⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: gentlemen can still get their dicks sucked. michael thinks he’s exempt because you’re too pretty. AHNT! wrong.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ smut, oral sex (male receiving), a very shy and flustered michael because I genuinely don’t think he’d be any way else at this age, female reader. wrote this with the “it’s wonderful day!” interview in mind.
Michael isn't sure how he got in this predicament.
One second she'd been curled against him on the bed, tracing lazy shapes against his chest while the television hummed quietly somewhere in the background. The next, her lips were brushing against his ear, soft and plush and devastatingly warm, whispering something sweet as melted honey that made his stomach flip straight into his ribs.
He didn't even fully process the words, only the feeling of all the blood from his head rushing straight to his pants.
A featherlight breath against his skin.
A little kiss tucked just beneath his ear.
The way her voice wrapped around him slow and warm, making him melt before he even realized he was melting. And somehow after that, she was on her knees between his legs.
Michael sat frozen at the edge of the mattress, staring down at her with wide brown eyes while she looked up at him like he'd hung the stars himself. The lamp beside the bed washed everything amber gold, catching in the blush already flooding his cheeks and the nervous shine of his bitten lips.
She looked downright lovesick.
The kind of gaze that made his pulse scramble like frightened birds in a cathedral. Her pupils looked enormous beneath her lashes, soft and syrupy and practically heart shaped with how fond she seemed of him. It made him duck his head immediately, one hand flying up to cover his face as a helpless laugh escaped through his trembling fingers.
“Baby..” he laughed weakly, voice embarrassingly breathless. “Don't look at me like that...”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause...” He peeked at her through his fingers only to instantly regret it when she smiled. “You know why.”
Her hands settled on his thighs then, thumbs smoothing absent little circles against the fabric of his jeans while his knees twitched under her touch. Michael inhaled sharply, shoulders pulling inward with shy tension as she started inching upward, slow enough for him to want to instinctively close his thighs as his stomach tightened when her fingers brushed his belt.
“Can I taste what's in here, angel face?” she spoke softly, tilting her head.
Michael made the tiniest strangled sound. Immediately his head tipped back with embarrassment, curls tumbling across his forehead. “Don't say things like that..”
“Like what?” she asked, all faux innocence and sparkling eyes.
“Those cute names when you're being..” He swallowed hard. “..dirty.”
A grin tugged at her lips. “I think you like it.”
Michael shook his head too fast to be believable. “N-no! I’m a gentleman.”
“Liar.” Her fingers hooked lightly into his belt loops now, teasing without actually pulling. The anticipation alone had him squirming beneath her touch, one leg bouncing nervously while he tried very hard to avoid looking directly at her.
It didn't help that she looked beautiful like this.
Too beautiful, and the thought escaped before he could stop it.
“You're too pretty to be down there..” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Messin' with something so.. perverted.”
She blinked up at him, trying not to laugh. “Perverted?”
Michael groaned softly and buried his entire face in both hands this time. “Please don't make me repeat stuff.. I’m really shy..”
The sound of her laughter was gentle, fond. She leaned forward just enough for her cheek to brush against his knee affectionately, and Michael nearly folded in on himself from the sheer tenderness of it.
“You’re shaking, Mikey..” Her hands left his belt slowly.
For a second Michael thought maybe she'd noticed how overwhelmed he was getting. The poor boy could barely breathe correctly anymore, all flushed cheeks and twitching thighs and nervous little laughs muffled behind his hands.
But then she reached for one of them.
Michael peeked through his fingers just in time to see her guiding his larger hand into her lap, her own looking impossibly small wrapped around it. Long fingers. Elegant fingers. The kind that belonged behind piano keys beneath stage lights.
“Mama..” he whispered, already embarrassed again.
She ignored him completely and instead, she turned his hand over gently and pressed a kiss to the tip of his thumb and Michael visibly melted.
Another kiss landed against his index finger.
Then his middle.
Then the next.
Slow little kisses. Unhurried and affectionate enough to make his pants feel unbearably tight. Michael stared down at her in stunned silence, lips parted slightly while heat crawled all the way down his neck. This was almost worse than the teasing because it was too sweet. Way too sweet.
His thighs shifted restlessly beneath her as she kissed the tip of his pinky last, eyes never leaving his face once— she was watching every single reaction bloom across him in real time.
Michael tried to hide again instinctively, but she still had his hand still holding him there. Her gaze dropped briefly and she took his longest finger gently between her lips, and Michael forgot how to breathe for a solid three seconds because all he could focus on was her mouth.
The softness of it. The shine of it. The way her plush lips looked wrapped around his finger while she looked back up at him through her lashes. She started sucking, bobbing her head up and down on the digit as her tongue swirled a little too good around the flesh.
Michael sucked in a shaky breath so suddenly it almost sounded painful. His free hand immediately covered his face again, utterly overwhelmed.
“Hoh, God..” he laughed weakly into his palm, voice trembling around the edges. His thighs tried to cave inward again, only stopping because she was still between them.
And she looked entirely too pleased about that fact.
This time her hand slid upward, fingers disappearing into the curls at the nape of his neck gentle and possessive in the softest way possible. She tugged him downward carefully, and Michael followed without resistance, folding toward her like he was helpless against gravity whenever she touched him like this. One of his hands caught against the mattress beside her head to steady himself.
He looked unbearably pretty up close with his flushed cheeks, heavy lashes and hips parted slightly from nervous breathing.
And still shy. Still hiding little fragments of his face from her whenever she looked at him too lovingly for too long. Her thumb brushed along his jaw and Michael's eyes fluttered shut the second her lips met his.
When she pulled back barely an inch, his eyes opened slowly. Dazed. She smiled at him so fondly it nearly finished him off right there. “Can I make you feel good, my angel?” she asked softly.
He ducked his head immediately, forehead nearly falling against her shoulder while a breathless giggle escaped him in pure embarrassment. “You already are..” he mumbled shyly.
Moments of movement and shuffling pass before Michael's breathing is completely uneven now.
