a/n: just some headcanons of what widow!reader would go through after husband!michael passes away😞 feeling angsty tonight, i'm sorry guys:((
++ i hope a writer actually writes a one-shot related to this. if you ever write one, please tag meee!!!
++ i'm not a writer and i will never claim myself as one💔 i have poor wordings n i solely rely on shit ive read before🫡 im incredibly stupid i might be wording things wronggg😭
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⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who, late at night, sits on the same chair in their balcony, leaving one chair empty. the one that belonged to him. the balcony they used to spend hours together in—either talking, sharing intimate moments, argue, or just sit there. enjoying each other's presence.
⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who turns off all the lights inside their house, to let the moon's glow hit her skin perfectly. the skin michael used to caress and give soft kisses to. it's been so long, yet, they still linger.
⏾⋆.˚ - she looks at the moon with tears forming in her eyes which her late husband used to kiss whenever he notices tears start forming. she wishes he was here to do that, whispering, "don't cry, angel. i'm here", as he continues to wipe her tears away and cupping her face with his soft hands. the same hands that would pull her closer to plant a warm, comforting kiss on her lips. the much needed warmth in this cold night.
⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who carries all the letters they used to send to each other back and forth, reading them all in the candlelight—searching for small details, messages, or codes she hasn't noticed before, just to feel something new. bringing them to her chest, being careful and trying not to crumple them, "why'd you have to leave, mike?", she sobbed. oh he'd hate to see her like this.
⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who talks to the moon, wishing it was just michael, updating him about what's been happening all while sniffling—trying not to make any loud sounds so their children wouldn't wake up. they may not have been her biological children, but she sure did love them like her own.
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a/n: lowk wrote this w a heavy heart. missing mj so much😕😕yeah, that's all for now. i know this sucks🙂↕️🙂↕️ i warned yall im not a writer!! i just felt rlly angsty tonight, n i love angst sooo😓 i hope you guys liked this!
ps. im serious about begging writers to make a one-shot about this. i love angst so muhchchchc pls tag me if u make one
can yall stop tagging ur posts as angst if it isnt angst, smut if it isnt smut, or fluff if it isnt fluff?? im genuinely tryna look for angst n i keep seeing smut💔☹️
From the moment he laid eyes on you, stood with his sister, La Toya, introduced to the family as his sibling’s friend at Hayvenhurst for the first time, in a pretty plaid skirt and a taupe oversized sweater — he knew he loved you.
Loved you so much he’d go to the ends of the Earth for you. Travel miles just to hold you for 5 minutes. Cancel every tour, every show if you needed him, at the drop of a hat.
Especially so once you became his official girl.
He’d do absolutely anything.
Anything but make sweet love to you.
It kept you up at night — how can a man so infatuated not want to strip you bare and ravish you till the sun came up. Not want to see you, stark naked, in all your glory, writhing and whining underneath him as he took you.
Michael had his reasons.
Timidity. Inexperience. Insecurity.
But, the largest factor of all — religion.
Michael was a raised as a devoted Jehovah’s Witness — something his Mother had instilled in him from birth. A religion built on morality and modesty. A religion that forbid sexual intercourse before marriage.
Michael wasn’t as devoted as his Mother — ever since his album Off the Wall, he had slowly began parting ways with the religion. Distancing himself as the connotations of his album were subtly frowned upon due to mentions of sensuality and infidelity — however, his personal beliefs about a higher power still remained.
He still, after his parting, believed that sex was something marital and holy — something to be worshipped and protected, performed with someone you truly love and trust.
And he did. He did, wholeheartedly, love and trust you — with every fibre of his being. But, every time your hand would trickle down his body, grazing over the painfully obvious bulge that clad him beneath his slacks — he would stop you. The guilt that washed over him far greater than any aching pleasure he so desired.
As time progressed, and your relationship blossomed — that guilt diminished. Grower smaller and smaller with each tentative touch or pleading look you’d give him. Each one cracking the glass dome of restraint he had locked himself in.
You knew tonight you’d finally shattered it.
