soulace

i’ll be your best | 19 | 🪷

[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.

[bvtterfliess]

𝓽𝓻(𝓮𝓪𝓽) 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 - michael jackson x black female reader

synopsis: michael's been wayyyy too busy to spend time with his childhood best friend and now you have a boyfriend. it's time to take matters into his own mouth hands.

tropes & warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI — smut (we all know what we're here for), pwp, thriller era, baby eater!michael, fingering, oral (f receiving), mentions of male masturbation, switch!michael, slightly ooc!michael, black female!reader, sub!reader, messy!michael in the best way, praise kink galore, detailed female anatomy descriptions, female worship, teasing, overstimulation, slight implications of edging, toxic relationship, cheating if you squint but it's okay because michael told me to tell you that your boyfriend sucks, religious corruption if you squint harder

wc: 6.1ish (had to get my head back in the mf GAME okay?! a true yapper)

an: first things first - I loveeee me some secret mutual pining! that's how this grew legs and ended up being 6000 words lmfao. also - in this house, michael was an eater long before bad and that's a hill i'll die on! look at the material! after an almost five year hiatus I done picked up my pen chile, so thank you for reading in advance. enjoy!

𝒽𝒶𝓎𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒

You were trying to be mindful of your body language knowing there was an audience, but you couldn't help but fidget and anxiously spin the spiral phone cord around your fingers. You were in one of your favorite places in the world - one that held warm memories of meals, joy and shared life experiences with your inherited family. Being at Hayvenhurst often made you wish you were an oblivious, innocent kid again running around with your best friend who was patiently standing on the other side of the counter. The space was uncharacteristically empty aside from you both… his head was resting on one of his fists, doe-like eyes on you as he indulged himself in some homemade honey vanilla ice cream. 

You mouthed give me a moment, he nodded in reply. Who knew a simple check-in call could have this much potential to sour your mood on an otherwise very peaceful evening. 

But here you were, an adult woman free to do whatever you pleased, begrudgingly arguing with a man with too much audacity on the other line.

“Carl, seriously?’ You leaned against the wall, sucking your teeth into the receiver wedged between your head and shoulders.

In your opinion, you didn’t understand what was so strange about having a movie night with your childhood best friend. Carl went on and on, matter-of-factly pointing out that your best friend was a celebrity and how it didn’t make sense why you had to spend time with him instead of your boyfriend.

“You’re overreacting. I already told you it’s not like that.” You casually added, which seemed to rile him up even more. So much so you couldn’t get a word in.

You were on the verge of losing your temper and patience altogether.

Michael’s brow perked up slightly at your irritation, helping himself to his favorite frozen treat customized specifically to his liking. He really didn't like what he was picking up on. The tension of your phone call was palpable, and it unsettled him. 

Carl. 

Hearing his name leave your lips made his favorite ice cream a little less sweet. The cinnamon dusted on top might as well have been mixed with dirt. Hearing his name was like an out-of-tune horn his ears rejected every time he heard it playing. Any mention of him from you was rare… but still shrill, off-kilter, punching violently through the recesses of his mind. He never hated anyone ever in his life but this had to be close… Not to mention, the affection in your tone irked him if he could be honest, like having one of his performances cut short before it truly hit a groove. Out of place and unwanted... especially in his place of solace.

Man, he wished you'd just hang up. 

All he wanted was to make you laugh, call him Mikey, offer his comfort, his time, attention. Make you forget Carl. 

And then there was another part of Michael - driven by an ego you would label as slightly conflated if you saw more of it in action. Birthed by independence manifesting for him on the horizon, handcrafted by waves of women (and men) packed together at shows like sardines screaming his name when he sang or spun or just smiled, and vindicated by crotch-grabbing and moonwalking into more of a public phenomena on the Motown stage just a few months ago. It was hard not to be altered by such life-altering fame. Since young, he watched people of all ages and colors literally stop traffic and swarm around cars with him inside… banging their fists against it just for a glimpse of him. Thousands of eyes instantly welled up with tears if they caught that glimpse, even if it was just the tips of his fingers shyly waving out the back window of the car as it sped off. The man who stood next to one of the greatest producers when the world was quiet and created magic. The part he armored himself with for public consumption. One who knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of.

That part of him smirked behind his spoon, confidence silent but strong enough to override the jealousy bubbling in chest. 

He could put two and two together. Your body language alone told an interesting story - the way you refused to look at him while trying to reassure your boyfriend, Carl, even with the hole he was burning in your face. The way your deliciously proportioned weight shifted under his stare, from one hip to the other, one leg to the other, repeat. The way you angled away as you spoke, biting down on your lip at times to censor yourself. All of this was evidence that led him to conclude that your boyfriend, Carl, was not happy about the fact that you were here. 

Oh well.

Michael was ecstatic. You looked so pretty today. 

He found himself thinking that about you quite often, lately… as he haphazardly scribbled those kinda secret thoughts and other kinda secret feelings into blueprints that would eventually become lyrics. Stealing moments on studio breaks to call you inspired him in so many ways, but also made him feel a pang in his chest that was becoming a lot harder to ignore. Afterwards, he’d find himself humming melodies that seemed to flow straight from beyond, mirroring and transmuting those longing feelings. And he’d do with these melodies what he did best. He recorded them. Demo after demo, those recordings turned into full songs, songs that held very important kinda secrets about his feelings for you. 

His voice came out sweeter then, emoting more than he ever did before. Quincy would knowingly tease: “You singin’ like there’s someone on your mind, Smelly.”

All Michael could do was bite his lip and smile, shaking his head as he laughed him off. 

He felt guilty spending most of his time on his music these days. Since Motown - between rehearsals for the next tour and recording for his next album, heightened demand with limited time created unwanted distance. It was the main obstacle in the way of carving out chances for you both to spend time together like when you were younger.

So he intentionally cleared his schedule for tonight. Bought snacks, had Bill take him over to the Wherehouse to pick out a bunch of your favorite movies in hopes to talk to you about his absence and make it up to you. When he called to ask you to come over… he half-expected you to tell him off, knowing he hadn’t been the best at balancing things. He was grateful you didn’t, understanding.

And when you showed up at his door looking exactly like his muse should, it kinda felt like the world was in technicolor again.

The first thing he noticed was your hair. It was big and curly and it looked extra, extra soft. Michael loved when you wore it that way, his hand often twitched at the thought of holding you close and twisting some of the coils around his fingers. He welcomed the comforting scent of mandarins and honey when he hugged you hello, tucking you under his chin in affection. Hearing the smile in your voice as you said hey Mikey into his red cardigan made him too happy to worry about if you could hear how hard his heart was beating.

He knew he’d have to repent for how he didn’t even bother diverting his eyes from the swish swish swish of your denim skirt as you pulled away, walking deeper into his home. The familiar tightening in his jeans that he wouldn’t be able to hide was a sobering enough feeling to halt his thoughts from going further. Trying to distract himself, he almost missed when you asked him to use the kitchen phone to call your boyfriend.

Oh. Had he really been gone that long?

He noticed you gnawing at your bottom lip in annoyance. Your soft lips, accented with a tinted gloss. He had to exercise more serious mental restraint from getting worked up again as he wondered what your kisses tasted like. Surely sweeter than ice cream.

“I let you talk, so it’s time for you to listen and stop interrupting me. No, I won’t stand for it and I’m not gonna keep going on like this with you anymore… I’m done talking about it. I’m staying here tonight. If you don’t like it - oh well.”

As if you both merged into the same wavelength, you abruptly slammed the phone into the mounted receiver so hard that you swear you heard it crack. You had enough.

“I - sorry, Michael…” His eyes apologetically softened at you and it ignited both shyness and shame in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably under his observation. All the work you’d done up until that point to keep everyone out of your salvaged threads of a relationship - now ruined with one untimely call.

“What you apologizin’ for, girl?”

“Mighta broke that.” you started, motioning to the receiver hanging on the wall, making a mental note to check if the phone was actually broken later. “Shoulda never called him. This was supposed to be our time to catch up and now my good mood has gone all sour.”

“Don’t you worry about that phone. Dunk smashed Randy’s big ol’ giant rockhead into it plenty and it still work.” Michael comforted you, chuckling at the fond memory of his siblings. His feet led himself next to you without a second thought, gently rubbing your back. “D’you wan’ talk about it?”

Leaning your head against his shoulder, you felt his long, sinewy fingers against your forehead moving your curls to plant a consoling kiss there.

“Don’t even know ‘em and he turnin’ out to be a real schmuck. C’mon, let’s go upstairs so we can talk.”

𝒽𝒶𝓎𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓈𝓉, 𝓂𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁'𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂

“I’m just so frustrated, Mikey!” You said, plopping down on the edge of his bed. The change in environment seemed to turn your emotional state towards the better and you wonder if he knew it would all along.

Michael’s mind instinctively reacted to you being in his space. As much as he knew he shouldn’t think this way, he couldn’t help it. You looked so good in his bed. It was embarrassing to think about how many times he’d allow himself to imagine you just like this: lights dim, you staring up at him through your dark lashline, full lips parted anxiously, waiting for him to talk, or move closer, shoes off, knees together... 

The circumstances of these fantasies would be different of course, but they always ended with him losing control. The thought of touching you, tasting you, pleasing you… aroused him beyond belief. More lust to repent. And sometimes faith and morality would quell his ongoing battle with these fleshly desires like a beacon of light, motivating him enough to get up at the dead of night and get dressed to record in his studio. But he was a man… and when he found himself rutting against the bed in his sleep thinking about the swell of your breasts, the unscrupulous promises of pleasure would wake him up in a sweat. And those promises would whisper to him the dark and keep him up, prisoner, until he gave in. 

He groaned through gritted teeth as his hands hesitantly descended down his body from under his t-shirt, imagining they were yours…. Soft, warm… nails accented with whatever colorful lacquer you picked for the week. He could almost feel you dragging them down his chest, rubbing affectionately through his happy trail. So close… By the time he touched his dick, the gravity of his actions reflected in the weight of it in his hands. Flashes of you played behind his eyelids, especially of what your face would look like contorted in pleasure. His imagination would have him throbbing angrily against his belly, strings of precum leaking from the tip, squirming and waiting for release.

Shit.

He moved across the room to his tape player to create some distance while pushing down those thoughts, picking something to play. He was at a crossroads. Chewing his bottom lip, he knew he wanted to be empathetic…but wanted to satisfy his curiosity about what’d you been up to. He decided to keep things casual and collect some information first.

“Is he always like that? Surprised he didn’t blow the sound out with all that yellin’.”

Meanwhile, you smoothed your hands down the pleats of your jean skirt, choosing to do that instead of meeting his stare. Truth was, if Michael’s eyes searched yours long enough it would be just like taking a big gulp of truth serum. You were bound to crack and tell him everything.

“Not at first… but things have been changing for the worst, lately. I seemed to really upset him today.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m not sure. He’s just… worried? I guess….”

Sure, in the beginning - Carl was charming, good-looking… you were on the market, a very single and very beautiful woman looking for companionship to fill a Michael-shaped void in your life. He seemed to be looking for someone, too. Matchmaking at an industry mixer seemed to hit it off. 

When things were good, they were good - it was exciting going on dates and being in his company. He was really generous with his time and money he made as a club promoter, making you feel like you were really the girl for him. However, a couple months had passed and his actions revealed that he saw you as someone he could parade around the city and show off like that was the only thing you were good for. There were times where he would lose his patience with you and say mean things, withhold affection, and discourage you from things that made you happy. It was almost like he didn’t want you to smile about anything else but him. He didn’t like the way you dressed (You not goin’ nowhere with me like that… I wanna have sumn sexy on my arm tonight, toots…), he didn’t like your hobbies (Wastin’ time fingerpaintin’ when you should be comin’ to this party with me instead), and he didn’t like your friends (I ain’t jealous of a man who wear glitter and rhinestones, baby, besides… you don’t need no more friends). His snide comments caused a lot of arguments. You’d threaten to leave and he’d sweet-talk you, promising changed behavior. Things would smooth over, rinse and repeat. If you could be honest, you were at the end of your rope with it all. 

