediately held out the drink you’d asked for and his expression brightened the moment you took it.

Like he’d just accomplished something so important.

You were feeling generous tonight, maybe even a little possessive.

That was the only explanation you could come up with later, because the way the evening had escalated felt almost absurd in retrospect. One moment Michael had been trailing after you everywhere you went, carrying drinks, accepting orders, allowing himself to be tugged through crowds by his ear whenever he drifted too far away from you. The next, you were standing beside him beneath the flashing lights, watching him laugh again at something one of your girlfriends said, and making a decision that surprised even you because usually you were much more.. tactful.

Maybe it was the way he’d spent the entire night looking at you or the fact that he’d never once complained. Maybe it was because every time you called his name, he appeared instantly.

Whatever the reason, you’d found yourself gliding up beside him as the night began winding down. Michael was midway through a conversation with Bill when you hooked a finger through the front of his shirt and pulled him down slightly.

He went without resistance.

Of course he did.

The music was still loud enough that nobody else could hear you as you leaned close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“You’re coming home with me tonight.” You felt him go completely still. “Say bye bye to Bill and your people, ‘kay?”

For a moment, Michael simply stared at the floor and you watched the reaction spread down his neck. When he finally looked at you, there was something dazed in his expression, as though his brain had temporarily stopped functioning.

“Okay.” The answer came so fast you nearly laughed.

Not where?

Not why?

Not even a hesitant really?

Just: “Okay.”

You bit back a smile and wave at Bill as she glides away back to her table and Michael had barely managed three words of explanation before Bill figured it out.

Not that there had been much mystery to solve, the equation practically solved itself.

Bill sighed heavily. “You serious?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah.”

“She askin’ or tellin’?” Bill immediately had his answer when Michael coughed in response.

Michael looked down at the floor and Bill shook his head. “Son, one of these days you’re gonna have to stop jumpin’every time that woman points somewhere.”

Michael’s embarrassment deepened. “I don’t do that.”

The thing was, Bill liked you. You made Michael happy. You were good to him. You looked after him in your own way.

Bill had no objections there. His issue was the complete collapse of Michael’s spine whenever you entered the equation.

The boy had spent all evening following you around like he’d been hired for the job. “You know she already likes you, right?” Bill asked.

Michael blinked. “Huh?”

Bill rubbed his face. “She already likes you.”

Michael stared, the very suggestion seemed impossible to him. “But..”

Bill already knew where this was going. “But what?”

Michael shrugged awkwardly.

“She’s..”

“Pretty?” Michael nodded.

“Successful?” Another nod.

“Older than you?” A smaller nod.

Bill threw his hands in the air. “And?”

Michael didn’t answer, because that was the problem.

Somewhere deep down, Michael still couldn’t understand why someone like you would choose him when you could have anybody. Meanwhile, everyone around him had been forced to watch you practically drag him around a roller rink all evening.

Bill snorted. “Son, if you don’t quit feelin’ sorry for yourself."

Michael frowned. “I’m not..”

Bill laughed. “She got you fetchin’ drinks, carryin’ her stuff, followin’ her around, and lookin’ at her like she hung the moon.”

Michael buried his face in his hands.

You looked over your shoulder at him across the room, probably to see what was taking so long and the second Michael noticed, he straightened.

Bill caught it and a long, exhausted sigh followed.

Then he patted Michael’s shoulder. “Go on. Use protection.”

Michael sputtered. “You’re talkin’ dirty! I’m a gentleman.”

Bill shook his head. “You hopeless.”

The funny thing is Bill didn’t dislike the dynamic. He probably finds it adorable. He just spends a lot of the time trying, and failing, to convince Michael that being loved by a confident woman did not require acting like he’d been personally selected by royalty every single day. Michael, unfortunately, would continue acting exactly like that.

Because he loved bossy women.

You were beautiful—everyone knew that. It wasn’t exactly a revolutionary observation. People noticed when you walked into a room, they turned their heads and stumbled over conversations, found reasons to linger a little longer in your presence.