Michael was sat comfortably next to you on the sofa at Hayvenhurst, a gentle hand resting on the curve of your clothed knee, television blabbering in the background as you watched him. He looked gorgeous in every aspect, but right now — calm, relaxed, content, it took the cake.
“Watch the movie, lovey.” His voice soft and bashful, a blush creeping onto the round of his cheeks after catching you staring.
“I think my view is better.”
Michael breathed out a huff of timid air — your quick-witted flirting always got to him. “Stop. Y’know I’ll get shy.”
You giggled next to him, shuffling closer to his warm body, “I know y’beautiful, Mike.”
He laughed, turning his flushed face away from you in embarrassment, “Can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause..” “‘Cause, what, angelface?”
Michael groaned, finally returning his gaze back onto you, a smile he failed to suppress adorning his ethereal face, “‘Cause y’makin’ me think things that I shouldn’t.”
Ting!
The lustful lightbulb sparked so bright in your brain you almost saw stars.
There was your green light.
“Like what, sweetie.” Your voice now hushed, darker, deeper — an undertone of temptation that had Michael reeling inside, “Tell me.”
“B-Baby.” He was cracking — you were certain. The way he twitched as a calculated hand fell into the tense of his lap, stroking languidly along his clothed thigh, the denim scratching along your manicured nails — paired with a small knit in his eyebrows that made him look so deliciously adorable.
“What’s up, honey?” You teased, face now inches from his own bashful one, “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ mind of yours.”
Michael whined, deep from his throat, as you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mouth moved slowly — trailing to his warm cheek, to the sharp of his jawline, and ending on the smooth of his bare neck. The gentleness of your lips against his burning skin had him fluttering his eyes shut — basking in the sensation. His hands moved subconsciously, once against your knee, now hesitantly holding the curve of your waist as you pressed yourself against him.
“Wanna hear it, Michael.”
He whined again, ever so louder this time, a statement of his timidity, “Baby, please.”
Your lips left his skin to move upwards, meeting his gaze once more. He looked wrecked — torn between honouring his devout innocence or letting his dirty mouth reveal his secrets.
You made the decision for him, clambering over him to settle in his lap, legs either side of his twitching hips. His eyes shot open in surprise.
“Honey, I-“ “It’s okay, sweet boy, I know what you’re thinkin’, anyways. Someone else is doin’ all the talkin’ for ya.”
Michael knew exactly what you were on about.
His embarrassingly obvious hard-on pressed into the softness of your clothed cunt — your skirt ridden up your thighs so perfectly that the cotton of your panties now resided directly on top of the boner he was attempting to hide. Despite never seeing his gracious cock with your own eyes, you knew he was big — every ridge now digging into the slick of your covered folds, hugging his length through his pyjamas bottoms.
“Let me make you feel better, handsome.”
Heaven and hell. That was the only thought that plagued Michael’s mind in this moment. Did he remain pledged to his beliefs, or was the way your drooling cunt wrapped around him, despite the barrier of clothing, enough to make him crack?
With one flex of his grip around your waist, and a breathy whine from your lips — the restraint shattered.
His lips met yours in a feverish connection — sloppy and messy. Spit coating your lips and chin as he forced his eager tongue into your mouth — hands now splayed across the small of your back, pushing you closer. His mouth met yours in a frantic motion, quick and rushed, like he was afraid someone, or something, would stop him at any moment. Your hands slipped up his body, resting on the lean of his shoulders, before sliding into the sweetness of his curls.
He truly crumbled when your hips began moving.
A slow, tantalising rock against him — movements so precise and languid he was certain one harsh buck and he’d fill his boxers right then and there. You had played this game with him before — being in this compromising position wasn’t new to you and Michael. You had once, in a state of pleasure, picked up your speed as you rocked against him, but he quickly shut it down. Telling you, bashfully, he was soon to finish and felt wrong about it — paired with a pout and blush.
This time, though, when your hips picked up a swifter pace — he daren’t stop you.
He’d been agonisingly hard and denied an orgasm for months now — every time he’d nearly get there, the devil on his shoulder telling him to carry on and make a mess of his shorts, the angel on the other side would force him to halt your hips to a stop, apologising at the way you’d whine in disappointment.