He wanted to control you and you felt trapped in a cycle of his insecurities. You wouldn’t be submissive to just any man.

You felt the bed dip next to you. Michael sat and grabbed your hands, the warmth of his thumbs sweeping back and forth across your knuckles was a welcomed sensation that grounded you. Ironically, touching you in this more intimate way made Michael feel a bit out of body but he kept his nerve. He decided to ignore the warning signs, ignore the fluttering in his ribcage.

“You’re a beautiful girl, inside and out… so sensational, intelligent, creative, empathetic, and very special to me. And any man standin’ next to you should admire you, treat you preciously, and with respect. He should be worried.”

There was a rawness in his voice.

You’ve heard it before. When he created music, danced, laughed with his loved ones… when he discussed plans to heal the planet, shared goals to create sanctuaries for children and animals, defended his stance to anyone who would listen about his favorite ice cream. All you could do was look into his eyes, selfishly admiring the wonderment inside before you until you felt too caught up… laughing it off to save face. 

“Mikey, when’d you learn to sweet talk a lady like that?” Your face was burning and he could tell.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” Michael smirked, mischievously tilting his head at your reaction before stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Hmm... you gettin’ shy on me, pretty girl? I say somethin’ wrong?” 

He should be worried.

His voice echoed around in your head in whispers.

He should be worried.

“What’d you mean?” You asked, mind not even registering that your mouth was moving.

“Pardon?”

“‘He should be worried.’ What do you mean by that?”

Michael shrugged, leaning back so that he was propped up on one of his hands. “He should, that’s all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“‘Cause you here with me, right where you should.” The certainty in his voice stirred something inside you, different from any tone he’d ever used with you in the past. And in that moment, you really looked at him.

There weren’t too many lights on in his room but there didn’t need to be for you to see him. It was always like that. Even if he tried to hide he was always the brightest thing in every room. You sometimes got lost noticing things, things that you forced yourself to pretend to not to notice every time you noticed them. The way his legs splayed out as he sat, open wide. Tonight, it felt like an invitation… fingers expertly tapping his muscular thighs along to the music playing in the background. The medium-wash denim underneath his palms was tailored to a perfect fit, doing an amazing job of accentuating his slim waist and hips and wide shoulders. He almost looked unreal, doll-like, growing out of his childlike gangliness to a modelesque physique that hinted subtle strength. 

When you hugged him, you tried not to notice how his broad shoulders flexed under your palms. They were wider these days, strengthened by carrying his world for so long… You hugged and his arms were almost long enough to wrap around you twice, gripping you tightly and making you feel safe and surrounded by the comforting scent of amber, lemon and cedar. You wanted to touch his chest, feel if his heart was racing just as fast as yours. Admire the expanse of his muscles through the cardigan he was wearing under your palms. But you stayed still, not trusting yourself to make any sudden movements. 

Watching Motown sparked flames you'd been fighting for what seemed like your entire life. Opened your eyes wider than they’d been in years. God, the way he sounded, the way his body translated his innate divinity. He was hungry with need - determined to stir something in others, to prove himself. Michael’s energy was raw and uninhabited during the performance, but yet still maintained his razor-like focus and precision as he danced. 

Especially the way he moved his hips. You tried not to notice how those movements seemed to come natural to him.

Michael’s head was tilted with a curious expression, like he was considering saying more… even if it came at a cost. A couple of juicy curls fell into his eyes, exaggerated by his shorter, more defined hairstyle. Your angelface was losing the last of his boyish features (minus that heart-stopping smile), being replaced with angled lines - masculine, sharp, like his jawline would cut if your lips were to brush too close… 

Then his mouth parted and it felt like the world was moving in half speed. Watching him lick his lips made you subtly shift, suddenly very aware that you were a woman sitting on a bed with a man next to you.

You both locked eyes. 

Michael’s brown eyes were one of the many strikingly beautiful things about him. They sparkled with whimsy and torment all at once, an amalgamation of secrets he thought he’d never speak out loud to anyone. Untold until he met you. 

This particular look whispered something entirely different than any secrets you know. Eyelids low, his wispy lashes framed the deep-seated desire you felt smoldering his stare. It created an invisible force field around the two of you. The heat behind his eyes made your stomach flip with want. 

“Yeah,” he began, keeping them on you, “he should know his time ran out.”

Your breath hitched as Michael took the lead, turning to lean into your personal space. God, he was so close… one of his hands found your waist, pressing you closer while the other took its time, rubbing up the expanse of your neck until finding your jaw.

“Y’feel that?”

You nodded, keeping your eye contact. Gravity shifted. Your entire being screamed for you to move closer, to close the gap and explore the unknown territory of his mouth with your own… but you fought that urge a little bit longer to enjoy the feelings of mutual longing you missed… ones that left your nerve endings tingling and craving touch. Michael shook his head slowly, not satisfied, thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“I need to hear you say it, mama.”

“Y-yes, I feel it.”

“That's right.”

Michael was intoxicated… he watched your eyes flutter down to his lips in anticipation. He could get used to you looking at him like he had the whole world in his hands because he felt like he did too, especially with the heated skin of your waist under his fingertips. Waiting to kiss you any longer would’ve been an unnecessary crime, so he didn’t wait. As soon as your mouth met his, he decided at that moment it was a crime he didn’t plan on committing ever again in his life. 

That pang of longing in his chest was being cured by his bold declaration, and the willingness expressed in your lips answered one of his most selfish prayers.

God, your mouth was so sweet. 

Your gloss tasted like a syrupy summer strawberry he handpicked himself… lips just as full and juicy as the fruit. It was better than anything he ever imagined writing in his notebooks, any run or riff he ever sung, spin he ever spun. Better than anything he visualized in bed, stroking himself to intense climaxes that made him tremble and shudder roughly until he saw spots under his eyelids. Better than honey vanilla ice cream. He couldn’t help the groan rumbling in his chest, jeans already beginning to tighten around his lap as he took his time and savored your mouth. Michael helped himself now that he had you where he wanted you, tilting his head just enough to indulgently suck the delicious candy coating off your lips one by one.

Your moans only encouraged his ministrations even more.

You couldn’t believe you had gone this far, this long in life without kissing him. Fuck, there was so much want blooming inside you as the kiss intensified, getting to the point where your lips barely bothered to separate. His mouth moved intentionally, expressive of his desire, special and just for you, making you blush and sigh and rub your legs together underneath him, unable to resist creating some subtle friction between your legs. You wanted him to touch you, like really touch you… So instead of saying that, you slid his rather large hand from the side of your waist down to your bare thigh. Michael smirked against your mouth as he hovered over the side of you closest to him, welcoming new territory by gripping your heated flesh between his adept fingers. 

Mm, he was gasoline and you were a brushfire… He pulled back a little, teasing you. His throat bobbed as he sweetly kissed the side of your mouth.

“We gonna get rid of him tonight right, pretty? Ready to call him back and tell him?”

At this point you were clay, pupils blown, lips swollen. Anxious to be molded. You’d do anything.

Sensing your compliance, Michael leaned over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, sitting it on the opposite side of you as he knelt in front of your legs.

“Call him.” 

You bit your lip, hesitant at first until a soft kiss was planted against your ear.

“I’m waitin’, mama. Don’t you want me to touch you?”

His words were emphasized by the feeling of fingertips just barely grazing your knee, giving you goosebumps. You and Michael both watched as he laid his hand ceremoniously flat, starting a painfully slow creep up up up… thumb tracing teasing circles on your inner thigh from underneath your skirt.

Panting, your lungs burned momentarily in anticipation.

“Mikey,” you warned, looking over to see his lip between his teeth trying to hide his mischievous expression.

“Yes, pretty girl? Already sounding so needy f’me… I mean it. I don’t appreciate the way he treated you today. Let’s tell him it’s over.”

Against better judgement, you picked up the phone and dialed Carl’s number. Honestly, you couldn’t tell if the ringing you were hearing was coming from inside your eardrums or the speaker. God, it was so hard to concentrate on holding the phone steady with Michael rubbing on you and peppering whisper-soft kisses on your neck. 

Carl answered and you did your best to keep yourself composed.

“..Hello… hey, yes, it’s me…”

Michael moved closer, spreading your legs wider to give himself room to explore. He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t fathom the softness of your skin… Why did he wait so long to touch you like this? He loved your curvy legs, and the sight of your trembling thighs reminded him of things he only dreamed of. God, he wanted to feel more of you, get lost in you, every inch, all over… 

His eyes widened in surprise when his fingers were invited by the heat between your legs. Upon further inspection and an eager swipe of his thumb, he discovered the seat of your panties were already sticky.

Your legs pitifully twitched at the contact, hips squirming forward into his hand.

“Focus, pretty, or I’ll stop. Tell him why you callin’ back so late.” Michael whispered in your ear, shifting your top over with one hand to plant an affectionate kiss on your shoulder while the other moved the damp lace out of his way, exposing you to him. Yeah, you felt exposed and mostly embarrassed by how worked up you were at this whole thing. But most importantly of all, you were unbelievably horny and ready for him to touch you.

“I-I can’t do this anymore.”

Michael smirked, nodding in encouragement for you to continue. It was hard not to get lost in gratitude, cherishing the way you’d fully relinquished control to him. He teased you long enough. His thumb dipped into your spongy folds, generously coating your clit in your own juices. Meticulously he experimented, testing out different patterns and intensities of pleasure as your eyes fluttered closed.

His dick was impossibly hard now, straining in his jeans.

But nothing was more important than how slick and flushed your pussy felt around his fingers. He noticed everything, his senses heightened by the smell of your pheromones in the air and the sounds of your choppy breathing as he took you higher. He noticed the exact moment he found the winning combo that made your thighs quiver. Index and middle forming a V around the bundle of nerves, he created more pressure and friction and your breath caught. He revered in the sight of you squirming at the new sensation, throbbing and desperately pulling at sheets under you with your free hand. Nothing was more important than this performance right there in his bedroom. 

You stifled another moan by putting a hand over your mouth before it was too late.

Unsurprisingly, Carl was oblivious and completely furious. His tone was accusatory and downright disrespectful as he expressed the vindication he felt about disliking Michael, now proven by you calling him with such finality.

Little did he know he had a bigger reason to be mad.

“That’s right baby, I know…  my pretty girl’s so slick down here. Keep goin’… tell him he sucks.” Having Michael in your ear… saying things like that drove you crazy. God, the mix of praise, affection, and direct commands in his soft voice made your walls angrily clench around nothing. Speaking of, your free hand guided his fingers further down. You didn’t care that your now ex-boyfriend was on the phone yelling your name to get your attention, or care to wait anymore. Your eagerness was enough to sway Michael until he obliged, sliding them inside.

“Here? You want me to touch you right here, mama?” You nodded, sighing as you felt the beginnings of relief from the tension building in your lower belly. His fingers felt like heaven as they curled upwards inside you.

“Then you gotta keep talkin’ for me.”

So you did. “Carl, you really suck…”

You told Carl how much you absolutely hated his guts. Told him about how stupid he looked in those fake designer suits he wore on nightclub grand openings. How dare he try to tell you what to wear. You told him that you’d no longer accept suggestions or criticism from a man that threw temper tantrums like a child. Told him he was insecure and that would no longer be your problem, that he needed to figure his own shit out… away from you. 

And while you unloaded all the thoughts you’d thought and never said to keep any semblance of peace, Michael’s long fingers eagerly pumped in and out of you. 

Your mouth dropped in shock as he abruptly stopped, pulling his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. The blissed out look on his face was enough to make you want to explode into a thousand sparkly pieces.

“Mmm, like I thought… you don’t know how bad I wanna taste you, pretty.” Before you could recover, you felt your panties sliding off your legs. His head lowered between them, gripping the backs of your thighs as he spread you wider. 

