#gentleness

[kkisyoungh0e]

Just a cute lil doll playing dress up…thoughts?

꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ

[envythekoipond]

| Friends.

𐀪𐀪 ───────────────────ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ

masterlist | FWB!Michael Jackson x fem!Reader

| Word Count: 1.7k

| CW: 18+ sexual material, making out, groping, fwb (kind of), cumming in pants, patronizing, slightly subby Michael, a bit of vitiligo and insecurity (Michael) related angst, Michael picks up reader

| Summary: Michael’s family have all left on a vacation and he’s all alone in the Hayvenhurst house. He calls up his longtime friend to hangout and she comes right away. They’re close in a way that isn’t common, but feels right to them.

︎DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction depicts a real person and a suggestive scenario. Nothing included in this story is implied to be accurate. This is a purely creative work and is not meant to offend, or make anyone uncomfortable.

With the Hayvenhurst house empty for the first time in a long time, Michael feels free. His fingers pressing hard into each key of his grand piano in the grand entrance.

Normally, Michael plays the piano with a light touch, not wanting to trigger his father of his presence. But with his father gone, he’s free to let the melodies ring throughout the house.

His mind wanders, colours and cartoon characters creating a beautiful collage behind the notes. He has no fear, and his body is finally able to relax, even on the shellacked wood of the bench he’s perched on.

The song that comes together under the pads of his fingers starts to sound like words to him. Namely, words that describe you.

He stops playing and plops his hands onto his thighs and huffs; he misses you.

It’s been nearly two weeks since he saw you, and he’s really been missing you. If it were up to him, you’d live in his bedroom with him, but he doesn’t like having you around his dad. It’s like a gut feeling.

The house is empty now, though…

Your phone rings and nearly bounces off your kitchen counter with Michael’s call, almost as if it itself was overjoyed by the number.

You groan, spitting out the toothpaste in your mouth and rushing out of the bathroom to catch that call.

“Hello?” You ask, voice a little grumbly from sleep. You clear your throat away from the receiver.

“Baby?” Michael’s soft tone greets you, a smile blooming on your face with instant recognition. “Are you busy today?”

“Michael!” You almost squeak, the gleefulness in your voice making him twist the phone cord around his index. “No, I’m not busy at all. Why?”

He smiles to himself before responding through a light laugh.

“Just wonderin’ if you wan’ed to come over,” he bites his lip before continuing. “My whole family is out of town for the next few days and I thought… sleepover?”

The nervousness in his voice makes your chest warm and you frown in a happy, sympathetic way. Always such a bundle of nerves, that one…

“Of course, sweet,” you respond kindly, already glancing to your bedroom in excitement to get a nice outfit. “I’ll be over in the hour.”

Michael’s presence always warrants a nice outfit, and you never take that for granted. You don’t get the same opportunities to dress up as he does because of all his galas and awards shows, so this is a cherished tradition.

The search doesn’t take long and you decide on something functional, yet fashionable. You got your hair professionally cut and styled yesterday, and it really boosts everything about your look. You toss on some jewelry and you’re on your way in a half hour.

Michael makes a tray of snacks for the both of you while he waits for your arrival, plating it as pretty as he can. He sighs contentedly when your knock comes just as he’s placing the platter on the coffee table. Perfect timing.

He bounds to the door and captures you with his arms. You’re locked against him, squealing as he lifts you up off the ground.

Your feet only touch the ground again so that he can grab your face in his hands and kiss you, letting it linger until it’s just smiles pressed against one another.

“You’re so touchy today, Michael,” you giggle, rubbing your hands over his tiny waist.

“Mm,” he hums, pressing his lips back to yours. “Told you, family isn’t home. Wanna be normal with you again.”

His words are mumbled into your mouth, his tongue trying to find its way in too.

“Okay— okay, baby,” you put your hands on his chest and put some space between the two of you. “Let’s get inside first, hm?”

He looks sad for a moment before his face lights up. You give him a suspicious look but before you can say anything, he’s whisking you off your feet and gathering your body in his arms.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes wide with awe. “When did you get so strong?”