Michael let you take what you needed — back arched, hands threaded through his curls as you fucked yourself on his clothed cock, the prettiest noises falling from your swollen lips.
“Y’look so beautiful like this.” Michael revealed quietly, hands following the liquid movements of your hips, eyes trailing over your frame, focusing on your erect nipples poking through your tank-top, the curve of your breasts becoming more visible with each bounce.
With every drag he guided along the ridge of his cock that relentlessly nudged against your puffy clit — your whines got louder, only forcing his cock to throb beneath.
Michael, all too familiarly, held you to a stop.
“Michael.” His name fell past your lips in a desperate plea, the pleasure depleting as you stilled against his crotch.
“I know, I know, sweet girl.” He reassured, leaning up to press a gentle peck to your pouting lips, “M’not stoppin’, don’t worry that pretty head. Just wanna try somethin’.”
He lifted you off his lap with strong precision — settling you down to a place you’d not explored with the temptation between your legs.
His thigh.
“There y’go, pretty.” He whispered, smoothing down the back of your hair in kind strokes, “Go’head, baby, take what’cha you need.”
Your head reeled at the sudden change in his disposition — the once shy boy had magically been transformed into a confident man as the remains of his restraint settled around you.
His new attitude sent a pulsation so strong between your thighs you ground down on his — the tense of his muscle rolling against your nub in the most sensual way. Something you’d never quite felt before.
“Oh, God.” You whined — ignoring the way Michael tched at the name used in vain, not once stopping as he dragged you along his leg, lip caught between his teeth as he ogled at you.
“D’ya feel good, pretty?” Despite his switch in confidence, he was still desperate for your praise, his voice cracking slightly as he met your glossy eyes.
“Mmhm—s-s’good, Mikey.” Your voice hit him right where he needed you most — the place between his twitching legs that had been denied touch for so long.
You didn’t miss the way his hips bucked ever so slightly upwards, chasing a grasp he undeniably craved. Your hands soothed that ache — reaching forward, ever so hesitantly, to palm the bulge in his slacks.
Michael gasped, hand flinching at your side, frantic eyes meeting yours once more, “This okay, angel?” You questioned.
Michael’s lip sucked between his teeth once again, glance flickering from your gorgeous smile to your manicured hands hovering over his crotch. An act he would once deny — but not this time.
He hummed, his voice high-pitched and needy, nodding quickly, “Please, mama.”
A curse fell from your swollen rosebud at the sound of his despair — your hand enveloping around his length beneath his bottoms.
“Oh, my Lord.”
He was done for — head falling back against the plush of the sofa, eyes rolled to his skull as the pleasure washed over him. You wasted no time in pleasing the man beneath you, never once stopping rocking your hips against him, as you slowly stroked him.
The scene was erotic — a dirty array of arousal in the way he bucked his hips unapologetically into your hand, cock throbbing under your palm, as you continued to hump the meat of this thigh, your slick staining the blue denim that had trickled from your soaked panties. It was enough for him — no direct physical contact, but just the right amount of pleasure to satisfy you both.
When your thumb swiped over the oozing head of his cock, Michael lost it. Whining so loud like he didn’t care who heard — the sudden boldness depleting faster than it had come around, now replaced by uncontrollable desperation.
“O-Oh, s-shit,” The curse fell from his mouth before he could suppress it, “G-Gonna cum, lovey.” His hips now fucking up into your hand pathetically, chasing a high he’d been yearning for for so long.
In your own state of blinding pleasure, your only response was a melodic whimper, his tensing thigh hitting the ridge of your clit that had your own orgasm building. Michael, with no prior warning, came with a cry, his milky white release soaking the material of his boxers — the neediest whines of lust filling the room. You soon followed — an exclaim of his name hitting his ears, only furthering his pleasure, as you came undone on his thigh, humping him at such a speed you were almost a blur in his glassy vision.
Michael heaved as he came down from a high that had been lingering on his mind since the moment you met him — an orgasm so strong he was twitching uncontrollably. You stilled against his leg, catching your breath simultaneously, peering down at his fucked out state.
“Thank you, pretty.”
“Ah, ah, I’m not done with you yet.”