There was a look of reverence on Michael’s face as he stared at your pussy for the first time.

Your outer lips were puffy and covered in slick, drooling in anticipation as your labia instinctively bloomed for him. He buried his nose into the neat little tuft of dark curls on your mound first and inhaled, cursing under his breath as he declared you the prettiest flower he’d ever seen, losing the last of any restraint he had. God, he knew by how you tasted on his fingers that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He loved women. Their femininity, their spirit, their softness and soul… inspiring him so much. So naturally, he enjoyed eating pussy. The feel of it, the earthy taste was addicting to him from the moment he was invited to try with a lovely older woman on tour some years ago. It was a whole new world, he was very attracted to her assertiveness… she only wanted a purely physical relationship. It shocked him at first until it intrigued him enough to agree to it. She’d travel to every city, discreetly meeting in his hotel rooms with sunglasses on and nice dresses, nipples visibly hard against the fabric. He’d kneel down on the carpet and she’d prop her leg up on his shoulder, nothing underneath. Grabbed his hands, guided them to him to squeeze her flesh under his palms, touch places she wanted him to touch, taught him how to be patient as he pleased a woman. He was mesmerized. This happened for some time until she felt her purpose was served, sensing his feelings growing. He was heartbroken. Grateful for what she left him with, experiences and a savant’s thirst for knowledge. He took to his own studies, memorizing and learning women’s anatomy in biology almanacs and books written by women about sex and became an expert at providing pinnacles of pleasure, never to be outdone.

But this was more than that. His heart physically ached knowing there was a person in your life who didn’t value someone who he felt was so precious. He wanted to show you just how much you and this moment meant to him. He’d whispered soft, but honest claims against your skin tonight and now he was ready to seal them with a special kiss.

Drunk with pussy lust, his mouth enclosed around your entire pussy and he sucked, oh my God… you wanted to climb up the wall. Your legs desperately shook, heart stalling in your chest. He moaned into your flesh and instantly you were breathless, frowning at the feeling that you bit off more than you could chew. His eyes were bright behind tendrils of curls as he watched you respond to pure, irrevocable pleasure. When he felt your legs attempting to close, he shook his head firmly against your heated skin, still attached to you as his hands slid under your ass to firmly hold you in place. The sudden intensity made your head snap down, moaning with your mouth open as your eyes met. There would be none of that. He wanted you right there submitting to whatever he had to give you until he decided you were done. Your slickness was already beginning to coat the bottom half of his face. He wanted to savor this, committing your sublime taste to memory as mouth made the most vulgar sounds… 

God, you were sure Carl could hear how loud Michael was licking and sucking at your clit. Boy, he was a noisy eater. It was something about how passionate he ate you, the sounds of him moaning and grunting in worship, sucking, lapping, devouring.

“Tell him how good it feels. Tell him how I’m takin’ good care of you.” Michael mumbled, mouth full. 

“It feels so good - fuck - Michael, pleaseee.”

“Mmm, yes pretty? So polite… I’ll do anything you want, just tell me… mmm you taste unreal. So good, so perfect on my tongue.”

“M-more, please, your fingers -” He meant what he said. As soon as your pleas sounded his middle and index finger found their way inside you again, making your back bow. The way they fluidly slid up against your engorged sweet spot over and over sent shocks throughout your entire body.

He pressed his lips to your thigh.

“Carl should keep listenin’ to how happy I’m makin’ you, huh mama? Maybe he could learn somethin’ hearin’ me treat you better…”

You didn’t get a chance to reply with anything intelligible at first. Michael’s eager mouth was on you again like he was starving and desperately missed your taste. The phone unceremoniously fell against the bed and you went feral, holding his head as your hips lifted.

He felt the walls of your pussy start to clench, signaling him to keep his mouth and fingers steady, ready to reward your obedience with the first of many orgasms he had planned for you tonight. You were making the most beautiful sounds, hoarsely moaning his name, begging him not to stop, whining, but most importantly - not caring if Carl was still listening on the other line. 

“Yes baby, that’s it - unh, pleaseeee…”

The tension in your lower belly finally snapped, turning into waves of pleasure so euphoric that they began in your mind and spread - manifesting into your unstable body, making you roughly tremble in release. He didn’t stop pulsating his lips around your engorged clit. In fact, he repeatedly moaned - those vibrations coupled with the way his tongue moved so fast barely gave you any time to process what was happening as you gripped his hair and rutted into his mouth. 

Shit.

His fingers incessantly stroked your g-spot until you quite literally broke, sobbing as viscous juices trickled down his face and wrist until it pooled on the bed under you. You were in what had to be your own special version of heaven, hot tears running down your face.

And he was glad to do it. Grateful, even. 

God, Michael could cum himself from what he beared witness to, finding himself rutting against the edge of the bed in response to your obvious overstimulation. Mmm, he was so grateful knowing that you desired being pleased by him, being pushed to limits you hadn’t experienced before. Everything about the way you made him feel motivated a commitment to worshipping you until his jaw was sore. Your neediness was more rewarding than any accolade he’d ever received, completely immersing himself in the sensations he was giving you. More than anything in his being, he was determined to show his love for you.

Better than Carl ever could.

taglist: @justalocallesbian (heyyyyyyy omg you're my first person on a taglist!)

[urbanfunkchild]

To Have and To Hold (You Down)

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem! reader

Summary: The night after losing his virginity, Michael Jackson finds he can't control his body or his obsession. What begins as a tense ride home from the AMAs erupts into a raw, relentless claiming in the one place he was always meant to be innocent: his childhood bedroom. (established relationship)

Word Count: 4530

Tags: off the wall era, smut, porn with plot, oral sex (f receiving), prone bone, sexual awakening, sort of romantic smut?, michael is pussy drunk y'all, slight praise kink, marking, unprotected sex, creampie (oop) overstimulation,

Authors Note: this was a request. people want more otw mike! and another anon requested pussy drunk michael otw era as well, so NATURALLY this was born. im so sorry if this is not what either of you had in mind lmao. rarely see smut or much at all in this era tbh (ITS HIS BEST??? ARGUE W THE (off the) WALL -- hAH get it?)

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18+ minors dnu!!!

The ride home was a cocoon of tense silence. The streetlights shimmered in the night a silent parade past the tinted windows.

Michael sat in the far corner of the plush limousine seat, a beautiful statue carved from desire and anxiety. 

He’d been radiant at the 1980 American Music Award presentation, his neat afro, a soft light-brown cloud, his smile shy but genuine as he spoke to peers about Off the Wall.

And for the entire three-hour affair—from the first sip of prosecco to the final standing ovation, he’d been visibly, achingly hard.

You had whooped and cheered for him as he won in three separate categories. He made sure to point and thank ‘his girl’ for being the perfect muse. You couldn’t even comprehend the wins, as you were pointedly looking at his crotch, how he was trying to hide himself. 

You’d borne witness to it all. 

The subtle, tortured shifts in his wide-legged trousers. The way his elegant hands would flutter to his lap, pressing down, trying to angle the thick, insistent line of his erection against the lean plane of his stomach, or try to keep it in the waistband of his pants.

It was a futile, beautiful struggle. A faint sheen of perspiration had highlighted his forehead, and every time he leaned in to whisper a thank you, his breath was hot and unsteady. When he spoke with you, his eyes were alert, fervent, and his breath carried the scent of mint and sweet juice. He was coming apart at the seams.

Last night had been his first time. The loss of his innocence. A decision arrived at with trembling anticipation. Three whole years of held hands, of kisses that never deepened, of him whispering, "Let's do it when it’s perfect, baby. When it’s right.”

He’d finally decided it was right. “I love you,” he’d breathed into the darkness, his body taut above you. “I know I’m going to marry you—so why should I wait any longer?”

It had been a burst of frantic, bewildered sensation, over almost before it began, leaving him curled around you afterwards, whispering “thank you” over and over like a sacred vow into your skin.

You’d thought it a one-time gift, at least for a while, while he grappled with the guilt of stepping outside the bounds of his religious past.

The limo purred to a stop on the familiar Hayvenhurst driveway. He was out before the engine died, opening your door with a hand that trembled violently.

“Night, Mike. I’ll pick you up again tomorrow morning at nine sharp—you’ve got that radio show interview–” Bill called after him.

Michael wasn’t listening. He didn’t even take your hand up the path like he usually did.

He walked ahead, as if on a warpath, his posture rigid, his stride a careful, stiff thing meant to disguise the persistent, telling bulge in his trousers.

The house was a sleeping giant. You both climbed the grand staircase at speed. You struggled slightly in your heels, your long silk dress pooling at your feet. He led you away from the guest room you used to frequent, down a quieter hall lined with framed gold records and awkward school portraits. He stopped at a familiar door and pushed it open.

His childhood bedroom.

It was a sanctuary of preserved innocence. A smaller double bed with a faded blue comforter. 

Shelves bowed under the weight of countless Disney figurines: Cinderella’s castle, a parade of Seven Dwarfs, a lonely-looking Dumbo. A mobile of the solar system, coated in a fine layer of dust, hung motionless from the ceiling. The air was a blend of old paper, the faint sweet smell of vinyl, and the crisp, clean scent that was uniquely, essentially him.

You smiled as you took it in; it looked exactly as you remembered from when you first started dating. He had insisted you both use the guest room because he didn’t want to face moving any of his memorabilia. It just so happened his childhood bedroom was furthest from his family, his parents in the opposite wing, Randy down the stairs and Janet three doors down.

He went to the bed and sat down, his back to you. With a concentration that was borderline funny, he bent and began untying the laces of his polished dress shoes.

The act was so simple, so boyish; a child in his refuge, shedding the costume of the outside world, that it made your heart ache. 

In public, he was poised, adult, a persona he wore like a tailored suit. But here, he was the boy who believed in magic, who trusted too easily, whose curiosity was your favorite thing, the way he’d absorb everything about a subject, a time period, a movie, just as he did with music.

You stood by his old wooden desk, your fingers brushing the cool plastic of a model rocket. A ceramic figurine of Bambi watched with wide, glassy eyes.

“I saw it all night,” you said, your voice a soft intrusion in the quiet.

His hands froze on the second lace. He didn’t turn. “Saw what?”

“How hard you were. During the speeches. While you were eating. You kept trying to hide it, but you couldn’t. It was all I could think about.”

A visible tremor ran through him. He straightened slowly, but kept his back to you, head bowed as if in prayer. “It wouldn’t go away,” he confessed, his voice thick. “My body… it wouldn’t listen to me. The more I remembered last night, the harder it got. It was getting… painful.”

“I noticed your frustration,” you whispered, taking a step closer. The floorboard sighed beneath your weight. “And it made me wet. Drenched. Every time you adjusted yourself, every time you got that look in your eye… I could feel myself getting slick for you.”

He turned then.

His face was flushed, his beautiful lips parted. The need in his eyes had taken over; the shyness was a thin veneer over a bedrock of hunger.

“Wet?” he breathed, as if deciphering a complex lyric. His gaze dropped to the front of your gown. “Tell me what that’s like.”

You closed the final distance.

You took his right hand and lifted it. You placed his palm firmly against the damp silk covering your mound.

He gasped—a sharp, startled sound.

“Feel,” you instructed, your voice low.

His fingers trembled against you. You guided his hand down, under the heavy fabric of your gown, past the delicate lace of your stockings, until his cool fingertips met the soaked, feverish silk of your panties.

A choked, ragged sound escaped him.

“I can make you feel this way?” he stammered, his voice full of awe. “So warm… so… wet…”

“That’s for you,” you said, holding his wrist, making him feel the undeniable truth. “All night. That’s what the thought of you did to me.”

He was shaking now.

You hooked your fingers into the lace at your hip, drawing the fabric aside. Then you guided two of his long, elegant fingers inside of you. He was good with his hands; he had a rhythm like no other, skilled and precise. It was ironic that he knew how to play instruments so well, and now you wanted him to learn to play your body like one.