But Michael’s problem had long since surpassed simple attraction, because your pussy was the closest thing Michael thought he’d ever get to experiencing heaven while he was still on earth.

The thing about Michael was that he was sort of person who experienced affection through proximity. He liked sitting close enough for your shoulders to touch. He liked feeling your weight beside him on a couch. He liked the absent minded ways you occupied space, the little touches that seemed insignificant to everyone else but somehow lingered in his mind for days afterward.

The truth was that he never quite got used to you, even more so because you were the one to take his virginity.

Some people eventually acclimated to affection, they normalized it and over time, they came to expect it. Michael never seemed capable of doing that. Every act of intimacy, no matter how small, retained its ability to affect him. A hand on the back of his neck. Your fingers smoothing his collar. Your arm looping through his. Tiny gestures that should have become ordinary by now somehow remained extraordinary.

There’s unfortunately just a small part of him still couldn’t believe he was being chosen.

For Michael, intimacy was never something separate from affection. The two were hopelessly intertwined. Physical closeness carried an emotional weight that he couldn’t easily detach from which is why he’s so enamored with you. Where other people might eventually grow accustomed to being loved, Michael seemed determined to remain grateful for it. The familiarity never dulled his appreciation.

You’re no longer just the woman he has a crush on. You’re the person he trusted with something deeply personal. The person who guided him through an experience he had spent years imagining, worrying about, romanticizing, and building up in his head.

The irony is that it probably makes him less focused on sex itself and more focused on you.

Because afterward, what’s left isn’t necessarily the memory of the sex. It’s the memory of your kindness. Your patience. The way you looked at him during. The fact that you wanted him there with you. The feeling of being accepted completely, without performance or expectation.

For someone like Michael, that would be difficult to separate from love. Very difficult.

“Fuck, Michael,” You feel breathless, hands resting on the sides of his abdomen as you wrap your legs around his waist. Michael balances his weight above you, palms spread out on your soft bedding as you pull him closer with each thrust deeper into your pussy. Your pubic bones met with each movement, curly bushes intermingling and creating a friction. “That feel s’good, baby. Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ me this good..”

Michael’s face twists with a cute strain, his eyes squeeze shut so tightly his brows pinch. Every muscle in his body goes rigid as he fights the overwhelming to pump his nut inside of you. He can’t cum now. It’s too early, it’s way too soon. He can’t. He can’t. It’s barely been three minutes! But the filth spilling from your pretty lips in such a nasty tone makes his dick fucking throb and jerk against your tight walls. ”Lovey.. stop—stop.. stop talkin’ for a second..”

You know exactly what you’re doing, but you don’t mind. He’s been very generous with his mouth tonight and you can’t even count the amount of times you used his tongue to get off. Emphasis on you using his tongue, he’s eager to please but he still needs a little guidance. So, usually when he’s between your legs, you’re practically face fucking him. Hands in his curly coils to hold him in place as you roll your clit along his tongue.

Your heavy breasts bounce and sway with each sloppy thrust, jiggling provocatively under his straining chest. You reach up, soft palms cupping his tense cheeks, tenderly stroking his sweaty skin as you whisper.

“Look,” You tilt his face down, forcing him to look directly beneath the two of you—making him watch. “Look at that dick fucking your pussy, daddy.” He lets out a particularly pathetic whine as the nickname, you only use it to tease him but he seems to like it even though.. he’s not really the ”daddy” type. He watches as his slick, latex covered cock pushes relentlessly in and out of your pretty petaled pussy. The smooth wrapper makes his shaft glide effortlessly, pumping in and out as his dark skin contrasts against the lighter colored latex. Fuck, it’s pretty. All six inches of it.

“Who’s pussy is this? Let me know..” You grab his jaw, making him look at you as you gently runs a finger down his bottom lip to watch it pop back into place.

“It’s mine..” He whimpers out.

“Yeah? ’s all yours?” You smile, slipping her ring and middle finger into his mouth.

“Mhm..” He nods, closing his eyes again as he sucks on her fingers.