Michael swore he died and went to heaven as you dropped to your knees beneath him — eyes hungry and dark, agenda unclear to him.
It was only when you lay your tongue flat against the rough of his jeans, the ones you had once fucked yourself on, licking up your essence that clad the denim, that Michael realised how much of a sex-hungry slut you were. The tang of your seeping arousal lingered on your tongue as you lapped up the mess you’d made on him — glancing up at him through your lashes at his knitted eyebrows and agape mouth. His suspicion that you were a cock-slut only deepening as you retracted your tongue back into your mouth, savouring the taste of yourself, and kissed your way up his leg, getting dangerously close to where he was pulsating.
“Mama, I—“ “Shhh, just gonna clean y’up, baby.”
Michael saw stars when you shoved his pyjama bottoms down his thighs and latched your greedy mouth to the wet spot that clad his boxers, a crackled groan ripping from his throat as you hummed around him. Your lips, settling right against the softening tip of his cock, suckled the cum straight from the cotton — his salty release flooding your tastebuds, colliding with the tang of your own essence in a delicious blaze on your tongue. His hand flew down to cradle your cheek as you lapped up the cum that stained him — his cock throbbing once more as your hands gripped his thighs, jeans now even more wet from your eager mouth.
“Baby—fuck, I-I’m gonn—“ With a strangled cry, another irrepressible spurt of cum shot from him once more, hands tightening ever so slightly around your flushed cheek as you greedily sucked up what he blessed you with — lapping up his second orgasm like you were dying of thirst.
Only when you pulled away, satisfied with your salty refreshment, did Michael’s breathing level out — blissed out expression meeting your devilish one.
oh we need some more pervy bsf mike..like what he used to do before deflowering y/n
perv!bsf!mikey who, before reaching third base with you, would lift your shirt a little too high, to 'tickle' you (grope your cute waist) chuckling softly at your whiney protest when your pretty lacy bra would be exposed >⩊<.ᐟ
perv!bsf!mikey who hugs you a little to tight to feel the swell of your tits on him
perv!bsf!mikey who asked you to rate his cock, but you cant leave him all hard and leaky! so he has you wrap your hands around him "where'd you learn to be this good? hm?"
perv!bsf!mikey who doesnt want to make a mess when he cums, so he has you stick your wet tongue out. resting his pretty brown tip on it, shooting cum down your throat.
perv!bsf!mikey who grinds his morning wood on your perky ass in the morning, whilst you sleep, after a sleepover.
perv!bsf!mikey who grips your waist a little to tightly when you're talking to jackie for far to long
perv!bsf!mikey who has told you that its completely normal for best friends to change infront of each other!!
perv!bsf!mikey who rubs your puffy pussy to 'practice' for his future girlfriend.
perv!bsf!mikey who knows you said 'no fingers' when getting you off, but how is he supposed to make you feel good!! muffling your protests with deep kisses, as he slides two fingers in your poor little pussy.
perv!bsf!mikey whos gonna get touched by me
a/n: sorry for the inactivity!! im on vacation yayayay, but michaels still HEAVY on my mind, enough that im deadass on my way to see it for a 3rd time rn, glad to see it's the same for you all still!! please make more reqs!! im here to service you all!! ok love you byebyebye
imagine ˋ°•*⁀➷ 18+ mdni a bed rocking and slamming into a wall as the sound sound of sex plays in the background of in the closet wasn’t just some lewd sound design— michael had the idea to record y’all fucking (something he would come back to and watch while he was away on tour) but then he thought that you just sounded so good, he had to put it somewhere in a song
when he first played you the finished track, you were so embarrassed— and a little bit pleased. you were greedy when it came to him, and now the whole world knew you belong to each other (and that you had a habit of breaking furniture when it came to him running you through a mattress)
i got this idea because of the guns n’ roses song rocket queen (which has actual audio from the front man and his drummer’s gf fucking)
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: in which 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐬𝐟!𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 can’t have it when you talk to other guys.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ (mdni), oral (m receiving)
𝐚/𝐧: just saw i hit 2k followers… thank you so much guys for the support so… surprise!!! i’ll do an event in the summer with all my favourite characters (dc/marvel/criminal minds/etc), i promise! omg i'm already planning on writing for wally west omg yummm
the second michael gets you home, he sits you on his lap. normally, he always asks, but now he’s not in the mood.