Every inhale came sharp through parted lips, every exhale trembling back out because he couldn't quite steady himself anymore. His face stayed turned away half the time, curls falling over his eyes while little helpless sounds kept slipping from him no matter how hard he tried to swallow them down.
“Mm.. mm—baby.. baby—” The words barely even sounded intentional. More instinct than speech as his fingers flexed uselessly against the sheets beside him before curling tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. A second later they were in his hair instead, tugging lightly at the curls near his temple while he whines under his breath in disbelief. A completely overwhelmed sound, genuinely not able process how good this felt.
Her tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his pretty mauve flushed brown tip, the wet warmth of her mouth enveloping him completely. Her small hands grip his base firmly, matching the rhythm of her mouth’s movements.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut again, brows pulling together while another soft moan escaped him, quieter this time. Almost ashamed of itself with pink flooding across his cheeks, lips parted helplessly and chest rising too fast beneath the open collar of his shirt.
Every little reaction crossed his face openly before he could hide it. And god, he kept trying to hide it. Every time a sound slipped out, he’d duck his head immediately afterward, one hand covering his mouth like maybe he could physically stop himself from making another. It never worked.
“Please..” he whispered at one point, though it didn't even sound like protest. More like he was overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of being wanted this way.
Her mouth is filled with the prettiest cock she’s ever had— slender but long, with a graceful curve that hits the back of her throat perfectly. And such a precious shade of cooked honey, the head thick and smooth. His pelvic area is impossibly smooth, completely hairless and perfectly groomed. She can see every detail of his erection without obstruction; the way his shaft rises from the clean shaven pelvis as her hands run over his smooth pubic bone, feeling how soft the skin is stretched tight over the area.
Another broken little moan caught in his throat.
Michael swallowed hard afterward, eyes glassy when they fluttered open again. He looked almost distraught from pleasure alone now.
“This is so..” He exhaled shakily, unable to finish the sentence.
Dirty.
Dirty and deply intimate in a way that made his stomach twist itself into knots. Michael looked almost painfully pretty like this. Completely unraveled by tenderness and desire all at once. Every soft sound leaving him admittedly was very pathetic and he couldn't understand how he’d ended up here at all. With a beautiful girlfriend who likes, no—loves him enough to put his.. thing in her pretty mouth. They’ve been intimate before this, but he’s still so shy when they do fool around he’s just like this every time. He hasn’t even seen what in between her legs looks like yet but he’s felt it before with his fingers.
A particularly shaky moan slipped out of him then, and he immediately groaned afterward biting the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I can't hold it.. I can't hold it..” he mumbled weakly against his skin, mortified. But even then his thighs trembled.
Michael’s breath stutters as his entire body tightens for a brief, helpless second before he loses whatever shaky control he’d been holding onto. He sits up almost involuntarily, pulled by instinct more than thought and immediately folds forward over her, shoulders hunched, curls falling around his face as he cradles her head with both hands. He’s cumming.
“Lord—have mercy..”
His fingers press gently into her hair, careful not to mess it up too bad while his forehead dips close. He tries to steady himself against her, a soft broken sound caught in his throat, as he stays there feeling her tongue roll against the underside of his dick. He.. doesn’t quite know how to come back down from the intensity except by holding on.
And that’s what he does until he bashfully lets her pull away, a big flirty smile on her face as she wipes the corner of her mouth.
“What? Don’t look at me like that..” His little accent is thicker now.
“We’ve been dating for months and you’re still so precious! Come hereeeee~! ♪ ” She chirps going in to tickle him, to which he preemptively starts screaming.
so i had an idea/request but i’m too shy to ask off anon, please forgive me: you’ve wrote a few MJ pregnancy fics so i thought u would be perfect for this slightly angst but fluffy idea during the thriller era.
You just gave birth and wake up after a long and difficult labor to see michael holding your perfect baby, but looking a little distant and sad. you ask whats wrong and of course he tries to deflect, but its guilt, many layers. he almost missed the labor because he was working (perhaps you went into labor early/unexpectedly and couldnt reach him at first). And the baby looks just like him, but him before vitiligo took over and getting cosmetic surgery. you assure him that you love him and the baby, who undeniably has his eyes and beautiful smile, and thats enough. he finally admits out loud that hes worried about what kind of father he’ll be after being raised by joseph (he’s avoided talking about it for months), but you assure him that you’re not a bit worried because if the baby inherits even a fraction of his love and kindness; you’ll all be just fine.
Sorry if this is too detailed or cheesy but i hope you’ll consider writing it because it’s lived rent-free in my head for days.
a/n: i hope this turned out like how you wanted 😭
t/w: angst, allusions to an abusive childhood, insecurity, parental anxiety, fluff, he’s a girl dad 🤍
statement on ai
⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹
A beep of a monitor was the first thing you heard once you woke up, the soft light of early morning sneaking its way through the curtains.
Then, slowly as your consciousness got its footing, you heard low singing from the other side of the room. A lullaby you hadn’t heard before but you knew who it was.
Turning over as carefully as you could, trying your best not to wince because Christ you were sore, your eyes finally landed on your husband who was standing with a baby in his arms. Rocking side to side on his never still feet as he sang a quiet tune to the newborn.
You smiled as you watched Michael. His eyes glowing in a way you hadn’t seen before. Looking as though he was holding the entire universe in his arms. Perhaps he was.
There was something else, though. Buried deep beneath his expression. One that would be hard to notice if you didn’t know how to read the fissure lines that held him together, but you’d had years of practice on learning how to pick up the hints of when something was bothering him.
“Honey?”
He turned, surprised to see you were awake and a string pulled at the corner of his lips.
Before he could get a word out, the question dripped off your tongue. “What’s wrong?”
Michael shook his head, eyes flicking away from you and down to the baby girl. “Nothing. Everything is perfect.”
“Come here,” you urged, adjusting the level of the bed so it’d be easier for you to sit up.
He carefully made his way over, his steps moving with the precision of someone walking on a high wire and his eyes never once leaving the baby wrapped in his arms.