“Come on,” he rolls his eyes as he kicks the front door shut. “Gimme’ some credit; I’m still a guy.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” you assure, letting your lips press along his strong jawline. “‘Wasn’t takin’ a shot at you.”

He smiles down at you in his arms and takes you into the living room, tossing you onto the plush couch before diving onto it beside you.

“I made snacks.” He points excitedly at the charcuterie board on the table infront of you. “All your favourite things.”

“Ooo,” you pick up a finger food and pop it into your mouth. “It’s perfect. Thanks, sweet.”

He blushes at the nickname, something he’s always been sensitive to with you.

You’re his best friend and you’ve been his safe space for his entire adult life. Naturally, your relationship became almost as close as a couple. But when he finally tried to take your bra off while you guys were… cuddling, you stopped him. That led to a serious discussion about how your relationship would function.

He agreed that a girlfriend wasn’t what he needed, and you said the same. But he also mentioned that physical touch was important to him and made him feel comfortable, that he’d really miss kissing you and having free-roam access to your body.

You understood his need for intimacy, and decided to continue it even after settling on being ‘just friends’.

The relationship would be complicated to explain to anyone outside of it, but between the two of you, it was incredibly simple.

“M’glad you like it.” he smiles, and stares, his eyes going all puppy-like the longer he looks at you. “…I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

His hand finds your forearm and rubs it kindly. He sighs softly, a little tired.

“Everything has been kind of stressful lately, and— and it’s been kind of, well, lonely…” he admits quietly. “…Do you mind if we do that thing?”

His meek request makes you frown, pulling his body to your chest on instinct.

“Yeah, we can.” You answer simply, messing with the hair by his temples as you feel his heartbeat calm against your breasts. “Right here is okay?”

He nods, trying to discreetly nuzzle his face into your barely visible cleavage. It makes you laugh softly, his neediness so sweet— hence the nickname.

Your hand slides down to his thigh, rubbing it soothingly before it works its way closer to his sensitive places. His hips nudge forward with a quiet whimper into your soft breasts, encouraging your hand to pet his inner thigh.

“Shh, baby,” you hush him, kissing the top of his head. “I’m not teasing you, you can relax.”

He visibly relaxes at your gentle words, his arms wrapping lazily around your waist. His lips start pressing kisses to the silky skin where his face has been resting. It sends a shiver down your spine.

The bulge in his pants is starting to become visible and you keep your promise, cupping your hand over his crotch and pushing your palm down slightly. He gasps and moves to tuck his now warm face into the crook of your neck.

“Been a while, hasn’t it, sweet?” You coo, almost patronizing, just the way he likes it.

He manages a pathetic nod, not daring to show his face at this point.

“I’ll take care of it,” you assure him, tucking your free hand under his chin and lifting it up to kiss him. “Do you want me to take it out?”

“No—” he almost cries. “Please, don’t.”

His reaction makes you frown.

“I won’t, Michael,” you kiss the words into his mouth. “Don’t worry.”

He smiles weakly, grateful that you’re being understanding and not asking any questions.

You squeeze his cock through his pants, swallowing his shameful little whimpers. Your thumb rubs the side of the bump, finding where his sensitive tip is to stimulate it.

His hips rut against your hand, trying to reach his climax without you ever actually making direct contact with his cock. He presses his face straight back into your boobs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, baby,” you coo into his soft curls, smelling his girly hair products that he absolutely isn’t shy about. “All twitchy already. Let it go, sweet.”

He nearly starts crying at your kind, patronizing words, his body getting ready to release and mixing his mind up.

The come makes a small mark on his pants and he pulls one of your thighs between his legs to—shamefully— hump through his orgasm.

It’s always magical to watch him finish, like his brain is short circuiting and all he wants is to be right up against your body.

You laugh quietly into his hair and he notices it as he starts to come down. He lets go of your thigh and pouts, staring down at the new stain on his pants.

“…don’t laugh…” he mumbles, embarrassed.

“I’m not laughing at you, Michael, I promise.” You shake your head, still laughing. “I just think it’s cute. Here— c’mon, kiss me.”

You pull his face up and kiss him, powering through his pout until he melts into the kiss.