tonight, he found you outside the nightclub, laughing it up with a couple of guys, bonding over a random rock band you’re a fan of. he knows, because you listen to them all the time, always wanting to play their albums when he drives you all over town like your personal taxi chauffeur.
he literally shot daggers at them before dragging you away, the look in his eyes all stony and his jaw tight as he carried you to his car like a sack of potatoes. michael noticed the way all the guys looked at you: like you were a piece of meat. a cute, untouched girl who needs a big guy to provide for her.
at times like these, he hates it. hates that he has to share you, his sweet, pretty girl, with the cruel world. and especially with other men. and now he has to address your irresponsible behaviour. you should’ve known to not talk to other guys. you already have him, and that’s enough.
“are you mad at me, michael?” you ask, voice tiny and quiet, fiddling with your fingers as you straddle his lap, not able to look in his eyes.
and michael hates that you don’t want to look at him. at the subtle frown on your face, his voice immediately softens. “baby, no,” his hands shoot out to caress your sides, his touch leaving a tingly sensation in its wake like always. “just a bit disappointed, tha’s all.”
your bottom lip starts to tremble. he’s not mad, but disappointed in you, and somehow that’s even worse. “they’re not gonna drive you all over town. buy you make up. sit you on their lap. i do that f’you baby, and without complainin’,” michael explains, tangling a soft strand of hair behind your ear.
“they won’t feed you little strawberries while watching movies either. but i will. just makes me feel a lil’ unappreciated, baby.”
that’s also something you don’t want. “i’m so sorry, mikey,” you whisper, voice wavery and soft. “how can i make it up to you?”
well, michael has an idea of how you can make it up to him, alright.
because now you’re on your knees, body a little wobbly as you settle your hands on your best friend’s thighs as you peer up at his hardened cock in his hands. transparent precum drips down the root shyly and slowly, thumb spreading it over the crown.
“that’s alright, baby girl,” michael murmurs, hands gripping your hips, guiding you onto him. this is not what you two usually do, but this sight unconsciously makes your mouth water. “jus’ gonna let’cha take a little lick.”
you hum in accordance. doe-eyes looking up at him. “i-is this normal, mikey?” you question, all warm and tingly inside.
“completely,” he answers, a dark look in his eyes, “’s just what friends do.”
when he finally readies himself and drags the bead of buttery precum over your lips, leaving them shiny, he stops in his tracks. “say thank you, baby.”
“thank you, mikey.”
“thaaaat’s it.” he’s not letting you take a “little lick”, no. instead, he feeds you his entire length. inch by torturing inch disappears in your narrow throat, but you take him in like a champ. mouth stuffed full, not able to speak, eyes watery as your fingers clamp down his thighs.
“my poor baby,” michael croons at your glassy eyes and the strings of spit dripping from your chin. to pester you even more, he whips up some of the slick spit on your chin and wipes it across your patchy cheek. “first time taking me in y’r mouth. gonna get your throat moulded t’me.”
one jerk forward slides him further into your mouth. you squeal around his length, a mixture of spit and precum bubbling around his shaft.
you’re not used to having big things in your mouth, but if that means making michael happy, you’d do it. you even wrap your hands around his base like you’ve read about in those romance books you love, wondering when you could apply your knowledge in real life.
the wet, gagging sounds you make encourage michael even more. “feels s’good baby,” he pants, his thighs contracting as the inside of your throat moves around his member, accommodating him in your slick tunnel. “y’can go deeper—fuck—know y’can.”
your hands twist and rotate what your mouth doesn’t cover, head bobbing up and down experimentally, little slurpy, swallowy sounds escaping out of your mouth.
“fuck, where’d you learn to suck dick like that?” michael grunts out, hips bucking up, his cock hitting the back of your snug, spongy throat. a surge of jealousy shoots through him at the thought of another guy teaching you how to pleasure him. “y’have the nicest little throat to fuck into, shit—”
your thighs press together at the sight of your normally cocky, calm best friend losing his sanity above you. sweat beading along his hairline, veins in his neck popping out.