He went perfectly still. His eyes widened, the dark pools swallowing the light from the nightlight.

He was still feeling the intimate, velvet clutch of your body.

“Ohh…,” he whimpered, the sound pulled from his soul.

“Curve them,” you breathed, your own composure fraying. “Like you’re reaching for something.”

He obeyed; a slow, deliberate flexion. The pad of his middle finger found a spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. A low, throaty moan tore from you.

“Mmmhh—!”

The sound shattered his last restraint. A deep, guttural groan echoed in his chest. He began to move his fingers, it wasn’t really with skill, just a frantic curiosity. In and out, curling, exploring. The tops of his fingers were softly pressing against your G-spot. 

He watched your face, utterly captivated, as his hand worked beneath your gown, his expression one of rapt, hungry devotion.

“This… this tight, soft, warm feeling… is what I was thinking about at dinner,” he panted, his breath coming fast. “This is what I wanted… right there and then, but couldn’t have.”

He withdrew his fingers, staring at the glistening evidence. Driven by an instinct deeper than reason, he brought them to his lips and… tasted.

His eyes fluttered closed.

“Y’taste so good,” he mumbled, his voice thick and sweet. “You taste like heaven.” 

He pulled his fingers from his mouth with a soft, slick pop. The look he gave you then was one of pure, pussy-drunk awe. The shy boy was submerged, replaced by a devoted lover.

“I need to feel you,” he said, the words rushing out. “I need to be surrounded by you. I need to have all of you.”

He fumbled with the buttons of his sparkly silver shirt and yanked off his bow tie, his usual grace abandoned. He shed it, let it fall onto a stack of comic books. The black trousers were shoved down, kicked away. He stood before you, naked in a room crowded with childhood dreams, fully, magnificently erect. You inwardly rolled your eyes at the fact he hadn’t worn briefs to the ceremony.

The juxtaposition in front of you, though, was devastatingly intimate. Him stood in this room, bearing himself, when a month prior he still struggled to get dressed in front of you.

He didn’t ask before diving in at you.

He gathered you in his strong, lean arms and laid you back on the blue comforter, pushing the skirts of your gown up to your waist, not even bothering to undress you fully because his need was too crazed, too immediate.

He settled between your thighs, his cock; thick, proud, flushed with wanting—pressing against your dripping heat. He looked down, his expression one of solemn, hungry wonder.

“I love you,” he whispered, but it sounded like a truth that made all this not only permissible, but necessary. 

“I need to feel this. Every part of it. I didn’t feel you fall apart last night. It was too fast. This time… I want to feel you come apart around me. I want to be inside you when you lose yourself.”

He pushed in.

It was a slow, inexorable claiming that made the breath hitch in his throat. He sank to his base, a long sigh escaping him. He was so deep it felt like he was pressing on your heart.

“Perfect,” he breathed, his eyes closing. “You are… so good, laying there all pretty for me.”

He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that was less about thrusting and more about communion.

“You take me so completely… like you were made for me…”

But then his movements changed. His hands, which had been braced gently beside your head, slid down to your thighs. His touch, usually so tentative, became firm, purposeful. 

He pushed your legs apart wider, then hooked them, bending them sharply to the side, opening you to him utterly. The new angle was deeper, more exposing. A soft cry left your lips.

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice taking on a darker, more resonant timbre. “Like this. I need to feel all of you like this.”

He began to move again, and this time, there was a new roughness to his rhythm. It wasn’t violent, but it was relentless, deeply possessive. Each stroke was a full, powerful drive, his hips meeting yours with a solid, wet slap-slap-slap that filled the quiet room. The bedframe began a steady, rhythmic protest against the wall.

He was lost in it. His eyes were open, watching your face, but they were glazed, seeing only the sensation.

“You’re so beautiful like this, how have i gone so long without this sight?,” he groaned, his words coming between panting breaths. 

“Surrendered to me. Letting me feel you. You’re my good girl, right?”

His dirty talk wasn’t crude; it was sensual, almost poetic, ripped from the core of his overwhelmed being. 

He drove into you, harder, his control slipping into something more primal. It became messy, clumsy—the way he gripped your thighs, the way he shoved into you—the want of his release overtaking his rationale. 

You knew there’d be bruises where he held you tomorrow.

He pulled out briefly, flipped both your legs to his right, then entered you with your legs together—the sensation for him even more distinct, squeezing his cock even tighter. 

His hands were on your sides now as he drilled into you. He leaned over as he pounded, his face so close to yours. 

You couldn’t look away, totally entranced by the primal look in his eyes. He’d been taken over by the sensation, totally overthrown.

“I want to drown in you… I want this feeling…” He thrust fast and deep now, as if he was fucking the sensual words into you. “Forever, let me have it forever—God—”

You could feel your climax coming in, a slow, tectonic pressure from the deep, relentless pounding. You moaned loudly, your fingers tangling in the blanket.

“Ah—ah—!”

“I feel it,” he gasped, his rhythm becoming more urgent, though no less deep. “I want to make you feel good… I want to see the pleasure blown out in your eyes.” He was muttering now between gasps of pleasure. 

“I’m going to write about how filthy and utterly ethereal you look in this moment,” he moaned, cupping your breasts with his hands.

His words; the romantic filth of them, spoken in that breathy, wrecked tenor were your undoing.

Your orgasm erupted, a deep, feeling within you; your whole body convulsed mercillisly.

You clenched around him in rhythmicly, uncontrollably. 

A broken cry was torn from your throat—“Michael—!”

you could feel how wet you had become from your orgasm, and by the slick, slapping sound of his slow, deep thrusting, it was driving him wild.

He cried out with you, a sound of pure, triumphant awe.

“Yes! that’s my girl. I have waited so long to see you so dirty like this, to see your face in agonizing heat…”

But he didn’t stop after your come down. 

He couldn’t. 

The feeling of your climax around him seemed to fuel a deeper, more desperate hunger. 

His thrusts became harder, faster, losing their measured pace, becoming a frantic, driving rhythm. The bed shook. A figurine of Mickey Mouse toppled from the shelf with a soft clatter.

“I can’t… I can’t stop,” he sobbed, his voice breaking. He was fucking you now with a pure, unadulterated need, the romantic poet consumed by the primal animal. “It’s too good… you’re too good… I need more… I need to be deeper…”

He was overstimulated, lost, chasing a feeling that kept escalating. He hooked your legs higher, over his shoulders, bending you nearly in half, and plunged into you with a force that stole the air from your lungs. His words dissolved into a litany of your name, interspersed with gasped, sensual fragments. 

His eyes roamed frantically, but then settled on the sight of his own motion, biting his lip as he watched the remnants of your undoing pool at the base of his cock.

“My heart… is in your skin… your taste is in my mouth…” he moaned, breathlessly inbetween pumps.

He flipped you over with ease, onto your stomach. You had a brief moment to prepare yourself before he settled over you, pressing you into the mattress, and drove back into your from behind.

“You’re mine, all mine, this is just for me, always—”

His own end took him by storm.

His body locked, every muscle straining. A raw, ragged shout was torn from him—“Fuuuu--GOD-- Y/N–” a sound that held no artifice, only pure, shattering release.

You felt his hot seed, pulsing into you, flooding deep within, a claiming that felt endless.

He trembled violently through it, his hips jerking with involuntary aftershocks, still buried to the hilt.

When the last tremor passed, he collapsed forward, but caught himself on his elbows, still sheathed inside you. He was panting, sweat dripping from his nose and afro onto your back. He looked down at you as you glanced back, his eyes wide, dazed, full of a wonder that bordered on fear. You both just started grinning at each other crazily.

“I think I got carried away,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and ruined. “In you. I completely… got lost.”

"mhmm," you noted back, "ya think?"

He slowly, carefully, withdrew, and rolled to the side, pulling you instantly against him. His arms wrapped around you, tight, possessive. His heart hammered against your back.

He was silent for a long time, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your stomach.

“I don’t know how I held off for so long,” he murmured finally, his lips against your shoulder blade. 

The scent of sex; musky, sweet, and profoundly intimate hung thick in the air of Michael’s old bedroom, a new perfume overlaying the old smell of books and toys. 

Minutes bled by, measured only in the gradual slowing of breath. You felt spent, hollowed out and filled up, drifting away on the aftershocks. 

Then, a shift in the energy beside you.

He lowered his arm.

In the soft gloom of the late evening, you saw his profile. His eyes were open, staring at the dusty mobile of the solar system behind your head. His lips, swollen and damp, parted. He looked so young like this, but he was grown now. The change you felt in him, even in the last few days was ludicrous. You fondly remembered how Michael would struggle to even hold your hand longer than 30 seconds, or he’d start madly blushing.

"Can I…" he started, his voice a ruined, raspy thing. 

He stopped, swallowed and then started again, the words tumbling out in a hushed, guilty rush. 

"Can I put my mouth on you? Right now?"

The question hung in the air, inappropriate, vulnerable, filthy in its innocent hunger.

You turned your head on the pillow. "Michael… you just… you finished in me. It's… it's mixed."

He turned his head too. 

His eyes found yours, and there was no shyness there, only a dark clarity. 

"I don't care," he whispered, the declaration simple and absolute. "I want to taste you for real. I want to taste where I was. Please."

He didn't wait for a final answer. The "please" was a formality. 

The decision was made.

He moved with a sudden, fluid grace that belied his exhaustion, sliding down your body like a man descending to an altar. He pushed your thighs apart with a firm insistence, his gaze locked on the glistening, spent evidence of your joining.

He hovered, his gaze fixed so intensely.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, the words barely a whisper, soaked in awe. “Like a rose that’s just… bloomed for me.”

His hands, which had been resting on your hips, slid inward. His touch was a little demanding, but still just as tender. His fingers came to rest on your outer lips, applying the gentlest pressure.

He began to part you.

It was a slow unveiling. The soft, swollen flesh, glistening with the combined evidence of your passion, yielded to his patient hands. He opened you like the pages of a cherished, secret book he was terrified to damage.

A soft, shuddering sigh escaped him. “Oh… wow.”

He was looking at the heart of you, fully exposed to him in the dim light. The intimate, intricate folds, flushed a deep, needy pink, the glimmering wetness that coated everything, the tight, hidden entrance that still pulsed gently from his recent possession.

"Look at you,” he murmured, his voice sounding almost deliriously drunk with pleasure.

“All pretty and pink and wet for me. Just for me.” He leaned closer, his nose almost touching you, inhaling deeply. The sound he made was one of a man tasting water in a desert; a low, guttural groan of pure, starving need.

"Oh, God…" he mumbled, his voice muffled against your flesh. "S'sweet… and salty…"

He was lost instantly. Any hesitation, any remnant of fastidiousness, was incinerated by the addictive, complex flavor. He ate at you with starving intensity. His tongue was blunt and demanding, lapping up every trace, diving deep to clean his own release from inside you with thick, curling strokes. 

The sounds were obscenely wet, sloppy, loud in the quiet room. He moaned continuously, a low, pleasured hum that you felt in your bones.

You writhed, oversensitive, a confusing mix of shock and overwhelming arousal knotting in your belly. "Michael… ah! Too… im so sensitive…"

He lifted his head, his chin dripping. His eyes were black pools of delerium. "No," he breathed, the word a gentle command. "I haven’t had enough. Sit on my face."

It was a desperate, worshipful plea.

He lay back flat, his hands coming to your hips, guiding you, pulling you up and over him. You braced your hands on the headboard, above his scattered pillows and plush toys, and lowered yourself, trembling, onto the waiting heat of his mouth.

Your world and everything in it, narrowed to sensation.

His mouth was a godsend; it was devoted hunger. As you settled your weight onto him, he let out a choked, blissful sound underneath you and his arms wrapped around your thighs, locking you in place. 

There was no escape, and in seconds, you didn't want any.

He feasted. His tongue speared into you, fucking into the tender, well-used channel with a rhythm that was all his own. He alternated between deep, penetrating licks and frantic, fluttering sucks on your clit, his nose buried against you, breathing you in like oxygen. His hips began to move in tiny, abortive thrusts against the empty air, the blanket beneath him.