“Do you feel better?” You ask after allowing him some time to calm down.

“Yes, much better.” He smiles bashfully. “And— and I… I guess I owe you an explanation for that little outburst…”

He nervously rubs the back of his neck.

“You don’t owe me anything.” You kiss him reassuringly. “But, yeah, do you wanna talk about that?”

It’s silent for a moment, and you can tell that this is a sensitive thing for him.

“…The… vitiligo. It’s, uhm… it’s spreading.” He finally admits, averting his eyes.

“Oh,” you frown, glancing down at his crotch. “You didn’t think I’d care about that, did you?”

“No, I— I didn’t think that you’d say anything.” He rushes to reassure you. “It’s just… I haven’t gotten used to it myself yet.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you take his hand and rub your thumb on the back of it. “I can’t imagine how something like this can mess with someone’s head.”

He smiles at you, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks and pull you in for a thankful kiss.

“You’re my favourite,” he whispers. “I love you I love you I love you—”

“Okay!” You giggle, pushing him off of you to save yourself from being smothered. “I love you too, sweet.”

support writers!->interactions greatly appreciated!

A/N: this wasn’t supposed to be angsty at all but here we are… I was half asleep writing this so if it doesn’t make sense, that’s why 😭 also this is my first Michael fic so lmk if you guys want more!

—I do not authorize my content to be fed to artificial intelligence—

[luakirakira]

[yeesiine]

Something so attractive about gentleness.

[agirlwithbaredteeth]

"I think it's time you had a bath, sweetheart." He calls from the hallway. You can hear the water running.

Your stomach drops.

A bath.

How long have you been here? A week? You certainly need it. Have dreamt of it, even, of feeling clean again. But you don't want it like this, in this house, this place, with this freak of a man who has trapped you here for reasons still unclear to you. Well maybe they will become clear now, and what you had suspected and dreaded all along will be proved true.

So you scratch at him like a feral cat when he pulls you into the bathroom. He lets go once you're inside, and without his anchoring hold, you fall to the floor, knees hitting the cold tile. Meanwhile, he kneels beside the tub and places a hand inside the water, checking its temperature. Then, he turns back to you.

"Come on, sweet girl." He says quietly, shuffling closer to you. "You'll like it once you're in."

"No." You hiss definitively.

"Are you frightened?"

"No." You say, voice faltering a bit.

"You've nothing to be scared of." He reassures you anyway. "I only want to give you a bath."

And then he reaches a hand out, pinching the fabric of your shirt. You push it away, glaring at him.

"Will you undress yourself then?" He asks after a moment, his gaze stern.

"No." You mutter, looking down at your lap.

"Well then." He says. "I will have to help you."

And then he reaches for you again. You move this time, but your back soon hits the wall and your only defence then is to flail and kick and make the task as difficult as possible for him. But once you're halfway undressed, you give up, slumping against the wall.

"I hate you-" you splutter inbetween shaky breaths and then with a little more ferocity -

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" You cry, kicking your legs just a little in the last of your fight. You feel pathetic, trapped against the wall, He doesn't look you in the eye, focusing on the task at hand. This frustrates you, and wanting some kind of reaction from him, you continue-

"You're sick!" You hiss as the tears flow. "And crazy, and, and a pervert, and I hate-"

He tries to be gentle as you ramble on. He really does, his touch featherlight. It breaks his heart to know you're even thinking of such things when all he is doing is looking after you and treating you like the little girl you are. You've clearly been hurt, but he'll make it all better. Soon, you'll allow yourself to be small and you won't be able to think of such things at all.

"That's okay." He finally speaks once you seem to lose your fervor a bit. "You can hate me, honey."

You want to scream at that. You want to explode. His steadfastness is infuriating. How does he stick to the script no matter what comes? Does anything you do or say matter?

Defeated, you remain quiet, watching him with a kind of tired contempt.

He still has to wrangle you inside the bath, water sloshing over the edges of the porcelain tub, but you're not fighting him so much as you are just being uncooperatively motionless.

Once inside, you go silent and still, unnervingly so. He can just hear your breaths, coming jagged and fast.