“lemme— lemme— shit,” he rushes out, easing his cock out of your throat slowly, strings of spit connecting you to his cock. the tip of his dick is aimed right at your face, as the noiret pulls on his length, obscure, moist sounds from his languid strokes.
his adam’s apple bobs as he throws his head into the cushions of the sofa. “fuck, gonna come on your face. say please baby.”
“please, mikey, come on my face.” you respond eagerly, sitting up higher on your knees excitedly, eyes twinkling.
and maybe that’s what undoes michael. how you’re always agreeing with him. complying. following him. he loves how you just give into him, whatever he does. and you do it with pleasure. you do it willingly.
that’s how this this friendship works, michael thinks.
it takes one long pull, his fingers cramping around his length, and then michael combusts: milky seed exploding right in your face. your mouth, your pretty lashes, dripping down your chest, over the little “m” hanging on the necklace on your chest.
you’re overwhelmed. not knowing what the fuck just happened, only able to register michael’s warm, salty cum dripping all over your face, completely painted in white.
🐆💋 — the guilt that comes with being around dbf!michael is beginning to eat you alive. two days have passed since his drunken call. he apologized a million times, saying it was inappropriate of him to put you in that position. so far, he’s been trying to fix his mistake. bringing you to different places to buy out the stores, but all it does is give you butterflies and bring the ache between your thighs again. you thought that maybe you could move past it, that if you force yourself to be around your boyfriend, these small feelings will go away again, right?
that is until michael brings you to his place after taking you out to an event with him. the attention is all on him of course, he kept his hand on your back or around your hand. squeezing it gently to make sure you’re okay, whenever you showed signs of becoming overwhelmed, he spoke to you in your ears cracking jokes to make you feel better. it worked like a charm, always, he knows how to distract your mind. a part of you hated how your body would feel from his keen gaze and hands that never seemed to leave your body. and the grip he had around your waist on accident when some random journalist came up to you to get your number, you felt as if your legs could give out right then and there until he tells the man you’re already dating someone.
at his place, michael had a private chef cook all your favorite meals, the two of you sat at the dining table and ate. you’ve ignored your phone most of the time you were with him, your boyfriend texting you to see how you’re doing. you were tired of this shame following you around like a thunder cloud, michael told you to text him back, stating how it’s rude to ignore someone. you felt even more ashamed at how turned on michael’s stern tone made you feel, but you listened.
michael could see the stress in your body, even after all this week, he spent most of his time trying to find different ways to make you feel better. he took you out shopping more, brought you to your favorite restaurants, and sent you extra money for whatever. yet, still nothing. as you finished up your message and sent it, michael tells you to come sit beside him, the silence between you getting stronger. once you get over to him, one of his hands glides down your leg to your ankle, picking up your foot, he takes off your shoe and places your foot on his thigh, raising his hand immediately to stop you from complaining. still quiet, michael begins to massage your foot, both hands working diligently as he watches you closely. still so tense.
“things your boyfriend should have a good eye on, is this.” he mumbles, your heart beats faster. “michael.” you start and he shakes his head. “i should’ve saw it myself too, i’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, sweet girl.” the way his voice gets deeper, a little breathier, you swear you could have moaned right there. your phone lights up, your boyfriend sends you another message, michael nudges his head to it, “answer it, don’t be rude.” he says, his hands moving up your ankle. eyes still locked on your face, you pick up your phone, and see your boyfriend asking you when you’re coming over to his place. forgetting that the two of you planned to go on a date after so long.
“need me to drop you home?” michael pulls your attention back to him, his hands not stopping, the look in his eyes, you could almost give him anything if he asked. you glance back at your boyfriend’s message nod, michael hums and sighs. “after this massage, then, i’ll get you back to your boyfriend, safely.” it was intentional, michael’s annoyed, he’s so annoyed by your boyfriend’s existence but michael really loves giving you stuff your boyfriend can’t. maybe next award show he’ll take you as his date and won’t correct the next person that assumes you’re his new girlfriend.