You were in disbelief at what had gotten into him – the boy you once knew had well and truly been replaced by a man. A handsome, steadfast partner, who clearly didn’t have any thoughts of leaving you for anyone else; even in his fame.

You looked down at him from where you were perched over his face. And the sight… unwound you completely.

His eyes were squeezed shut in ecstasy, his beautiful face a mask of utter surrender. 

Your eyes roamed away, and then you saw against his stomach, his cock was already fully, achingly hard again, thick and flushed and leaking a fresh pearl of pre-come onto the skin just below his belly button. 

The sheer, wanton need of it and the fact that tasting you, servicing you, had him rock-hard and throbbing in seconds sent a violent, possessive thrill through you.

The power dynamic shifted on a dizzying axis.

You rose off his mouth, ignoring his grunt of protest. You moved backwards, straddling his hips instead of his face. His eyes flew open, confused, desperate.

"Wha—?"

You didn't let him finish. You wanted to show him that other positions were just as good. You remembered something you’d read, a way to take control…

You reached between your legs, took his hard, slick cock in your hand, and guided it to your entrance, still wet and open from his mouth and his seed. 

You sank down onto him slowly, sheathing him completely inside your sore, sensitive heat.

A dual cry tore through the room—his a sharp, shattered gasp of "God Damn–!", yours a long, low moan of exquisite, overwhelming fullness.

For a second, you both froze, impaled, connected. 

You saw the shock in his eyes, then the dawning, wild comprehension. You were in control. You were taking what you needed from him.

Then you began to move.

You rode him slowly at first, a deep, rolling grind, using the muscles inside you to clench his length. 

His head fell back, a string of broken, sensual praises falling from his lips. 

"Yess… ride me… use me… you feel so good taking your pleasure from me… only me baby"

But Michael was not a passive lover. He was jealous, stubborn and petty at times and this had to manifest in your sex life too.

The submission was a feint, a precursor to a different kind of power.

His hands, which had been gripping the sheets, flew to your hips. His grip was iron, his long fingers digging into your flesh. The gentle, curious boy was gone. In his place was a man consumed, only you on his mind and in his sightline.

"Harder," he growled, his voice darker than usual. 

He thrust his hips up to meet your downward stroke, a sharp, punishing impact that stole your breath. 

" harder. Take what you want. Use me."

He began to dictate the rhythm from below. He bucked his hips, meeting each of your descents with a powerful, upward drive, controlling the depth, the angle, the force. He was fucking himself into you from the bottom, his strength surprising, his need an inferno.

"Yes! Like that!" he chanted, his eyes blazing up at you, watching your breasts bounce, your face contort in pleasure. 

"Good. keep going. I wanna feel you tighten around me again whilst you come for me"

His physical domination from beneath you was the spark that lit the fuse. 

You cried out, your rhythm breaking into frantic, shallow bounces as the orgasm ripped through you, violently, your nerve endings completely shattered from what was going on.

He felt it. He saw it. And it unleashed the final, raw animal in him.

With a roar that was half-sob, half-triumph, he gripped your hips and lifted you off of him. In one violent, graceful motion, he flipped you onto your back and was surging over you before the cry could leave your throat. He slammed back into you to the hilt, hooking your legs over the crooks of his arms, folding you nearly in half.

"Mine," he said, the word a primal, guttural claim against your lips. 

His rhythm was brutal, perfectly aimed despite his inexperience, a relentless, piston-drive fucking that had the bed slamming into the wall with a frantic, wooden THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD.

He was everywhere, his sweat dripping onto your chest, his groans hot in your ear, his hands gripping your legs like vices. 

He was a beautiful, desperate machine, chasing his own end with fury, using your body to get there, giving you everything he had in the process.

"I think…m-gonna fill you up… again…" he panted, his rhythm fracturing into erratic, deep jabs. 

"Mark you… inside and out… so you never forget… whose girl you are… Ah—! Ah, God—!"

His release was silent. His body locked, every muscle corded and straining. His mouth opened but nothing came out, his eyes wide and unseeing as he emptied himself into you in hot, pulsing jets, deeper than seemed possible. 

He collapsed forward, but caught himself on trembling arms, still buried inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath sobbing into your mouth.

Slowly, he softened and slipped out. He didn't roll away. He collapsed onto you, a dead weight of satiated obsession, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His arms slid under you, binding you to him completely.

His lips moved against your damp skin, the words slurred, thick with exhaustion and a profound, drunken awe.

“They are gonna have to lock me up in a padded room to stay away from you now”

fin.. ;)

taglist:

@sheerios32 @shaymariee @holyfujjj @joliebossanova123 @cinnamon-girl01 @dearsirenita @sgecat @alittletrampyvampy @orbitmyworld @mikesangelface @veraberaxx @misfloras @ningizuo @ieatorangess @misscowboyhat @auriuex @angelicneon @honeybunn88 @giovannamarie12 @iamsosexy2 @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @shinebrightstar @blur-charmlessman2 @tic-tac-my-toes @apqlehead @laistrange @joliebossanova123 @blaiselaurent @michaelcomeback @bawdylanguageee @theasdfjklstuff @kottonkanditits @hollablkgrl @holyfujjj @vincrichc @thatprettyho @jurneeblogs @zanyana626 @michaeljacksonfanfictions

pls let me know ur thoughts on this - i think its the most explicit sex ive ever written? hahahaha ok bye

[veliriumm]

hi girly i love ur way of writing sm and ur fics so i came to ask u for this bc ikkkkkkk you deliver good, so im thinking about like thriller/off the way era mike , and reader and him feel like sex is too mach so they just be rubbing their shi raw, like butt naked no clouths on no shiii they be rubbing aginst eachother and maybe just mike teasing with just the tip in , sorry to bing filthy but this has been going HEAVY on my miiiiind (first time asking a diva for a req kida nervous)

bf!mike who wants to stay pure, but reader just gets him too hot and bothered .ᐟ

can they find a compromise .ᐣ

a/n - hi i love ur mind, jessie we NEED to cook

established relationship

cw - religion mentioned, just the tip!, sweetie pie mike & reader, dry (wet) humping, i mean read the req, thats whats abt to happen wink

also ignore the pink theme, i know i reserve that for perv mike but in my defense i waassss gonna make this apart of that, but it didnt make sense in the long run

god, please give him strength.

"but mikey," you say, luringly, hands smoothing over his half undone button up. "we love each other, how is it sin?" you mumble pitifully, adjusting your sit on his lap slightly.

his eyes drift over your pouty lips, still puffy from his prior attack. you look edible, gluttony lingers around his gentle grip on your hips, he fights it with every coercive word you say.

"i do love you, but we need to be married, baby." he tries to sound assured, but the slight waver doesnt miss you.

your head tilts, he looks at you sharply, knowing youre on to something hes unsure he'll be able to say no to.

you cant help the small smile streching your features, "we dont have to go all the way, what if we just..." you pause, figuring hes more likely to say no if you say it, so you just do it.

your hips lift up half way, before easing back down in a slide on his crotch. electricity zaps up your spine at the movement, your boldness taking both of you by surprise.

his lips trap his bottom lip instantly, hardly holding the grunt that threatened release.

his grip tightens.

"y/n..." he draws with warning, but making no effort to stop you.

you tentatively rise again, but instead of grinding back down, you stay up, waiting for him to move you off...but he doesnt.

shyness creeps up his skin, as he looks away. his vice grip on you tightens impossibly, as he wordlessly brings you down, directly on his hardening crotch.

you gasp slightly, but you grind quickly again, as to not lose the moment.

this unfamiliar indulgence of lust blinds michael, as he grinds up on you, hes never felt this warm. your soft whimpers cascade gently through the room, as your humps quicken.

hes practically gasping with every quick, sophomoric grind. one of his hands detatch, unsteadily exploring the clothed expanse of your body, whilst the other stays planted—half guiding your movements, half tethering himself to you—to reality; that this was, infact, happening.

your hands are finding themselves under the button up, michael groans at your firey touch.

"please—off!" you whine, tugging at the bottom of the shirt, his stomach flexes at your words. he pauses hesitantly, you notice, youre quick to bring your lips to his cheek, drifting down by his ear "i need you mikey, please..." you whine, lips connecting to his neck.

he shudders.

"barely seen you! jus' wanna look." you mumble between the litter of kisses.

he huffs, is this jehovah himself testing his resolve? cause this is purely cruel.

he nods.

you grin, planting a final kiss on his lips, before leaning back to reach for the hem, michael lifts slightly to assist in getting the article off. which is quick to the floor.

his cheeks burn, as he watches your curious gaze.

youre hands trace down his sternum, causing his breath to catch.

he swallows, scratching the back of his neck quietly. "your turn?" he whispers meekly.

you giggle softly, nodding.

god, you look so adorable with your flushed cheeks, he watches your small hands lift your sweater off. he nearly flinches as your bra catches the light. plush breasts cradled by lacy purple—is it silly that he feels jealous over a bra?

he shakes his head of the ridiculous juvenile thought.

his eyes scan slowly over you, from your shy gaze locked on the headbored behind him, to the dip of your collar bone, his eyes haze slightly at the alluring swell of your tits, rising and falling shakily from your uneven breaths. he begrudgingly drops his eyesight, to the dropping curve of your waist meeting your hips. his finger lifts, absentmindedly drawing along said dip. your brows crook upwards at the teasing touch, goosebumps rise in the wake of.

his finger moves north, finding the strap of your bra. he stares with a look you cant quite read, before abruptly breaking the heated silence. "its not a sin to look...its...its natural." he says with a clear of his throat, flicking the flimsy strap gently back to your warm skin.

you nearly ask him to repeat himself, unbelieving michael; the most timid man youve ever met, is asking you to take your bra off.

you blink, before nodding, hands reaching to unclasp the garment.

your eyes drop. frankly, scared to see michaels reaction.

the brisk air hardens your nipples, michael watches silently.

"youre...youre beautiful." he mutters.

you swallow thickly.

you feel him shift under you, sitting up, soon his hand on your back, breath on your neck. he pulls you closer to him, lips latching on your pulse as you whine.

finding his shoulders, you arch into his touch, causing a small groan to your neck.

as hes working his lips on you, you press your hips down on his once again.

in a slur of grasping hands, and desperation. you both ended up bare. michael truly didnt mean for it to come this far, but how could he reject the innate need for connection? lust? yes—sinful, but if you don't go all the way, it's technically not a sin.

for being a sinner, he sure does feel heavenly with you on top of him, cute wide eyes locked on his large, hard cock.

he watches through hooded eyes, as you bite your lip, your inexperienced fingers trace down his abdomen. before you can even land where you so desperately wanted to, michaels quick to catch your wrist in his hand.

his breath hitches at the lingering;teasing feel of you, as he looks up. you give him a deliciously curious gaze, he smiles, bringing your wrist to his lips, your perfuming whirring through his senses, before he presses a soft kiss.

"dont want you doin' all the work." he mumbles his flimsy excuse.

you buzz slightly at his words, nodding.

he uses his vantage on your arm to gently pull you down to meet his lips.

"i want you—all of you—i swear i do, but we oughta do it properly." his sigh fans across your pouty lips.

you nod again, deciding this wasnt a battle you wanted to fight at the moment, already content with how far youd managed to come.

he smiled softly at your easy acceptance. a long pause settles between you two, before michaels qauiet words redirect your attention.

"we could still...grind on each other. if youd like?" he says mousily. you light up instantly, nodding.

his hips raise tentatively, before youre quick to meet him, you slide his long length through your weeping folds in a swift motion.

michael gasps, hands quick to your waist.

a sharp whimper falls from both of your lips, as the burgundy tip catches on your entrance.

instinctively michael pulls your hips down slightly, nearly breaching your entrance, before the cloud of lust dissipates enough for him to move back an inch, opting to grind your pearl along him.

your mouth drops open at that, poor little hole clenching around nothing.

you brace yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders as you lift with his moves.

grinding back down, he moans out, head falling back slightly.

his leaky cock is blanketed in a sheen of your essence, he could weep watching your eager movements along him.

everything is warm, every move driven purely by adoration and adrenaline. he can already feel his release building up.