“Look at me, baby..” You say and he reluctantly does as he’s told. “I love watching you fuck me this good..” You look up at him with those big soft eyes, your expression melting into a breathtaking mix of pure adoration and overwhelming affection. Right now, there’s nothing dirty in your gaze now, only a deep, lovesick tenderness that reciprocates his same feelings for you—and it completely unravels him. Seeing you look at him with such.. love is his absolute undoing, shattering his control instantly.

Michael’s hips start to stutter and falter, his rhythm breaking as he approaches his high. His face contorts with distress, a mixture of pleasure and panic etched into his features.

“Oh—m’god..” He pants, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Can’t.. that's gonna make me..”

“Make you what, angel face? Cum?” You smile.

“I can’t—I really can’t..” There’s really no warning.

Michael’s body suddenly goes rigid and his hips press deep as he buries himself completely inside you. His muscles tense and twitch as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, filling the condom with thick ropes of hot, sticky cum.

Michael collapses fully onto you, his strength completely spent as his body trembles uncontrollably. His hips continue to rut instinctively, pathetic little twitches driving his spent cock deeper into your warmth as he rides out the overwhelming aftershocks. His face buries into you shoulder, whimpering softly.

“Sorry.. sorry—felt too good..” There’s always a sense of shame that sits on his chest because since he’s been having sex, he’s been struggling with prematurely finishing. But you always tell him it’s not his fault when he brings it up hours later, his body has never known a woman until relatively recently. It just makes his body notoriously hypersensitive and prone to finishing too soon. It takes some time to build an endurance. But what he lacks in lasting, he makes up for with his refractory period which is seemingly nonexistent.

But that’s a story for a different day.

© michaeldiary. 2026. do not copy, repost, translate, or feed into ai.

[michaeljacksonwriter]

My Momma Never Loved Me…

(Something from the drafts/ Also I hope this image isn’t AI. It took forever to find one that wasn’t AI modified. Oh Pinterest what have you become?)

Pairings: Michael Jackson x Reader

Warning: Idk…mommy kink? Dom x Sub relationship? Stepping on dicks? BDSM?

Tags: Michael Jackson/Reader, Michael Jackson AU, Soft!Michael Jackson, Regressed Michael Jackson, Domme Reader, Mommy Kink, Praise Kink, Foot Fetish, Heel Play, Boot Worship, Submissive Michael Jackson, Needy Michael Jackson, Post-Orgasm Guilt, Emotional Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Reader-Insert, Second Person POV, Established Relationship, Toxic, Light Angst, Aftercare, Begging, Gentle Domination, Pet Names, Crying During Sex, Size Difference,

A/N: HEYY!! This was something in the drafts. I’ve been set free from my chains of college (not so much as work tho 😔😒) lol 😂 so expect more fics. I WILL also make sure to get through my inbox and respond to your asks and will respond to comments! I SEE EM GUYS!! THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT 😭 I can’t believe I lowkey “blew up” 🫪…anyway this one for the late night freaks

🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤎🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱🤱

The apartment door barely clicked shut before Michael was on you.

He’d been quiet the whole drive home, eyes glued to you the whole time as you drive in the drivers seat. The second you kicked the door closed he dropped to his knees in the hallway like gravity had personally betrayed him, hands sliding up your jeans until his fingers hooked behind your calves.

“…please,” He whispered, voice already cracking into that soft, regressed little tone. Curls messy, cheeks flushed, black button-up half-unbuttoned like he’d been fidgeting with it the whole ride. “Just… tonight. I need it.”

You froze, heart hammering. The heels you had on made you tower over him and the sight of your favorite, soft, angel boy looking up at you and you looking down at him like this, was doing dangerous things to both of you.

“Mikey…” You reached down, sliding your fingers into his curls and tugging his head back gently. “You gotta come back to your senses. This feels like I’m taking advantage of you. You’ve been fighting this so hard—”

His eyes were glassy, pupils blown. He nuzzled into your thigh like a needy kitten, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the denim. “No. I’m still here. I want this. I need this, Mommy… just once. Please?”