Once he sat down on the edge of the bed, your finger gently tugged the blanket down and you smiled. “Those are your eyes, Michael. Look how beautiful she is.”
He was quiet for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Yeah.”
You frowned as you considered him. “You gotta talk to me, honey. What’s going on?”
He started to shake his head again, “I don’t wanna ruin the—“ his words died on his tongue when he took note of the expression you were wearing and he sighed. Gaze dancing back down to the baby. “I’m sorry I was late.”
“You were right on time.”
“But I wanted to be here. For the whole thing. I should’ve been with you when your water broke and I should’ve been the one to drive you here. I should’ve been holding your hand through each contraction and I wasn’t because I was working.”
It broke your heart to see how badly he was beating himself up over this, watching carefully as he slowly stood up to lay the baby down in the crib before he came back to the bed, taking your hands in his and the run of his thumb over your knuckles seemed to help calm him down.
“None of that was your fault. I knew you’d be here, I just knew it. And you were, you got to hold my hand and hear our first baby’s cry.“
“But I should’ve—“
“Michael.” You tugged him, encouraging him to sit back down and you brushed some of his curls away from his face, his eyes closing briefly at your gentle touch. “There’s something else you're not telling me, I can feel it.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes dancing up to the ceiling for a moment before deciding to bite the bullet.
“She looks a lot like me.”
Your brows furrowed. “I know.”
“From before, I mean.”
You shut your eyes, trying not to cry all the sudden because you knew that would only make him feel worse. When you opened them again he was looking down, messing with your wedding ring.
“You’re both beautiful. All of you and each version. Don’t ever think otherwise—“
“What if she gets it?” What it was remained unspoken, hung silent in the air. “There’s a hereditary aspect to it, y’know. Not guaranteed, but it could happen.”
“We’d love her all the same, you know that.”
“But if she sees me hiding it then she’ll do the same and then what is she supposed to think of me? And what if I can’t handle it? What if I got ahead of myself? I mean, growing up with Joseph… I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”
You knew he’d been avoiding this conversation for months now. You had seen it dancing on the edges of his lips every time parenthood got brought up. After every dinner you had with his parents. After every doctor appointment.
You knew he wanted kids more than anything in the world and he would never admit how terrified he actually was.
He was afraid of getting it wrong the way his dad did. Afraid of making his own kids feel small and like they weren’t enough.
You took hold of his chin and made him look at you, his red eyes making your heart ache.
“Michael, I say this sincerely and not just as your wife, you are the most wonderful man I have ever had the privilege of knowing. If our kids get to experience just a fraction of your kindness, they will experience the love of a lifetime from you as their father.”
A tear slipped from his eye, your thumb catching it and his smile was warmer than the sun that was bleeding into the room.
“And our child will love you just the same, because you’re her daddy and that’s all that matters. The rest is just noise.”
He rested his forehead against you for a moment, trying to steady himself as he took hold of your hands to bring them up to his lips.
Michael then kissed you, the taste of salt on your tongue because you hadn’t realized you’d been crying yourself.
You’d blame it on the postpartum hormones for now.
“I love you,” he muttered, his hand coming up to rest gently against the side of your throat. You knew your heart beat calmed him down.
michael jackson masterlist
taglist: @solarrandom @mjssluttyfish @sometranslationnoteru @tojiswifeforlife @cloudsofbooksandpages @thebabykashmere @smoothcriminalgf @uconnwbbloversworld1 @sunshineyrosie @key1730 @daydreamerwithnolife @kayybaereads (if you’d like to be added to the taglist for all mj fics — smut included— lmk!)
⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: it’s genuinely on sight if you catch diana by herself.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ no crazy warnings. female reader, public verbal argument (reader and diana), brief emotional stress and anxiety, romantic jealousy, relationship strain, smoking / cigarette use—pls its the 80’s, mikey in the doghouse.
So.. Michael doesn't think he's ever been this fucking scared in his life.
Which feels deeply unfair considering he’s Michael Jackson. He’s performed in front of thousands of people, he’s danced on national television. And yet somehow none of those experiences prepared him for the sight currently waiting across Studio 54.
His girlfriend is sitting alone in a velvet booth with a drink in front of her, looking so spectacularly deadpan that Michael briefly considers leaving the country. The problem is that she isn’t crying, isn't yelling. She isn’t even causing a scene. She’s ignoring him. Which is infinitely worse. When she gets loud, at least he knows where he stands. When she gets quiet? Oh, baby that’s when God himself starts abandoning his people.
The club pulses around him in flashes of gold and red light, cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air while celebrities and socialites laugh their way through another night they’ll be talking about for years. Meanwhile, Michael is standing near the bar wondering if it’s possible to die from being in trouble with a pretty girl. The worst part is that she has a point, enough of a point that every defense he’d come up with has fallen apart the second he’s tried saying it to himself.
The evening had started perfectly fine. Then Diana arrived. And somehow Michael had spent the next two hours getting continuously pulled into her orbit. One conversation became three. One dance became several. Every time he managed to drift back toward his girlfriend, Diana found a way to pull him somewhere else. A joke. A story. A hand on his arm. A request for “one more” dance. Michael hadn’t noticed how bad it looked at first, but his girlfriend had. The first warning came in the form of a look. The second came as a pointed comment. The third involved her physically appearing beside him while Diana stood entirely too close and entirely too comfortable. And Michael, complete idiot that he was, had smiled. Smiled! Like there wasn’t a bomb actively ticking beside him.
The argument afterward had not gone.. well. Mostly because it stopped being about jealousy almost immediately—that would’ve been easier. Instead it became about disrespect. About spending an entire evening standing in a room full of people while another woman monopolized her boyfriend’s attention. About feeling invisible and like a second choice. About Diana acting like she possessed a claim on Michael that nobody else was supposed to fucking question. Then, Diana made the catastrophic mistake of questioning her right back. Michael doesn’t remember every detail because the second the tension started rising, his survival instincts kicked in and his brain effectively left the building. But he remembers (Name) asking if she could maybe have five uninterrupted minutes with her own boyfriend. He remembers Diana not appreciating the tone. He remembers trying to smooth things over then—the drink in (Name)’s hand found itself splashing in Diana’s face before Michael had to physically pick up and pull her away while another nearby did the same with Diana.