"please mikey...i want to feel you. i love you." you say abruptly, causing michael to whine.

"o—okay, jus'," his breath falters as you buck your hips quicker—you are a siren of desire, luring him into the depths of desire. "just the tip...its not full way...its not bad" he mutters, more so to convince himself, than you.

he raises from his laxed position on his elbows, to his palms, as you strainfully raise your hips over his cock.

he clutchs the bedsheets below him, as he lets you take him into your small grasp, aligning him up to your weeping hole.

the pearly white gates of heaven flash brightly through his mind, as he enters you. he can damn near hear the trumpets, over your shaky whimper.

this is what he was made for.

he lifts an arm to hug you to him, your tits pressing against him is the least of the overwhelming flood of you.

"please—oh god!" he cries out, his grip on you nearly bruising as he fights every single voice begging him to sink you fully down, in one quick succession. he wants oh so bad to burry himself in your tight gummy walls, and lewdly paint them white as you sigh seductively above him.

but he could never forgive himself—god would never.

but oh fuck you feel so good.

he moves you up, then down ever so slightly. his mushroom tip fully immersed in you.

his eyes squeeze shut, before blinking open. he focuses on your withering figure against him. gaze dropping to your neglected bead, his other hand finds it. rubbing small quick circles.

you fall apart, the dam in your core combusts, washing over your exposed skin. lapping at the heightened nerves of your release, as you clench tightly around michaels tip.

he watches your wanton face, as it morphs through the fazes of pure ecstasy. hes never seen anything more beautiful.

he wants more, more of your love, of your touch, of your release. but he cant even adress those thoughts before his own finish line is crashed through.

he moves out of you—in a blink, he has your back to the matress, as his cum squirts along the expance of your stomach. he cries out, as he paints your soft skin milky white.

the devil has won.

a/n - ok u can totally tell this was written at 3am, please exuse the horrid writting; if you just dont read super in depth then all will be good!!!!

not proofread i am SO sorry lmao i can not for a life of me reread this nightmare, also sorry again if this is choppy i miggggggght be as high as the empire state, speazking of which trump made the knicks lose AUUGGGHHH. its ok tho mamdani will fix it mashallah knicks in 5

also sorry for my inactivity BUT IM DIALED IN ON ASKS!! when i wake up i promise ill pump out actually coherent pieces!!

im sure ill have post blunt clarity about this post later but wtv GOODNIGHT

[veliriumm]

hi girly i love ur way of writing sm and ur fics so i came to ask u for this bc ikkkkkkk you deliver good, so im thinking about like thriller/off the way era mike , and reader and him feel like sex is too mach so they just be rubbing their shi raw, like butt naked no clouths on no shiii they be rubbing aginst eachother and maybe just mike teasing with just the tip in , sorry to bing filthy but this has been going HEAVY on my miiiiind (first time asking a diva for a req kida nervous)

bf!mike who wants to stay pure, but reader just gets him too hot and bothered .ᐟ

can they find a compromise .ᐣ

a/n - hi i love ur mind, jessie we NEED to cook

established relationship

cw - religion mentioned, just the tip!, sweetie pie mike & reader, dry (wet) humping, i mean read the req, thats whats abt to happen wink

also ignore the pink theme, i know i reserve that for perv mike but in my defense i waassss gonna make this apart of that, but it didnt make sense in the long run

god, please give him strength.

"but mikey," you say, luringly, hands smoothing over his half undone button up. "we love each other, how is it sin?" you mumble pitifully, adjusting your sit on his lap slightly.

his eyes drift over your pouty lips, still puffy from his prior attack. you look edible, gluttony lingers around his gentle grip on your hips, he fights it with every coercive word you say.

"i do love you, but we need to be married, baby." he tries to sound assured, but the slight waver doesnt miss you.

your head tilts, he looks at you sharply, knowing youre on to something hes unsure he'll be able to say no to.

you cant help the small smile streching your features, "we dont have to go all the way, what if we just..." you pause, figuring hes more likely to say no if you say it, so you just do it.

your hips lift up half way, before easing back down in a slide on his crotch. electricity zaps up your spine at the movement, your boldness taking both of you by surprise.

his lips trap his bottom lip instantly, hardly holding the grunt that threatened release.

his grip tightens.

"y/n..." he draws with warning, but making no effort to stop you.

you tentatively rise again, but instead of grinding back down, you stay up, waiting for him to move you off...but he doesnt.

shyness creeps up his skin, as he looks away. his vice grip on you tightens impossibly, as he wordlessly brings you down, directly on his hardening crotch.

you gasp slightly, but you grind quickly again, as to not lose the moment.

this unfamiliar indulgence of lust blinds michael, as he grinds up on you, hes never felt this warm. your soft whimpers cascade gently through the room, as your humps quicken.

hes practically gasping with every quick, sophomoric grind. one of his hands detatch, unsteadily exploring the clothed expanse of your body, whilst the other stays planted—half guiding your movements, half tethering himself to you—to reality; that this was, infact, happening.

your hands are finding themselves under the button up, michael groans at your firey touch.

"please—off!" you whine, tugging at the bottom of the shirt, his stomach flexes at your words. he pauses hesitantly, you notice, youre quick to bring your lips to his cheek, drifting down by his ear "i need you mikey, please..." you whine, lips connecting to his neck.

he shudders.

"barely seen you! jus' wanna look." you mumble between the litter of kisses.

he huffs, is this jehovah himself testing his resolve? cause this is purely cruel.

he nods.

you grin, planting a final kiss on his lips, before leaning back to reach for the hem, michael lifts slightly to assist in getting the article off. which is quick to the floor.

his cheeks burn, as he watches your curious gaze.

youre hands trace down his sternum, causing his breath to catch.

he swallows, scratching the back of his neck quietly. "your turn?" he whispers meekly.

you giggle softly, nodding.

god, you look so adorable with your flushed cheeks, he watches your small hands lift your sweater off. he nearly flinches as your bra catches the light. plush breasts cradled by lacy purple—is it silly that he feels jealous over a bra?

he shakes his head of the ridiculous juvenile thought.

his eyes scan slowly over you, from your shy gaze locked on the headbored behind him, to the dip of your collar bone, his eyes haze slightly at the alluring swell of your tits, rising and falling shakily from your uneven breaths. he begrudgingly drops his eyesight, to the dropping curve of your waist meeting your hips. his finger lifts, absentmindedly drawing along said dip. your brows crook upwards at the teasing touch, goosebumps rise in the wake of.

his finger moves north, finding the strap of your bra. he stares with a look you cant quite read, before abruptly breaking the heated silence. "its not a sin to look...its...its natural." he says with a clear of his throat, flicking the flimsy strap gently back to your warm skin.

you nearly ask him to repeat himself, unbelieving michael; the most timid man youve ever met, is asking you to take your bra off.

you blink, before nodding, hands reaching to unclasp the garment.

your eyes drop. frankly, scared to see michaels reaction.

the brisk air hardens your nipples, michael watches silently.

"youre...youre beautiful." he mutters.

you swallow thickly.

you feel him shift under you, sitting up, soon his hand on your back, breath on your neck. he pulls you closer to him, lips latching on your pulse as you whine.

finding his shoulders, you arch into his touch, causing a small groan to your neck.

as hes working his lips on you, you press your hips down on his once again.

in a slur of grasping hands, and desperation. you both ended up bare. michael truly didnt mean for it to come this far, but how could he reject the innate need for connection? lust? yes—sinful, but if you don't go all the way, it's technically not a sin.

for being a sinner, he sure does feel heavenly with you on top of him, cute wide eyes locked on his large, hard cock.

he watches through hooded eyes, as you bite your lip, your inexperienced fingers trace down his abdomen. before you can even land where you so desperately wanted to, michaels quick to catch your wrist in his hand.

his breath hitches at the lingering;teasing feel of you, as he looks up. you give him a deliciously curious gaze, he smiles, bringing your wrist to his lips, your perfuming whirring through his senses, before he presses a soft kiss.

"dont want you doin' all the work." he mumbles his flimsy excuse.

you buzz slightly at his words, nodding.

he uses his vantage on your arm to gently pull you down to meet his lips.

"i want you—all of you—i swear i do, but we oughta do it properly." his sigh fans across your pouty lips.

you nod again, deciding this wasnt a battle you wanted to fight at the moment, already content with how far youd managed to come.

he smiled softly at your easy acceptance. a long pause settles between you two, before michaels qauiet words redirect your attention.

"we could still...grind on each other. if youd like?" he says mousily. you light up instantly, nodding.

his hips raise tentatively, before youre quick to meet him, you slide his long length through your weeping folds in a swift motion.

michael gasps, hands quick to your waist.

a sharp whimper falls from both of your lips, as the burgundy tip catches on your entrance.

instinctively michael pulls your hips down slightly, nearly breaching your entrance, before the cloud of lust dissipates enough for him to move back an inch, opting to grind your pearl along him.

your mouth drops open at that, poor little hole clenching around nothing.

you brace yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders as you lift with his moves.

grinding back down, he moans out, head falling back slightly.

his leaky cock is blanketed in a sheen of your essence, he could weep watching your eager movements along him.

everything is warm, every move driven purely by adoration and adrenaline. he can already feel his release building up.

"please mikey...i want to feel you. i love you." you say abruptly, causing michael to whine.

"o—okay, jus'," his breath falters as you buck your hips quicker—you are a siren of desire, luring him into the depths of desire. "just the tip...its not full way...its not bad" he mutters, more so to convince himself, than you.

he raises from his laxed position on his elbows, to his palms, as you strainfully raise your hips over his cock.

he clutchs the bedsheets below him, as he lets you take him into your small grasp, aligning him up to your weeping hole.

the pearly white gates of heaven flash brightly through his mind, as he enters you. he can damn near hear the trumpets, over your shaky whimper.

this is what he was made for.

he lifts an arm to hug you to him, your tits pressing against him is the least of the overwhelming flood of you.

"please—oh god!" he cries out, his grip on you nearly bruising as he fights every single voice begging him to sink you fully down, in one quick succession. he wants oh so bad to burry himself in your tight gummy walls, and lewdly paint them white as you sigh seductively above him.

but he could never forgive himself—god would never.

but oh fuck you feel so good.

he moves you up, then down ever so slightly. his mushroom tip fully immersed in you.

his eyes squeeze shut, before blinking open. he focuses on your withering figure against him. gaze dropping to your neglected bead, his other hand finds it. rubbing small quick circles.

you fall apart, the dam in your core combusts, washing over your exposed skin. lapping at the heightened nerves of your release, as you clench tightly around michaels tip.

he watches your wanton face, as it morphs through the fazes of pure ecstasy. hes never seen anything more beautiful.

he wants more, more of your love, of your touch, of your release. but he cant even adress those thoughts before his own finish line is crashed through.

he moves out of you—in a blink, he has your back to the matress, as his cum squirts along the expance of your stomach. he cries out, as he paints your soft skin milky white.

the devil has won.

a/n - ok u can totally tell this was written at 3am, please exuse the horrid writting; if you just dont read super in depth then all will be good!!!!

not proofread i am SO sorry lmao i can not for a life of me reread this nightmare, also sorry again if this is choppy i miggggggght be as high as the empire state, speazking of which trump made the knicks lose AUUGGGHHH. its ok tho mamdani will fix it mashallah knicks in 5

also sorry for my inactivity BUT IM DIALED IN ON ASKS!! when i wake up i promise ill pump out actually coherent pieces!!

im sure ill have post blunt clarity about this post later but wtv GOODNIGHT

[veliriumm]

hi girly i love ur way of writing sm and ur fics so i came to ask u for this bc ikkkkkkk you deliver good, so im thinking about like thriller/off the way era mike , and reader and him feel like sex is too mach so they just be rubbing their shi raw, like butt naked no clouths on no shiii they be rubbing aginst eachother and maybe just mike teasing with just the tip in , sorry to bing filthy but this has been going HEAVY on my miiiiind (first time asking a diva for a req kida nervous)

bf!mike who wants to stay pure, but reader just gets him too hot and bothered .ᐟ

can they find a compromise .ᐣ

a/n - hi i love ur mind, jessie we NEED to cook

established relationship

cw - religion mentioned, just the tip!, sweetie pie mike & reader, dry (wet) humping, i mean read the req, thats whats abt to happen wink

also ignore the pink theme, i know i reserve that for perv mike but in my defense i waassss gonna make this apart of that, but it didnt make sense in the long run

god, please give him strength.