The word slipped out so naturally it made your stomach flip. You bit your lip, glossy lips shining under the hallway light.

“…Okay. But don’t blame me for making you relapse.” You stepped forward, planting one glossy black heeled boot right on the bulge straining his sweats. The pressure made him whimper loud, broken, and pathetic. His hips jerked up instantly, grinding against the sole of your heel like he couldn’t help it.

“F-fuck… thank you,” he gasped, hands wrapping around your ankle to hold you there. “Harder… please, I’ve been so good all day—”

You pressed down a little firmer, watching his face crumble into pure bliss. He started humping your leg in shallow, desperate rolls, whining every time the sharp heel dug into him just right. His free hand clutched at your thick thigh, fingers sinking into the soft curve like it was his lifeline.

“Look at you,” you cooed, voice dropping into that sweet mommy tone that felt way too natural. “My pretty boy humping my leg like a desperate little puppy. You missed this, didn’t you?”

He nodded frantically, eyes wet. “Missed you. Missed being good for you. Tell me I’m good… please tell me you love me—”

You stepped off his dick only to slide your heel along his inner thigh instead, teasing. He chased it with another whine, lips parted, looking up at you with those big glassy eyes. “I love you, baby. So much. You’re my good boy. The best one.”

The praise hit him like a drug. He melted even more, pressing his face against your stomach, mouthing at the hem of your top while his hips kept rolling against your leg. “More… please more praise. kisses. I need it—”

You grabbed his chin, tilting his face up, and leaned down to kiss him slow and deep. He moaned into your mouth like he was starving. When you pulled back he actually pouted, bottom lip trembling.

“Not enough… keep going. Tell me I’m pretty. Tell me you want me. Tell me I’m the best.”

You laughed softly, manhandling him up by the collar of his button-up and walking him backward until his back hit the couch. He went down easy, legs spreading for you on instinct. You straddled one of his thighs, grinding down while you palmed him through his sweats as you began to pull them down. And the second your hand wrapped around his cock, skin on skin, warm and tight, his whole body shivered.

“Gentle… please,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Not too fast. Like… like you’re petting me. Yeah… just like that— ah— slower on the head, Mommy, I like it when you tease the tip first…”

You stroked him exactly how he coached you, slow and loving, thumb circling the head on every upstroke while your other hand stayed buried in his curls, scratching gently. He was a full whiny mess underneath you. Hips twitching, little gasps and whimpers spilling out every few seconds. “Fuck… I love your hand. Love when you take care of me. Don’t stop saying you love me… please don’t stop—”

“I love you, Michael,” you murmured against his temple, kissing him soft between every praise. “Love my sweet, needy boy. Love how desperate you get for me. You’re so pretty when you’re like this.”

He came with a broken little sob, spilling over your fingers while he clutched at your waist like you might disappear. Aftershocks rolled through him for almost a minute, face buried between your breasts, breathing hard.

Then the guilt started creeping in. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed.

“…This doesn’t mean anything,” he mumbled into your skin, voice small. “Just… one time. I’m still trying to heal... I—”

You cut him off with another kiss, slow and deep, and felt him melt all over again.

“Shh, baby. We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Tonight you’re just fine.”

He nodded, already half-asleep and clinging to you like a koala, one hand still lazily stroking your thigh like he couldn’t let go.

[velvetjackson]

I know a Bratty sub when I see one 👀…

[cupidslyrics]

Doe eyes

℘ Michael jackson x f!reader - headcanon

℘ synopsis: You always try to be firm and stand your ground with michael but when he gives you those eyes? you’re convinced he can get away with anything.

℘Tags: fluff, headcanon, thriller era mike, sfw

A/N: Just a quick cute short writing whilst i’m planning my next fic <3

Doe eyes!Michael who made it literally impossible to say no to him—especially at Disneyland.

"Michael if you think i’m going on that rollercoaster you’ve officially lost it."

He turns to look at you with a slight pout, his eyes that are already naturally large somehow appearing even larger.

"please?"