Now Diana is on one side of the club pretending none of it happened. His girlfriend is on the other side pretending he doesn’t exist.
And somehow Michael is the common denominator in both disasters.
After spending nearly fifteen minutes pacing around the bar (like a condemned man awaiting execution), Michael finally orders her favorite drink. Then orders another because his hands are shaking badly enough that he drops the first one. By the time he starts walking toward her booth, he’s rehearsed approximately seventeen? different apologies and forgotten every single one of them. His girlfriend notices him immediately but she simply chooses not to acknowledge it. Michael stops beside the table and waits. Nothing.
“Hi.” Silence. “Hi,” he tries again, somehow sounding even more nervous the second time. Still nothing then carefully, he sets the drink down in front of her.
“..I got this for you, baby..” That finally earns him a reaction: she looks at the glass. Then at him and back at the glass. A smile appears and Michael’s stomach immediately drops to the floor. Because it’s not her happy smile. It’s the smile. The one that means she’s about to make him suffer.
“Oh.” One word as she picks up the drink and studies it thoughtfully before slowly lifting her eyes back to his. The smile widens.
“Oh,” She says again. “Finally remembered who your girlfriend is?” And just like that, every apology Michael spent the last fifteen minutes rehearsing evaporates completely.
Michael just stares at her. Which, unfortunately, is probably the worst possible thing he could be doing right now. He just.. stares. Partially because he's terrified and genuinely, sincerely terrified in a way that feels ridiculous considering he’s a rising star, one would think very little scares him. But he’s staring mostly because she’s angry, and he's never actually seen her like this before. Not really—not directed at him. Usually when she’s upset, there’s still something soft underneath it. Its huffy, pouty, there’s some visible crack where he can see his way back in. Tonight there isn’t. Tonight she’s sitting across from him looking completely unimpressed, completely unaffected by his presence, and somehow so damn beautiful. She’s beautiful everyday, yeah. But right now? Whew. Her eyes seem darker, her posture straighter and there’s a confidence that feels like she owns the entire nightclub and everyone inside it. Michael knows he should be apologizing. Knows he should be speaking. Knows he should be doing literally anything other than staring at her. Instead, his brain completely betrays him by noticing how pretty she looks when she’s mad.
The silence stretches longer than it should and her eyebrow slowly lifts. Michael continues staring.
“Hello?” Nothing. “Michael?”
His brain finally restarts with all the grace of a car refusing to turn over. “Pardon?” The second the word leaves his mouth, she lets out a short laugh and leans back against the booth cushions.
“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You're not even listening to me.”
Michael immediately opens his mouth to argue before deciding against it. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Then she gestures casually across the club toward Diana and smiles in a way that makes every survival instinct in his body activate at once.
“Please go back over there before I drag that old bitch.” Michael’s eyes widen and his gaze instinctively flickers toward Diana before snapping right back to his girlfriend. Huge mistake. She catches it immediately.
“Oh, don't worry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.” And suddenly Michael understands that this isn’t really about Diana at all—or at least entirely. It’s about spending an entire evening making his girlfriend feel unwanted while he floated around Studio 54 like he didn’t even have one. The realization settles heavily in his stomach, and for the first time all night, he's no longer scared of her being angry. He’s scared because she has every right to be.
(Name) stares at him for another few seconds before letting out a long sigh and sliding out of the booth. Michael immediately straightens because the fact she's standing up usually means a decision has been made, and Michael has a horrible feeling he isn’t going to like it. She smooths down her outfit, picks up her purse, and points directly at him.
“I’m leaving.” She says and Michael blinks.
“Okay..” He nods.
“You can stay if you want.” His face falls instantly. “But,” She continues holding up a finger, “I’m changing the locks if you do.” The statement confirms he is, in fact, still very much in trouble and (Name) watches the realization happen in real time. His shoulders sink. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Then without a single argument, he simply stands up and follows after her immediately with no hesitation. He’s trailing along a few steps behind like a giant, miserable puppy that knows exactly why it’s being punished.
(Name) makes it approximately ten feet before glancing over her shoulder and finding him still there looking guilty and pathetic. Looking like if she left him alone in Studio 54 for more than twenty minutes he’d probably just stand in the corner thinking about life. The sight nearly breaks her resolve. Nearly.
“That's what I thought,” She says, reaching back and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and Michael doesn’t even protest. If anything, he seems relieved to be collected. (Name) rolls her eyes and starts steering him toward the exit while he obediently follows along behind her. They’re halfway across the club when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.
“Well, look at this.” Quincy appears out of nowhere, drink in hand and a grin already spreading across his face as he takes in the scene before him. (Name) with one hand on Michael’s collar. Michael following behind her with all the dignity of a man being escorted out of kindergarten. Quincy immediately starts laughing.
She brightens instantly. “Hi, Q!” she calls cheerfully, as if she isn’t actively dragging her boyfriend through the middle of Studio 54. “We're leaving!”
Quincy glances at Michael and at the hand attached to his collar. “I can see that, sweetheart.”
She nods enthusiastically. ”Early too!” And behind her, Michael closes his eyes for a brief moment as Quincy nearly doubles over laughing.
“What’d you do, Mike?” Quincy asks.
“I don't wanna talk about it,” Michael mutters.
“He knows what he did,” She answers at the exact same time, giving his collar another tug toward the door and Quincy laughs even harder. Michael wishes the floor would open and swallow him whole.