"but mikey," you say, luringly, hands smoothing over his half undone button up. "we love each other, how is it sin?" you mumble pitifully, adjusting your sit on his lap slightly.

his eyes drift over your pouty lips, still puffy from his prior attack. you look edible, gluttony lingers around his gentle grip on your hips, he fights it with every coercive word you say.

"i do love you, but we need to be married, baby." he tries to sound assured, but the slight waver doesnt miss you.

your head tilts, he looks at you sharply, knowing youre on to something hes unsure he'll be able to say no to.

you cant help the small smile streching your features, "we dont have to go all the way, what if we just..." you pause, figuring hes more likely to say no if you say it, so you just do it.

your hips lift up half way, before easing back down in a slide on his crotch. electricity zaps up your spine at the movement, your boldness taking both of you by surprise.

his lips trap his bottom lip instantly, hardly holding the grunt that threatened release.

his grip tightens.

"y/n..." he draws with warning, but making no effort to stop you.

you tentatively rise again, but instead of grinding back down, you stay up, waiting for him to move you off...but he doesnt.

shyness creeps up his skin, as he looks away. his vice grip on you tightens impossibly, as he wordlessly brings you down, directly on his hardening crotch.

you gasp slightly, but you grind quickly again, as to not lose the moment.

this unfamiliar indulgence of lust blinds michael, as he grinds up on you, hes never felt this warm. your soft whimpers cascade gently through the room, as your humps quicken.

hes practically gasping with every quick, sophomoric grind. one of his hands detatch, unsteadily exploring the clothed expanse of your body, whilst the other stays planted—half guiding your movements, half tethering himself to you—to reality; that this was, infact, happening.

your hands are finding themselves under the button up, michael groans at your firey touch.

"please—off!" you whine, tugging at the bottom of the shirt, his stomach flexes at your words. he pauses hesitantly, you notice, youre quick to bring your lips to his cheek, drifting down by his ear "i need you mikey, please..." you whine, lips connecting to his neck.

he shudders.

"barely seen you! jus' wanna look." you mumble between the litter of kisses.

he huffs, is this jehovah himself testing his resolve? cause this is purely cruel.

he nods.

you grin, planting a final kiss on his lips, before leaning back to reach for the hem, michael lifts slightly to assist in getting the article off. which is quick to the floor.

his cheeks burn, as he watches your curious gaze.

youre hands trace down his sternum, causing his breath to catch.

he swallows, scratching the back of his neck quietly. "your turn?" he whispers meekly.

you giggle softly, nodding.

god, you look so adorable with your flushed cheeks, he watches your small hands lift your sweater off. he nearly flinches as your bra catches the light. plush breasts cradled by lacy purple—is it silly that he feels jealous over a bra?

he shakes his head of the ridiculous juvenile thought.

his eyes scan slowly over you, from your shy gaze locked on the headbored behind him, to the dip of your collar bone, his eyes haze slightly at the alluring swell of your tits, rising and falling shakily from your uneven breaths. he begrudgingly drops his eyesight, to the dropping curve of your waist meeting your hips. his finger lifts, absentmindedly drawing along said dip. your brows crook upwards at the teasing touch, goosebumps rise in the wake of.

his finger moves north, finding the strap of your bra. he stares with a look you cant quite read, before abruptly breaking the heated silence. "its not a sin to look...its...its natural." he says with a clear of his throat, flicking the flimsy strap gently back to your warm skin.

you nearly ask him to repeat himself, unbelieving michael; the most timid man youve ever met, is asking you to take your bra off.

you blink, before nodding, hands reaching to unclasp the garment.

your eyes drop. frankly, scared to see michaels reaction.

the brisk air hardens your nipples, michael watches silently.

"youre...youre beautiful." he mutters.

you swallow thickly.

you feel him shift under you, sitting up, soon his hand on your back, breath on your neck. he pulls you closer to him, lips latching on your pulse as you whine.

finding his shoulders, you arch into his touch, causing a small groan to your neck.

as hes working his lips on you, you press your hips down on his once again.

in a slur of grasping hands, and desperation. you both ended up bare. michael truly didnt mean for it to come this far, but how could he reject the innate need for connection? lust? yes—sinful, but if you don't go all the way, it's technically not a sin.

for being a sinner, he sure does feel heavenly with you on top of him, cute wide eyes locked on his large, hard cock.

he watches through hooded eyes, as you bite your lip, your inexperienced fingers trace down his abdomen. before you can even land where you so desperately wanted to, michaels quick to catch your wrist in his hand.

his breath hitches at the lingering;teasing feel of you, as he looks up. you give him a deliciously curious gaze, he smiles, bringing your wrist to his lips, your perfuming whirring through his senses, before he presses a soft kiss.

"dont want you doin' all the work." he mumbles his flimsy excuse.

you buzz slightly at his words, nodding.

he uses his vantage on your arm to gently pull you down to meet his lips.

"i want you—all of you—i swear i do, but we oughta do it properly." his sigh fans across your pouty lips.

you nod again, deciding this wasnt a battle you wanted to fight at the moment, already content with how far youd managed to come.

he smiled softly at your easy acceptance. a long pause settles between you two, before michaels qauiet words redirect your attention.

"we could still...grind on each other. if youd like?" he says mousily. you light up instantly, nodding.

his hips raise tentatively, before youre quick to meet him, you slide his long length through your weeping folds in a swift motion.

michael gasps, hands quick to your waist.

a sharp whimper falls from both of your lips, as the burgundy tip catches on your entrance.

instinctively michael pulls your hips down slightly, nearly breaching your entrance, before the cloud of lust dissipates enough for him to move back an inch, opting to grind your pearl along him.

your mouth drops open at that, poor little hole clenching around nothing.

you brace yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders as you lift with his moves.

grinding back down, he moans out, head falling back slightly.

his leaky cock is blanketed in a sheen of your essence, he could weep watching your eager movements along him.

everything is warm, every move driven purely by adoration and adrenaline. he can already feel his release building up.

"please mikey...i want to feel you. i love you." you say abruptly, causing michael to whine.

"o—okay, jus'," his breath falters as you buck your hips quicker—you are a siren of desire, luring him into the depths of desire. "just the tip...its not full way...its not bad" he mutters, more so to convince himself, than you.

he raises from his laxed position on his elbows, to his palms, as you strainfully raise your hips over his cock.

he clutchs the bedsheets below him, as he lets you take him into your small grasp, aligning him up to your weeping hole.

the pearly white gates of heaven flash brightly through his mind, as he enters you. he can damn near hear the trumpets, over your shaky whimper.

this is what he was made for.

he lifts an arm to hug you to him, your tits pressing against him is the least of the overwhelming flood of you.

"please—oh god!" he cries out, his grip on you nearly bruising as he fights every single voice begging him to sink you fully down, in one quick succession. he wants oh so bad to burry himself in your tight gummy walls, and lewdly paint them white as you sigh seductively above him.

but he could never forgive himself—god would never.

but oh fuck you feel so good.

he moves you up, then down ever so slightly. his mushroom tip fully immersed in you.

his eyes squeeze shut, before blinking open. he focuses on your withering figure against him. gaze dropping to your neglected bead, his other hand finds it. rubbing small quick circles.

you fall apart, the dam in your core combusts, washing over your exposed skin. lapping at the heightened nerves of your release, as you clench tightly around michaels tip.

he watches your wanton face, as it morphs through the fazes of pure ecstasy. hes never seen anything more beautiful.

he wants more, more of your love, of your touch, of your release. but he cant even adress those thoughts before his own finish line is crashed through.

he moves out of you—in a blink, he has your back to the matress, as his cum squirts along the expance of your stomach. he cries out, as he paints your soft skin milky white.

the devil has won.

a/n - ok u can totally tell this was written at 3am, please exuse the horrid writting; if you just dont read super in depth then all will be good!!!!

not proofread i am SO sorry lmao i can not for a life of me reread this nightmare, also sorry again if this is choppy i miggggggght be as high as the empire state, speazking of which trump made the knicks lose AUUGGGHHH. its ok tho mamdani will fix it mashallah knicks in 5

also sorry for my inactivity BUT IM DIALED IN ON ASKS!! when i wake up i promise ill pump out actually coherent pieces!!

im sure ill have post blunt clarity about this post later but wtv GOODNIGHT

[butterfliesandcoffeex2]

oh pervy bsf!michael how i love you

legit one of my fave tropes next to mature!michael ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[amnesia-sc]

hear me out — imagine ˋ°•*⁀➷ 18+ mdni you’re a pop star and giving michael head and he fucks your mouth so hard that it leaves your voice all raspy so your manager checks to make sure you aren’t getting a sore throat and then they see the bruises at the back of your throat and just rolls their eyes because everyone knows you two are on the down low “tell him to be careful next time.”

i love getting these ideas at 7am

[melaninjoys]

💕 - bsf!jermajesty who takes advantage of your vulnerability after you came crying to him about a lame who stood you up on a date that you had been looking forward to. jer let you cry into his arms until you calmed down, your shaking form now finding solace in his arms.

“you deserve better ma, you really do”, he uttered while cradling the back of your head as you laid on his chest. jermajesty had waited for a moment like this, to finally make a move on the woman he had an unspoken claim on.

he knew he was gonna cross a line he couldn’t come back from and it was a risk he was willing to take. he went with the flow of things to make sure you would be more open to his affections when the time came. from picking you up to letting you inside his place which became a second home to you, he watched you become more pliant and soft underneath his gaze.

“you know what you deserve?”

“mm what?” you looked back at him, your eyes holding a softness and underlying sadness.

“you deserve a nigga who gon treat you like every day might be the last he’ll ever see you. you deserve to know how beautiful you are, how kind you are, and how your light shines everywhere you go. you don’t see how perfect you are ma, but imma make you see tonight.”

jer’s gaze shifted into an unreadable expression, his eyes darkening into want and pure unadulterated lust as he laid you flat on the couch with his muscular arms wrapped around you.

“j-jer, what are you doing?” your eyes widened in confusion while your body started to heat up from the fact that you were literally under your best friend- the same man you had known for so long. who made you watched naruto for hours, laughed at your silly pop culture references, and had been there through thick and thin.

sure, you always thought that he was extremely handsome and charming. now you wasn’t so sure about anything when you were caged in between his thighs and he looked at you like a predator ready to sink its teeth into its prey.

“giving you what you deserve.”

and that how you ended up in this predicament. crying out your best friend’s name as you leaned into him. jer’s lips were suckling your neck while his hands were splayed over your back to ground you. you knew it was wrong to be intimate with your best friend, but it was hard to think morally the way he was setting sparks across your body.

“mm look at you already being responsive, baby. you want me, you want what i can give to you?” he pulled away to seek confirmation, a smug smirk tugging his lips as he watched you grab ahold of his black tank. your expression pretty much gave him the answer he needed, you looked at him as if he was the apple in the garden that tempted eve.

“yeah you do huh?” you nodded wordlessly, too shocked and embarrassed to say anything.

jer wanted you for so long. he hated having to share you with other friends or when you were away from him. you were his and you didn’t even know it. after tonight, he was gonna make sure you didn’t even think of wanting anyone else but him.