His plea and eyes are the reason you were now thirty feet in the air in metal machinery with your eyes squeezed shut, stomach doing somersaults, screaming your lungs out whilst your boyfriend is laughing cheerfully beside you with his arms up.

"Woo hoo!!!"

Doe eyes!Michael Who always made it extremely difficult to stay mad at him.

"Minnie?” He pokes your side as you continue to ignore him on the bed, resting on your stomach kicking your feet behind you whilst your manicured fingers flip through the magazine.

"Baby cmon? i’m really sorry. I truly didn’t mean to forget about our date."

Earlier that day, Michael had promised to take you out to a new restaurant which had just opened. You were very excited since it’s been a while since the two of you had done something romantic, so you spent the whole entire day pampering yourself. He said he’d come home and pick you up around 8, but when it started to approach 9pm and you had heard zero whereabouts from him, you kicked your heels off and went back upstairs.

"Please my love? i swear i completely lost track of time, y’know how much of a perfectionist Quincy is when it comes to recording. He had me recording the same song like twenty times!"

Seeing that you’re still giving him silent treatment, he groans painfully as if it’s physically killing him.

"Honey c’mon you don’t even have to speak t’me just one look?" He pleads getting on his own stomach beside you, rested on his forearms as he lowers his head trying to meet your eyes that are glued to the words of your magazine.

"Please?"

don’t give in. don’t give in.

Your eyes betray you as they flicker to his. You're ready to cuss him out, but the words catch in your throat when you meet his gaze. His brown, almond-shaped eyes are fixed on yours with quiet patience, their softened edges unable to hide the desperation and guilt behind them.

Your heart hammers against your chest seeing the sight along with his eyebrows that are drooped in sadness. And you can’t take it anymore, it was like he had casted a spell on you because each time you saw those eyes you could never stay angry. You sigh closing your eyes feeling the last of your resolve vanish.

The sound of your sigh makes his eyes melt more in hope as he grabs your knuckles kissing them. "I'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry."

"Fine i forgive you."

Doe eyes!Michael Who loves to spoil you rotten despite you always begging him not to.

“Michael I have enough jewellery to last me a lifetime."

Your protest goes in from one ear and then immediately out the other as he holds up the new collection gold Cartier necklace against your neck with matching earrings in his other hand against your ear "Stay still baby."

"Mike—"

"This looks perfect against your skin my love, look at the way it compliments you" He continues to ignore your protests as he turns you to face the small mirror in the jewellery section.

You trail your eyes to the pieces of jewellery that he's holding up and your eyes widen seeing that they do in fact look incredible against you.

"Well...i mean they are pretty, but—"

"Excuse me sir? I'd like to purchase these two."

Your eyes widen turning to him but he's already pulling his card out.

"Michael!? No this is way too much."

He gives you that look, again. Wide eyed with hope, quietly pleading. The same look that drives you insane, the same look that's talked you into literally everything. "Please honey? You deserve the world."

You flicker your eyes to the jewellery that is being wrapped up and then back to his handsome face that looks so happy and excited at the fact that he gets to spoil his girl for the millionth time, your heart squeezes at the sight—you really were a lucky girl.

You cave in without hesitation "Okay."

Doe eyes!Michael Who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how his eyes affected you. But he will always pretend to be clueless.

Affection was his absolute favourite to abuse.

"Mike—" kiss "I'm gonna—" kiss "be—" kiss "Late!" you giggle managing to dodge the last kiss as he whines.

"You're cruel."

You gasp dramatically "Oh im cruel? Our mouths are practically like magnets! And you know exactly what you're doing when you look at me like that."

"Like what?" He replies with mock innocence as he continues to look at you with his wide eyes.

You roll your own playfully "Like you already know i'm gonna give in." Your body leans into his lips proving your point, he smiles into it pulling you closer by your waist.

"Okay enough, i have to go to work now."

"One more?"

"Michael!"

(you still give in!)

𑣲⋆｡˚

Thank you so much for reading <𝟑 .ᐟ

taglist: @carouselgirl77 @muddyloserlia @loves2tour @curlypytclubx @tlcfrmmike @bambijackson <3