The walk to the car is painfully embarrassing for Michael but she saves him from the embarrassment of the paparazzi because releases his collar the second they step outside, but somehow that’s worse. At least when she was dragging him around, she was touching him. Now she’s just walking beside him with her purse tucked under her arm and her expression fixed firmly ahead. The night air is cooler than inside the club, carrying away some of the heat and noise of Studio 54, but none of it helps the growing sense of dread sitting in Michael’s stomach. When the car finally pulls up, he nearly lunges for the door handle, rushing ahead to open it for her before she can do it herself. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture beyond sliding into the seat without a word and Michael follows a moment later, settling beside her as the door shuts and the city begins moving past the windows.
The silence inside the car feels louder than the music had.
(Name) sits with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and one leg thrown over the other, looking out the window because she’s suddenly become fascinated by New York traffic. Michael glances at her once.. then again. Then a third time. Every few seconds his eyes drift back toward her before darting away when she doesn’t react. He lasts maybe five minutes before finally giving up. Slowly and cautiously, he reaches across the seat and rests his hand lightly on her knee.
She just refuses to look at him.
“Lovey..” Michael says quietly. No response.
“I’m sorry.” His thumb moves against her knee. “Will you look at me?” Nothing.
“Please? What can I do?” The worst part is how sincere he sounds. He’s not making excuses or defending himself. He’s just being her Michael. Soft and sweet and looking so genuinely miserable that she can physically feel her resolve beginning to crack down the middle. She hates it. Hates how easy it is when he uses that voice. Hates how his eyes get all sad. Hates that she still wants to forgive him..
So instead she turns her head slowly and narrows her eyes at him. Michael immediately brightens.
Big mistake.
“Don't,” she warns and his smile falters. “You are going to massage my feet until your hands hurt.”
For a moment he stares at her then relief washes across his face so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. “That's it?”
Her eyes narrow further and Michael wisely corrects himself. “I mean.. yes. Absolutely. As long as you want.”
“Good.”
“Okay."
“And I'm still mad at you.”
“I know.”
“Very mad.”
“I know, lovey.”
She turns back toward the window, fighting the smile threatening to appear on her face and a few seconds later, Michael’s hand quietly slips from her knee into her hand.
This time she lets it stay there.
The second she lets his hand stay in hers, Michael immediately gets hopeful in that cutie way he gets when he thinks he might still be forgiven. She doesn’t even have to look at him to feel it. Its the little glances he keeps sneaking at her and the way his thumb moves against her knuckles. She keeps her gaze fixed out the window acting like she hasn’t noticed any of it even though she absolutely has.
The quiet doesn't last long.
“..Can I have a kiss?” Michael asks, voice softer than it already is because he’s testing whether the ground is stable again. (Name) closes her eyes for a second like she’s physically bracing herself, then finally turns her head toward him. The look she gives him is unreadable, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning across the space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It’s brief, barely even a second, and the moment it’s over she’s already pulling away and turning back toward the window like nothing happened. Michael goes completely still beside her for a second then lets out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.
“I got a kiss,” he says softly, and she immediately groans and hides her face in her hand.
“Don’t start,” she warns, but her voice isn’t nearly as firm as she wants it to be. And Michael, still holding her just leans back in his seat with a smile that makes it very clear he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.
By the time they get back to her apartment (he pays for), the argument has started to lose its intensity. She kicks off her shoes the second she walks in and Michael follows her in without a word, already looking for ways to make things right without overcomplicating it.
A few minutes later she’s settled on the couch with one leg tucked under her, a cigarette resting between her fingers as she leans back into the cushions, watching him move around the room. Michael eventually ends up sitting on the floor in front of her, carefully taking her feet into his hands and he starts massaging slowly, thumbs pressing into her arch. She doesn’t look at him at first, just exhales smoke toward the ceiling, acting like she’s still mad, but her foot relaxes in his grip anyway, betraying her before she can stop it.
Michael glances up at her once, then keeps going when she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it from her anyway.
(Name) doesn’t look down at him right away. She just takes another slow drag from her cigarette, considering it for a second longer than necessary, then finally tilts her head slightly in his direction with the faintest trace of a smile pulling at her mouth. And Michael, still on the floor with her feet in his hands, keeps massaging like he’s already accepted whatever verdict she decides to give him.
Michael keeps working his thumbs into her feet and she lounges back into the couch like she’s testing how long she can stay annoyed before it dissolves on its own. She finally speaks without looking at him, voice light but still edged with something he knows better than to fully relax around.
“I dunno,” she says, exhaling another thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Do you think I should still be mad?”
Michael pauses for half a second, hands still resting around her ankle. Then he looks up at her properly, curls a little messy, expression soft and painfully earnest.. that look always makes her anger feel less solid than it should. “Yes,” he says immediately, then corrects himself just as fast, “I mean—no. I mean.. I think you were right to be mad.”
That earns him a look.
So he keeps going, “I was stupid,” he admits, thumbs resuming their slow pressure like he needs the movement to stay grounded. “I should’ve been with you more. I didn’t mean to.. make you feel like that.” His eyes flick up again, searching her face carefully, like he’s trying to read whether he’s losing her in real time. “But I.. also really don’t want you to stay mad at me.”
(Name) watches him for a moment, cigarette still between her fingers, expression unreadable in a way that makes his stomach tighten slightly. Then she tilts her head, studying him like she’s deciding something she hasn’t fully committed to yet. Michael doesn’t move, he just waits there on the floor with her foot in his hands.
Finally, she lets out a small breath through her nose, something almost like a laugh buried in it, and leans her head back against the couch.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she says, not quite forgiving him but not holding on to the anger either. Michael lets out a relieved breath he clearly didn’t realize he was holding and immediately goes back to massaging.
“But you’re definitely putting that mouth to work tonight.”
This man may be a perfectionist, but he loves it when it gets messy. When he sees that white ring form around his cock, your cum drips to his balls. He goes crazy. He doesn’t hold back, picking up his pace and watching you fall apart under him.
He is very handsy. He always has to be touching you. Squeezing your waist, holding your hips, your legs, anything. His hands never leave you.
Absolutely pussy drunk. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t get to cum, or even undress. Your pleasure is his biggest priority. He could spend hours between your legs just wanting to hear those pretty sounds coming from your lips. He’d make you cum multiple times, not even pulling up for a break. He’d only stop if you pushed him away physically, too overstimulated.