“m’gonna show you how a real nigga should treat you.” jer went on to ravish you, making it clear that he’s gonna be the only one you come running back to from now on.

here you have it folks, had to write about jer since he’s been clogging my mind for the last couple of days 😭 also obsessed with the concept of him being your best friend who wants to turn you every which way but lose 🤗 hope you guys enjoy!

for @multixtingzz @siiighrns @hcwait @strawberrykittymp3 @plan3tch1ld @tlcfrmmike @prettyangeliczz @cndybliss <333 and anyone else who’s down bad for jaafar’s younger brother!

[michaeldiary]

off the wall michael falling in love with midnight ballerina!reader who wants absolutely nothing to do with him because he’s too sweet and far too innocent for her, and she’s lowkey mean about it but he keeps visiting her like a lost puppy because he’s smitten. he’s handing over crazy cash and becomes an accidental trick. michael is convinced he can save you and at some point during one of his visits he works up enough courage to say: “miss (stage name), can i.. see you with clothes on..?” and he thinks that’s a very okay way to ask you out. he’s literally sweating bullets and the glass in his hand is shaking.

you can’t even be mad because you heard him order the drink. and he asked for a “virgin screwdriver” ...... so it’s literally just orange juice. ANGEL BABY! (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)

[prettyangeliczz]

🐆💋 — dbf!michael sitting on a chair in his house, his belt unbuckled as his slacks and boxers stay low. his hand is stroking his dick with lube and his pre-cum making his hand sticky as he thinks about you. recently, after the party, you’ve been staying far from him, out of embarrassment. he should feel ashamed at the fact that the two of you did that in public but he could care less. his patience he so has is starting to disappear. his eyes shut as he thinks about you on your knees for him, struggling to keep his length in your mouth as his hand rubs your cheek, calling you his good girl.

he wonders how much you can handle until you’re crying to cum, how long can he tease your pretty clit until you’re jerking your body up and down and his other hand has to hold you down to stay still. michael moans your name out, leaning back in his chair as he thinks about you in your shorts, your ass looking so voluptuous in them. he’s wondered if you ever seen his print because of it, a part of him hoping you did, another part of him, the more sane part, hoping you didn’t.

michael continues to think about you, your pretty face and tears that cover them, your pouty self as you complain about the most basic things your boyfriend should be able to fix but michael ends up fixing it anyway. your hypothetical moans really control everything about this man, fuck he needs you.

he ends up cumming all over his hand and pants as he thrusts up, thinking about the way your pussy would feel around his dick, sucking him good, the way he knows you could. he needs to have your hands on him, needs to feel you driving him wild with your kisses, watching you struggle to get a word out cause you can’t believe you’re getting fucked by someone older. that shit alone drives him wild, he’s wondered if you thought about getting fucked by a man his age or by him.

[angelfcee]

nsfw headcannons ⊱ mature!michael

⊱ Michael's voice is his ultimate weapon. In bed, he drops the soft, high-pitched public speaking voice entirely. His natural voice is deep, raspy, and incredibly commanding. He loves whispering directives in your ear, telling you exactly how he wants you to move, praise him, or take him. Hearing him stutter or lose his breath when he's close to the edge is rare, but it's the most rewarding thing you'll ever hear.

⊱ He is a praise king, both giving and receiving. He needs to know he's pleasing you, constantly asking, "Do you like that, beautiful?" or "Tell me what you need." In return, worshiping his body, running your hands through his curls, and telling him how incredible he feels drives him absolutely wild.

⊱ Because his schedule is so unpredictable, when you two finally get uninterrupted time together, he wants to make it count. He has insane stamina (he's a dancer, after all). He loves slow, sensual, hours-long sessions where the goal isn't just a quick release, but complete physical connection.

⊱ He likes to tease. He spent his life perfecting his patience and timing; he applies that to the bedroom. He will bring you right to the brink, then stop, pulling back with a soft, knowing smirk just to watch you beg a little bit.

⊱ Michael is incredibly polite and soft-spoken in his daily life, but in the bedroom, he flips the script. He has a dominant streak that comes from a lifetime of being in charge. He loves commanding you to do things—whether it's telling you to undress for him slowly while he watches from an armchair, or demanding you stay perfectly still while he pleasures you.

⊱ He loves massive, floor-to-ceiling gold-gilded mirrors. He will deliberately position you in front of one, holding you from behind, forcing you to look at how beautiful you look underneath him. He wants you to see exactly what he sees.

⊱ He loves a highly sensory, immersive environment in bed. Think silk blindfolds, feather ticklers, or melting massage wax. He loves taking away one of your senses (like your sight) so you are entirely dependent on his touch and his voice.

⊱ He is honestly incredibly possessive during this era. He loves leaving marks where the public can't see them—inner thighs, hips, and collarbones hidden beneath your clothes. He gets a quiet, smug satisfaction seeing a faint bite mark or hickey on you the next day during a meeting, knowing you belong to him.

⊱ Because of his intense dance training, his stamina, core strength, and flexibility are unmatched. He loves lifting you against doors or walls, holding your entire weight effortlessly while keeping a steady rhythm. He knows exactly how to angle his body to get the maximum amount of pleasure for you.

⊱ Michael loves to push your limits just a little bit. He loves bringing you to multiple orgasms, ignoring your breathless pleas to stop, and keeping you right on the edge of sensory overload until you are completely spent and crying out his name.

⊱ Michael has famously large, expressive eyes, and he uses them to lock you in place. He rarely closes his eyes during sex. He wants to watch every single micro-expression on your face—the way your lips part, the way your eyes roll back, the flush on your chest. If you try to look away because it’s too intense, he will gently but firmly cup your jaw to force you to look right back at him.

⊱ He has a hidden urge for a little bit of rougher, more primal play. He loves the sharp contrast of a heavy, stinging slap against your bare thigh or ass, followed immediately by him kissing the red mark he left. He loves hearing the sharp gasp it pulls out of you.

⊱ Michael has an eye for fashion, design, and fabrics. He absolutely adores high-end, vintage-style lingerie—silk corsets, thigh-high stockings with garter belts, and sheer lace. He will personally shop for you, buying pieces he wants to see on you, only to slowly, deliberately peel them off your body, piece by piece.

⊱ He is the absolute best at aftercare. Once the high energy clears, he immediately shifts into the most attentive, nurturing partner. He loves drawing a warm bath for the two of you, gently washing your back, and tracing the lines of your body with a damp washcloth. Afterward, he'll brush your hair out, scent your skin with lotion, and hold you tight against his chest in bed, humming low in his throat until you both fall asleep.

[prettyangeliczz]

🐆💋 — dbf!michael hosting your birthday party cause he doesn’t want your boyfriend to have any credit; it’s selfish, he knows, he doesn’t care anymore. you have on the prettiest and sexiest fit on, something michael bought you when he took you out shopping. he wanted you to feel pretty. the entire day he spent his money on you. he got you the best makeup artist, the best hairstylist, the best dj, the best chefs, and everything just for you. you felt overwhelmed with appreciation because you couldn’t believe he would go all out like this.

michael lives for your happiness. he’s done it all, a red carpet and more. he invited some of his celebrity friends, and your favorite celebrities. you looked beautiful on the red carpet, but fuck, did michael look good, his confidence oozing out tonight. you watched him take pictures, smiling and waving at everyone as he chewed his gum. he had his sunglasses on, but his eyes were only on you. his jealousy flared up a little as he saw you talking to your favorite celebrities, your boyfriend beside you with his hand around your waist, rubbing you through your dress. michael ends up calling you over to take more red carpet pictures, and of course, you listen. he’s got his hand wrapped your waist, pulling you close, whispering in your ear, drowning you in compliments.

“you’re so beautiful, you look so incredible.” “so gorgeous, everyone is here just to see your pretty self.” “look at the cameras, pretty baby, they love you.” “you deserve this, my sweet girl, you just look too good. i need to spoil you more.”

you couldn’t lie, those words turned you on more than you wish. you tried to ignore the feeling, but his fingers would rub your body just the way your boyfriend did, but that sensation didn’t exist with your boyfriend the way it did with michael.

the entire night, michael was right, everyone was giving their attention to you. especially your boyfriend, sadly, in michael’s eyes. michael ended up bringing you onto the dance floor, getting drunk with you afterward, still complimenting you. after a while, it was time to wish you a happy birthday, everyone coming together to share such a beautiful experience. michael stood beside you, his hand on your back as you blew out the candles. you then watch him take a bit of the frosting up and bring it to your lips. you look up at michael as you wrap your lips around his finger, sucking up the frosting.

michael swears he could have had a boner right then and there, but he tried to control himself as much as possible. everyone around you guys looked shocked, but michael laughed it off to ease the tension and turned it back to the dj. you feel embarrassed right after, not believing you did that, especially right beside your boyfriend. you felt guilty the entire night, hoping your impulsiveness would not cause a tear in your relationship. michael on the other hand, is still patiently waiting until you come crying to him about how your boyfriend ended things.

[soulaceii]

oh angel face

[soulaceii]

just blocked an irl posting her watching the verdict & saying michael might have touched them kids??? i don’t even play like that

[yenvixx]

imagining manipulative boyfriend!michael touching you in public

warnings: 18+, manipulation (duh), public sex, creampie

“c’mon mama,” michael groans, tugging at your skirt. “lemme feeeeel you.” his hands running up and down your body.

“michael..” you whisper, the library quiet as you try to keep the attention off of you two. his hand slides higher up your thigh, fingers teasing the edge of your skirt. you whimper, pressing your lips together hard.

"shh," he murmurs against your ear, "be a good girl." his fingers slip under your skirt and slide beneath the waistband of your panties, pressing against your already soaked folds.

he breathes against your ear, two fingers slipping between your lips without warning.

you put your hand over your mouth, a moan creeping out. “s-stop.” you grab his hand, taking it out of your panties before turning around to face him.

“michael, there’s people in here!” you whisper yell at him, while fixing your panties and skirt. your legs trembling slightly and your pussy aching. he looks down at you, a smug smile plastered on his face.

he brings his glistening fingers up to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours, he pops them into his mouth. his tongue twirls around his two fingers, tasting every drop of you. “mmm,” he groans, “taste so’ good ma.” (ugh, you can’t stay mad at that..)

—

“fuuuckk,” michael moans, your legs on his shoulders as he thrusts into you. your back pressed against the cold porcelain of the library sink.

he rolls his hips slow, dragging every inch of his cock out before pushing back in deeper then before. you grab onto his arms, desperate and needy. your eyes starting to roll back.

"mmph-please-" you moan. "please what?", his voice low and mocking. he stops thrusting completely, leaving you empty and aching. "finish the thought, baby”

"please- fuck," you sob, “more, w-want more.” his lips curl into a cocky smirk, “good girl.” he slams into you once more, his dick filling you up all the way.

your legs shake violently over his shoulders, a broken cry leaving your throat. “such’ a desperate little thing” he groans, grip tightening on your hips. he slams into you harder, watching you fall apart underneath him.

his thrusts get deeper and rougher, slamming into you with wet thrusts that echo off the tiny bathroom walls. your pussy clenches around him, his dick twitching inside of you. "g’nna fill you up, mama.” he pants, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

your tits bounce with each thrust until finally he buries himself deep inside of you. hot cum filling up your core, leaking out of you.

he slowly pulls out of you, cum dripping out more onto the bathroom floor. his dick still hard and painful. “mm, look so sexy with my cum drippin’ outta you, baby.” he murmurs, his hands rubbing against your thighs.

your legs still shaking as he helps you off the sink, handing you your soaked panties. he pats your head as you get dressed, makeup smeared (but he doesn’t care) as leads you out of the bathroom, you swear everyone is looking at you as you two walk out to the car.

note: i need more of him immediately but i hope this does you all well i’m sorry for no post in couple days ive been on holiday but thank you all for the support i love you babies <33

[veliriumm]

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