"See? It's not so bad, is it?" He asks gently, picking up a sponge.

You flinch at the first touch of it, so he goes very lightly, just grazing the tops of your arms until he thinks you may be used to it. His poor girl. He wishes you would tell him how scared you are and why, then maybe he could make it better.

"Well done." He hums as he moves onto your back. "I'm very happy you're being so good."

He knows you'll be okay once you're warm and dressed and clean, once you've realised a bath is just a bath. Maybe next time, you'll fight him a little less.

[firelilyfox]

beloved enemy

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: You both are stubborn and it shows. But when Steve reveals what’s underneath the surface, things change.

Warnings: enemies to lovers. bickering. cleaning his wounds. hidden feelings. soft spot for you. found family vibes at the end. no use of y/n.

———————

„You didn’t have to do that,“ you say, leaning against the counter. 

Steve freezes. „Do what?“ 

„Jump in front of me,“ you snap. „I had it handled.“ 

He turns slowly, towel in his hands. „Vecna was literally reaching for you.“ 

„And your plan was what again? I didn’t ask you to save me.“ 

There it is. Steve exhales harsh. „Yeah, well, you never do.“ 

Your jaw tightens. „I’m not one of the kids, Harrington.“ 

He laughs once, sharp and humorless. „Funny, because I’m not the one throwing a damn tantrum like one of them.“ 

You stare at each other across the kitchen, tension thick and ugly and charged. This is how it always goes - you assuming he’s reckless, him assuming you think he’s an idiot with a bat and a savior complex. 

You look away first. „I don’t need you throwing yourself into danger for me,“ you say more quietly. „I can take care of myself.“ 

„I know,“ Steve says. And he really does, that’s the worst part. „But every time you say that, it feels like you’re telling me I shouldn’t care.“ 

Your head snap back up. „That’s not…“ 

„Because I do,“ he blurts out. 

The words hang there, exposed. Steve feels it hitting him all at once: the way his chest tightens when you’re hurt, how he always checks on you first when things go south, how tonight - when Vecna turned toward her - his body moved before his brain could catch up. 

Your expression softens, confusion bleeding into something else. Something quieter. 

„You … care?“

Steve swallows. „Yeah. Apparently. Big problem, right?“ 

You huff out a shaky breath, arms loosening at your sides. „I thought you just …“ You stop, searching for words. „I thought you thought I was weak. Or reckless.“ 

„I thought you thought I was an idiot,“ he admits. „Some dumb jock playing hero because I don’t know what else to do.“ 

Silence. Then you step closer. Just close enough that Steve can feel the warmth of you. 

„I don’t hate you,“ you say softly. „I was scared. And it’s easier to push you away than admit I don’t want to do this alone.“ 

Steve’s heart stumbles. „Okay.“ 

In the living room, one of the kids shifts in their sleep. Steve glances that way automatically, then back at you. „Truce?“ 

You smile, small but earnest. „Only if you let me mend that cut on your face.“ 

He grins and nods once. 

Steve’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, hands braced at his sides. The small cut near his eyebrow was already bruising purple and red, dried blood flaking at the edges. You close the door, before dropping to your knees at his feet with a first-aid kit in your hands. 

„Hold still,“ you say, softer than before. 

Steve does without arguing. You wet a cloth and reach up, hesitating for half a second - like you’re asking for permission without words - before gently wiping at the cut. Steve sucks in a breath, not from pain, but from how careful you’re being with him. 

„Sorry,“ you murmur. 

„It’s okay,“ he says quickly. „Doesn’t hurt.“ 

You grin. „Liar.“ 

Your fingers are warm. Steady. You’re close enough now that he can smell your shampoo, something clean and familiar that makes his chest ache in a way he doesn’t quite know what to do with. 

You don’t talk. 

Every swipe of the cloth feels loaded. Every brush of your knuckles against his cheek lands heavier than it should. Steve watches your face - how your brow creases in concentration, how your lips part slightly like you’re holding something back. 

„This is kind of my fault,“ you whisper. 