This man is HUNG. 7 inches soft, 9 inches when hard. It’s uncut and girthy. When you guys first started getting more intimate, it took a bit for him to fully fit in with you. But when he did, you saw stars.
Rarely subs. He’d most likely have been in his earlier eras, but after that, he is dominant. He never wants you working hard during your lovemaking. He does all the work. You lie there and look pretty for him. He isn’t aggressive; he doesn’t like any type of form of hitting or pain to your precious self. His closest form is subbing if he’s too tired, but you still need him. He’d lie back, letting you use his cock. But he’d definitely be thrusting up, still doing the majority of the work.
He loves making you a complete mess on his cock. Hearing you only be able to whine and moan while mumbling nonsense. He knows he’s big, and he takes pride in it.
Specific kinks
Creampies ⊱ he loves filling you up. He can go at it many times, so his cum ends up leaking out the majority of the time. The sight always amazes him. You filled up to the brim with his cum, showing his possession over you. It also fills his small breeding kink.
Size ⊱ as stated before, this man is hung and big. When you guys first started making love, he loved that he couldn’t fit it in. How much you’d try and push your hips back to push more inches in, but you couldn’t. The small tears rolling down your cheeks from how much just his tip fills you up. He lived for it. He loves watching you go dumb on his cock and even his fingers. The feeling of you being stretched out by him makes him cum quicker than anything.
Exhibition ⊱ It’s known how much Michael loves filming things and taking photos with his camera. You both have many ‘films’ together that he keeps to look back on, especially when he has to be away from you. Whenever you get a new set of lingerie (he obviously bought), he’d take pictures of you on the bed as you model for him. He secretly has a fantasy of someone finding them. But he’d never admit that.
Praise ⊱ He’s always praising you. He needs you to know how good you take him. He’d always whisper with each thrust, “doing so well”, “you look so pretty spread like this f’me, “you’re so perfect”. He compliments you a lot in general, so he has to do the same in bed.
Spit ⊱ receiving and giving. He does it a lot to tease you. One time, he had invited you to the studio. Quincey and they were all there. Michael pulled you aside in a dark corner while producers were 5 feet away. He tipped your head back and slowly spit in your mouth, watching as you swallowed. He grinned, seeing how flustered you got. “Good girl”, he squeezed your hips and walked back to the booth, leaving you hot and bothered. But you’d always get him back after.
thinking of michael being obsessed with ur ass (18+ mdni)
warnings: ASS. lap dance. awkward writing about said lap dance. ass smacking. panties in mouth. ass kissing. take a shot every time you read the word ass
your boyfriend pushes himself onto a random chair in your bedroom the second you get home, eyes low and sleepy. “you were dancing so pretty f’me,” he tells you, voice all gravel, referring back to how you basically ground your ass to his crotch at the club he had to drag you out of.
“you gonna put onna show now, huh?”
michael’s wrapped up in the way your hips swirl in front of him in graceful little movements, aviators low on his nose, watching intently how you slide off your tiny skirt in a slow glide. his bottom lip disappears between his teeth, eyes flickering over your long legs, your soft stomach.
his large hands are jammed into the pockets of his trousers, adjusting his dick to make himself even more comfortable as he licks his lips.
the lights are all dim, casting an amber glow across your skin as michael’s big hands can’t help but caress every inch of your exposed, soft skin as you kick off your skirt, leaving you in your tiny top and panties, your perfect body sliding down his spread legs.
your movements falter a little when you notice michael’s heavy stare behind the glasses, his smile all dopey and satisfied at seeing your plump ass move in front of him. his pretty girl doing a little private dance for him.
“why you stallin’, angel?” he murmurs when your ministrations quiver. your cheeks feel warm when you notice his nimble hands wanting to reach over to your figure.
the flat of his hand sharply taps the middle of your ass cheek as a hint for you to giddy up, his long fingers digging into your plush flesh to douse the sting blooming across your ass.
“oh.” your voice sounds small when you realise what michael did. what he did to your ass. hitting it. branding it as his — and only his — to touch.
his warm hands roam over your hips at the exact moment you want to bend down in front of him. “don’t be shy, baby,” he croons at seeing the black lace of your panties shoved between your ass cheeks. “show me what that ass can do.” michael says in a way that makes you feel small.
the words sound so vulgar coming from his lips. the wetness in your panties blooms at realising how extremely obscene the scene looks in your mind. “know my baby can dance real good f’me.”
you try to move your waist to the sensual rnb tune playing in the background, michael’s fingers still feeling heavy and present on your hips, using your core to move up and down, all flexible.
“thaaat’s it, angel. y’r a natural,” he praises, voice lazy as you bend over even more. “look at’cha. don’t even need my help.”
a tiny, helpless whimper escapes you at his shameless praise.
“oh— y’like that?” michael’s face is so close to you, his breath coating the globes of your ass as you feel his soft mouth pepper kisses over the skin there, leaving wet dots as he alternates between the two cheeks, free hand cupping your cunt as you hump against it out of desperation. “y’like when i kiss on that pretty little ass?”
he noses the skin there, all sweet-smelling, knowing grin on his face. a needy, breathy “yes” from you shows that his special attention to your backside turns you on even more, back bowing deeply into a curve.
“love ’er too.” michael groans, ignoring the strain in his trousers, hand coming in firm contact with your butt, eyes transfixed on how your flesh bounces from the impact.
his steady hand on the soft of your ass gets you even more messy. “y— that’s so nasty, mike—” you sigh, slick sliding down your legs already, feeling so exposed and vulnerable for the man behind you.
“look at that, baby, milky lil’ hole ‘s droolin’ already, yeah? gonna leave a handprint—” another smack to your round ass, “right there.”
you flutter your eyes shut, hips jerking back when you feel michael’s fingers wriggle under the elastic around your hipbones.
“wan’ your mouth on me,” is all you can verbalise, your hands coming back to push michael’s hands onto your ass cheeks again, pushing them up and open for his eyes to take in. you spread your legs wider, cool air swishing between your walls. “fuck, p-put your mouth on me again, please.”
“and i am the nasty one?” michael huffs amusedly, teeth grazing over the soft flesh. “baby, you’re the dirtiest from the two’f us.”
the noiret’s teeth hook around the slim strip of fabric that disappears between your full ass cheeks, pulling it out, letting it snap back as he delivers wet smack after wet smack to the side of your ass, pressing kisses all over, from where your ass meets leg all the way over to the inside of your thigh, smelling your seeping arousal.
the echo of skin hitting skin travels across the room, so obscene and filthy. your pitchy moans get increasingly louder the more michael smacks your flesh, the muscle jumping dramatically as his eyes remain fixated on your reddened skin.
“jus’ lemme love on that needy ass,” he promises, more to himself, as his large hands rub over it. your whines get wetter, needier, unconsciously humping the air to get some satisfaction.
“look at’chu, shovin’ it in my face like the sweet girl you are.”
a/n: do we all know that clip of him adjusting himself because omg his hands look so big and warm and large and thick i know he’d be able to cover my whole face with just one hand. + omg also that clip in which he’s walking behind that model and slaps the air behind her goodbye???? please smack my ass while i ride ur dick with ur abnormally large fingers in my mouth thanks
I agree, imagine you guys are just married and it's all he keeps thinking/talking about? Oh my...
oh my indeed.
he’d see how good you are with children when you guys go and visit children hospitals. helping feed them, play with them and read to them. it would unlock something inside of him, his eyes would light up at you genuinely being so careful and loving towards children. but you two shared beliefs that you both wanted to wait til marriage to be intimate.
and oh lordy, after you two got married—literally on your honeymoon, you could not stop begging him to put his babies in you. and that he did. (lol you didn’t have to beg much) but it didn’t stop after that. you two would go to the library and he’d collect books he wants to read to his children. or sometimes he’d manifest by rubbing your belly, which made your heart melt.
and don’t get me started on showing him the positive pregnancy test…
a/n: all these amazing writers have made me want to come out of retirement…and i can’t stop thinking about dada he’s so unbelievably fine. it’s been so long since i’ve written ff (10 yrs) so i’m starting w/ headcannons first; hope u enjoy! semi-proofread & lowercase intended btw…i am powered by my want for him not ai! about me post coming soon; any feedback is much appreciated and my inbox is always open 𑣲⋆
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
𓏲ּ𝄢 mature!michael, who constantly uplifts you with words of affirmation. each morning, you both repeat in unison the phrases written in his careful cursive: “i am so grateful i’m a magnet for miracles.” “i am beautiful.” “i am number one.” on the days you recite with less conviction, he kisses your knuckles softly after each iteration to encourage you — pavlovian conditioning in action.
𓏲ּ𝄢 mature!michael after dark, whose reflection smirks back at you as you arch further into his chest. he rubs your clit in lazy circles, middle and ring fingers curled deep inside you, kissing your cervix. his left forearm is tucked under your breasts as he rolls your right nipple with his thumb and forefinger. making you watch him bring you to ecstasy is better than any orgasm he might have. your eyes screw shut in embarrassment at the sight. “mike…please,” you whine. “you look so beautiful like this, baby. be a good girl — meet my eyes and tell me you know.”
𓏲ּ𝄢 mature!michael, who sees you as his precious babydoll. he quietly studies the fashions and aesthetics you gravitate towards, the size of your wardrobe is almost comparable to his. your sensual nature makes you inclined to silky pajama sets and gauzy lingerie. fashion shows are frequent at your shared home. the latest piece? a sheer nude chemise and matching thong, glittering softly under the warm light. you giggle shyly as michael fixates on your every curve. “do you like it?” you say, turning slowly like a rotisserie chicken. he looks at you as if you are. “i absolutely love it, doll,” michael takes his bottom lip between his teeth. “such impeccable taste.”
𓏲ּ𝄢 such impeccable taste indeed. mature!michael after dark who, shortly after making love to you — courtesy of the sexy chemise — discreetly picks up your discarded thong, encased in your essence from last night. though you’ve been suspicious but can’t confirm, michael has a secret stash of your used panties, saving them for the days or weeks he might spend away from you. sometimes he keeps it in his suit pocket, sneaking away in between meetings to get a quick whiff, as the comfort can quickly teeter towards an insatiable desire. michael drives himself insane in his hotel room with your scent, spending hours smelling, sucking, and releasing into countless pairs of your panties.
𓏲ּ𝄢 mature!michael, who loves to sit you in front of the bathroom mirror after a shower so you can watch him massage your body, placing gentle kisses on your shoulder blades, spine, hip bones, and painted toes as he works you from your head to your soles. if he weren’t a superstar, you think, could he have been a world-renowned masseuse? you close your eyes, head lulling back as you enter ultimate bliss, and michael’s laugh rumbles lowly. “enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” “always…” “that’s what i aim to hear. in fact, that’s what i live for,” stating plainly and smiling up at you lovingly.
𓏲ּ𝄢 mature!michael after dark, who also, after taking the liberty of kneading the expensive oils and butters he gifted you onto your naked, glazed frame, uses both his large hands to spread your ass, one palm for each globe. the arousal sparks deep and low in your womb, folds already threatening to glisten like the rest of your body. your face flames as you automatically attempt to press your thighs together, but michael’s hands firmly keep your position. “don’t get all shy on me angel, just wanna let you see how tantalizing all of you is.” he takes the pad of his middle finger and slides from your pearl, to your pooling entrance, to your perineum, to the tight pucker of your asshole, groaning lowly as he explores you until you’re a needy mess.