Steve frowns. „What? No…“ 

„I yelled at you,“ you continue. „For caring. I’m a horrible person.“ 

He swallows. „Quite the opposite. And I’m not good at the not-caring thing.“ 

You glance up at him then, eyes catching his. The air shifts. 

„Yeah,“ you whisper. „I noticed.“ 

Your thumb pauses just beneath his eye, lingering there - too long to be accidental. Steve’s breath stutters, and suddenly he’s painfully aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to lean forward just a little. 

„So,“ he says, voice low, „This is the part where you tell me I shouldn’t do something stupid, right?“ 

You huff a quiet laugh. „Probably. But…“ 

„But?“ 

„But,“ you admit with your voice barely there. „I kinda want you to something stupid.“

That’s all it takes. Steve leans in slowly - so slowly - giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. Instead, you close the distance, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear.

The kiss is soft at first. Careful. Like you both are checking to see if its real. Then it’s not careful at all. Steve’s hand comes up to your waist instinctively, pulling you just a little closer. You sigh into the kiss, melting against him, the tension of the last few hours unraveling all at once. 

When you part, foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing a little too fast. Steve laughs under his breath. „Well,“ he murmurs. „Guess that means I don’t have to pretend I don’t care.“ 

You smile, brushing your thumb over the edge of the bandage you just placed. „Yeah. Guess it does.“ 

You stay like that for a moment longer - quiet, close, no monsters, no arguing. Just the two of you finally on the same side. 

The morning after, the sunlight is sneaking through the blinds like it’s checking whether it’s allowed in yet. Steve is already awake when you first open your eyes. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the couch when you stirs, immediately shifting closer without even realizing it, one hand hovering near your shoulder like a reflex. 

„You okay?“ He whispers. 

„I’m okay,“ you answer smiling. Remembering all that had happened the night before. 

And that’s when Dustin wakes up. He squints at you two, brain clearly still booting up, then his eyes flick from Steve’s hand hovering protectively near you … to the way he moves when you adjusts … to the soft, stupid look on Steve’s face. 

„Oh,“ Dustin says. 

Steve stiffens. „Oh what?“ 

Max sits up next, takes one look at them and snorts. „Wow. Took you long enough.“ 

„What - no …“ Steve starte, already flustered. „Nothing happened.“ 

Robin appears in the doorway with a mug of coffee, takes in the scene in exactly two seconds flat, and grins like she just won bingo. 

„You’re hovering,“ Robin says. „You only hover like that when you’re emotionally compromised.“ 

Steve glares at her. „I am not hovering.“ 

You shift closer to him, sleepy and unbothered and Steve instinctively angles his body toward you - like a shield. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

Lucas raises an eyebrow. „You’re definitely hovering.“ 

Max smirks. „Did he do the face?“ 

„The face?“ Steve asks weakly. 

Robin points. „That one. The soft one. The I would die for you but also make you waffles face.“

Steve opens his mouth to argue, then notices you’re smiling into his shoulder, clearly enjoying every second of this. Traitor. 

Dustin’s grin turns feral. „So. You guys kissed.“ 

„No,“ Steve says immediately.

You tilt your head. „We did.“ 

Steve groans, dropping his head into his hands. „Why are you all like this.“ 

„Because,“ Max says, grabbing her jacket. „It’s gross but also kind of nice that you finally figured it out.“ 

Steve looks up at you then - really looks - and something in his expression softens again, uncontrollable. He reaches for your hand without thinking. 

The kids exchange looks. 

Robin sighs happily. „God, he’s so gone.“ 

Steve squeezes your hand, leaning in to murmur. „You okay with … all of this?“ 

You nod, thumb brushing over his knuckles. „Yeah. I am. We’re done pretending, remember?“ 

Steve smiles - wide, relived and stupidly soft. „Cool,“ he says. „Cool cool cool.“ 

And just like that, the kids go back to their breakfast and bickering, the world still messy and dangerous - but somehow, a little safer. Because Steve Harrington has chosen his person. 

And absolutely no one is surprised. 

————————

Thank you so much for reading! 💙 if you enjoyed it I would be very grateful for any interaction!

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST

[minuo3]

Why is it so hard for an older guy who looks good and actually cares for me.