𓏲ּ𝄢 mature!michael, who loves to shower you with presents despite your frequent refusals. your past partners made you feel guilty for wanting more thoughtfulness in your relationship. you prayed your next lover would be attentive and spoil you rotten. yet, you never expected it’d be of this magnitude: romantic getaways around the globe, dainty, modest jewelry that cost thousands upon thousands, investments in your personal and creative endeavors…just to name a few. “honey, this is absolutely too much. i don’t know how you can expect me to accept this.” michael surprised you with your very own home library. the room had cherry wood floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with literary classics, fairytales, and personal favorites; couches with cushions like quicksand that threaten an afternoon nap rather than finishing the next chapter in front of you; and matching desks — side by side, of course — so you and michael can work on your respective projects without leaving one another’s sight. “only the best for my lady,” michael croons, his bambi eyes attempting to wink.
𓏲ּ𝄢 mature!michael after dark, who insists on the gift of overstimulation. the filthy expressions your face contorts into and the tremors of your body he so lovingly studies pay off when providing you pleasure. michael knows when you really need to tap out, and pushes the limit every time.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
sorry this was short i’m kinda nervous! should i do a part 2? i have so many more ideas and am happy to expand on any you may have as well 𑣲⋆
warnings: 18+, nasty nasty nasty, blowjob, choking, degradation, manipulation, and more
“swallow m’ whole,” michael groans, pushing your head down further on his cock. “gonna cum down that pretty throat.” his legs spreading more so he could push your head down harder.
your hands lay on his thighs, trying to keep yourself up but oh no mikey doesn’t like that. “stop tryn’ get up.” he groans, slamming your head back down to the base of his cock. “not done til’ i say.”
he throws his head back as you choke on his dick, whimpering everytime you gag on him. he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you off of him just so he can take a look at your ruined face.
his dick twitching and oozing above you, “spit on it, mama” you prop yourself up using his thighs, and slowly let the spit fall onto his swollen tip. he whimpers and his grip on your hair tightens.
“mm look at y’” he mocks, “such a nasty girl f’ my cock” he looks down at you, his brown eyes full of lust. you look down, but not before a hand meets your chin and forces you to look up to him.
“say it.” he demands, “s-say what?” your voice comes out soft a complete contrast from his. “tell me how bad y’ want mikey’s dick.” your chin hurting from his grip.
“s-so bad-” you start, bringing your mouth back to his pulsing dick. “p-please, mikey.” your tongue slides up and down his cock, groans and curses leaving his mouth.
"come on, baby," michael purrs, his voice low and commanding. "use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship my dick like you should." he pushes against your mouth, trying to thrust deeper inside.
his breath comes out in short, sharp pants as he fucks your mouth. his grip on your hair tightens, pulling you closer as he thrusts deeper. you can feel the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with each movement.
"look up at me while you suck it," he commands. you obey, tilting your head back as you continue to bob your head on his length. he groans when he sees the tears streaming down your face and the spit dripping from your lips.
his dick hits the back of your throat over and over, making you choke and gag around him. spit and precum mix together, dripping down your chin and onto your tits.
michael groans deeply as your tongue works over his dripping slit, before he pushes you head back down to take more of him, "yeah, take it deeper," he mutters, watching your eyes water as you choke around him. "look at you, so good f’ me.”
with one hard thrust, he buries himself balls deep in your throat and comes hard, pumping hot ropes of cum directly down your throat. he holds your head in place, forcing you to swallow every last drop as he groans, “atta girl…”
note: okay i tried my best blowjobs are my weakness i hope u guys enjoy this my inner freak came out when i was writing this , manipulative michael>>>>>> anyways i hope u guys enjoy <3
imagining manipulative boyfriend!michael missed you after a long tour <3
warnings: 18+, p in v, manipulation, this might be the nastiest thing i’ve ever wrote (oops), very descriptive, creampie, idk even more so read at ur own risk..
“oh baby, fuck” he groans, slamming you into the headboard after being gone on tour for far far too long.
his long fingers grip around your throat, not hard enough to choke, but hard enough to force you to look at him. “love hearing your pussy, mama”
every time he slams into you, wet, disgusting, sounds come out of not only your mouth but your pussy.
the mix of cum and your juices mixing together creates the most nasty sound and the best lube.
your pussy sore from the amount of times he’s thrusted into you. your tight little hole now a perfect fit for his big cock.
your legs begin to shake and you cry out, “c-can’t take it-” but he doesn’t care (awh so sad..) you’re his own personal hole. and all the stress from the tours is getting taken out on you.
“been waiting so long f’ you,” he groans, slamming into you once more, “can’t give me this one thing?” his tone not soft, but condescending. he knows you’ll give him what he wants, and what he wants is you.
he brings one of his hands down, and starts sloppily playing with your clit, “cmon’ cum f’ me mama,” even though you’ve already finished twice!
the satisfaction he gets from seeing your eyes roll back, drool forming on the corners of your mouth, and your lips puffy and pouting is almost enough to make him cum inside you twenty more times.
he pulls out, just to watch your pussy clench onto nothing but the air. your hole desperate for him again. cum dripping out of you before he slams right back into you, watching your eyes roll back so far it looks like it hurts.
“so good t’ me, baby” he groans, fingers now tighter around your throat as his own eyes start to roll back. your pussy tight around his dick just drives him crazy.
he brings his hands down to hold your waist tight, keeping you still as he slams into you once more. hard enough to leave bruises on him and you (ouch.) “g’nna make this hole all mines,” he huffs, “all mines forever, babygirl.”
he leans down to press sloppy kisses on your neck, nibbling and licking every where he can. he then brings one of his hands to a tit, rolling your nipple in between his fingers before leaning down more to pop it in his mouth.
his tongue flicking hard against it, broken moans leave your mouth as you try and take everything. “mm, taking me so good,” he groans against you, “givin’ me what i deserve, such’ a good girl”
after he’s done, he falls on top of you. his sore dick still deep inside you, twitching uncontrollably. hot cum seeps out from your hole. only god knows how many times he came in you. 
note: okay so this is actually nasty and i’m disgusted with myself and im probably going to throw my phone across the room when i publish this. pls to my fellow freaks lmk how i did;( , ive been getting so much support im so happy omg thank u guys for everything <3
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