— SUMMARY: After 6 months of being together, Michael decides that tonight’s the perfect time to ask for just one anniversary gift; he wants you to start controlling him in the bedroom.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, needy!mike, lots of tension, body worship, size kink, angst (if you look through a microscope), dumbification (kinda…?), face sitting, oral (f receiving), mike has a big dick, handjob, choking, unprotected p in v, nipple play, dacryphilia, no use of ‘y/n’, mean!dom reader, use of mommy (kinda), use of ma’am, mike is kinda pussy drunk, timestamps are unimportant, kinda slow burn, gets kinda fluffy at the end, implied aftercare.
— WC: 5.1k (I got carried away…)
— A/N: The winner of this poll. I fs got carried away lmaooo. Like, comment, n reblog! And don’t be shy to flood my asks, i don’t bite..always.
It wasn’t even noticeable at first. Well, not really, until you connected every small instance like one huge puzzle. A particularly suggestive flutter of his eyelashes, a nearly crimson blush on his cheeks whenever you praised him for anything. Then, there was that one time when you called yourself ‘mommy’ as a joke.
You’d just arrived home from your 4-month anniversary dinner date. Your feet were aching; clad in a pair of deep red 8-inch pumps that Michael practically begged you to wear. “I think it’s sexy that you’re taller than me in those heels. Your legs look extra long and beautiful. Please m-, baby? Please, wear them.” That just about undid you.
You’d started regretting letting him sway you like that, though, because you swore that with every step, you could feel a new callous forming on your pinky toe.
“Come help mommy take these things off, baby.” It was said so casually, because it was. Yet, his reaction had you thinking you’d said something offensive. He’d just finished taking off his own loafers, one knee on the floor. He nearly toppled all the way over, and he looked up at you with this almost pained expression. You could’ve sworn you saw tears welling up in his eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so direct. It’s probably the wine…I’ll take them off mys–” He’d waved off your thought with his left hand, cleared his throat, and mumbled something along the lines of “…seriously driving me insane” under his breath, but it sounded lighthearted enough for you not to question him further. The two of you had your best sex yet that night.
Last week, though? It got to a point where Michael damn near made you lose your mind. You put on a pair of jeans that were slightly too long, and you didn’t have time to get them hemmed, so you asked your boyfriend to cuff the bottoms for you, playfully pretending to press your stiletto onto his chest while he knelt down.
“Yes ma’am,” he responded earnestly. He looked up at you while he said it, eyes glazed over with sparkles and something else you couldn’t quite place. There was a faint, crooked smile playing on his lips. One that read: I’m right where I want to be. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head like he was in the presence of royalty, then continued on with the task.
Really, it was a very quick exchange. Almost even casual; you just so happened to remember every aspect of it because it ruined you and your panties for the next two days.
That’s what’d been on your mind all afternoon. The two of you decided to spend your 6-month anniversary at a beachfront resort. Michael rented the whole thing out nearly two months in advance, your display of subtle dominance on your 4-month anniversary influencing the idea. He had a plan, and all he needed to do was gather up the confidence to act upon it.
You two took a series of photos on the digital camera he gifted you, involving various activities; a photo of you eating the breakfast he cooked the two of you in your suite’s kitchen, one of him almost missing his step on the jetski he was gonna race you on…One of you towering above him as he adjusted the delicate golden anklet he gave you the day prior, the cursive M glinting in the sunlight. He coughed hysterically to cover up the sound of its shudder, internally chastising himself for forgetting to turn off the sound in its settings.
When you two got home, he seemed overly eager about the evening, his attitude rubbing off on you. The both of you were a giggling mess, and you were completely sober. Just high off of the presence of the other.
The two of you had dinner reservations at 6:30pm, so you decided to shower together to ‘save water’ and time. Michael basically did the showering for the both of you though, making sure to do every step like you would. You’ve showered together enough for him to know your whole routine, and it made your heart swell with warmth, and your thighs unnoticeably squeeze together with want. He even rinsed and dried the both of you, making sure you didn’t lift your pretty fingers to do anything but grip onto his shoulders for balance.
It made you insatiable.
While you put on the finishing touches of your makeup, Michael approached you with a pleading look settled onto his face.
“Does this shirt look weird untucked? Should I button it up some more?”
You turned around, your unset makeup almost plastering onto his black button up. He looked delicious. Your mouth actually got watery at the sight right in front of you. You gulped down your lust, and met his eyes.
“Michael, you look beautiful. Leave it untucked and unbuttoned just like that. Wow.”
He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush crawling up his neck, as he let out a nervous chuckle. For a man so gorgeous, you’d think he’d be used to compliments from his own girlfriend by now.
“Y-you sure? Tonight’s important. I wanna look like we belong together. Like I belong with you.”
It took everything in you not to ruin your dinner plans and prove it to him right there, your hands fighting the urge to push him onto the bed and show him just how pretty you thought he was.
You cleared your throat and answered with a joking, “Michael, I’d swear you have a praise kink or something, because there’s no way you don’t see just how tasty you look right now.”
You turned back to the mirror, powdering up your face and putting on the remainder of your lip combo.
You didn’t notice just how badly Michael was holding it together from that point forward.
The two of you played the rest of the night cool, though. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for Michael fighting off his neediness when you ordered for him because you noticed him get shy, and when you wiped enchilada sauce off of his face, calling him your ‘clumsy baby.’ Or, the instance where you almost dragged him to the bathroom when you asked if he wanted dessert, and looked at you all lovesick with a, “Yes, please.”
He aggressively adjusted his black jeans, not so subtly, after you told him to pick up the napkin he (purposely) dropped. He felt like he was drunk. His nerves and his body were on fire. He started to down the bottle of wine he purchased for the two of you, for liquid courage. You quickly followed suit. It did nothing to help either of your states.
On the walk back to your suite, Michael’s demeanor nearly killed your buzz. He looked terrified.
“Mikey, baby. What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping in front of him and tilting his head up by his chin so he’d look you in your eyes. The heels you wore had you standing taller than him, and, unbeknownst to you, that only made it worse.
“It’s nothin, baby.” he responded, but his voice wasn’t matching his actions.
“Michael, come on, it’s me. What’s going o-”
“I said it’s nothin’,” he cut you off sharply. His voice was loud- too loud- and he wouldn’t look you in the eyes. He grabbed ahold of the hand that you had underneath his chin, and rushed the two of you the rest of the way to the hotel.
You were furious. Concerned by his terror-stricken face, mostly. But, his sharpness with you stirred something inside that you thought you’d buried, only fueled by the ache in your feet from nearly running in stilettos.
As you made it to your room, you pushed past his usually taller frame, and sat down onto the nearest plush chair, bending over to undo the straps of your pumps. You heard the door close with a click and looked up to see Michael rushing his way towards you, trying to stop you from removing them yourself. The two of you had your hands tangled in a mess; his fingers trying to gently push yours off, and yours almost aggressively shoving his.
“Enough, Michael.”
He gulped loudly, seeming almost embarrassed to look at you.
That was almost enough to ease the fire on your lips. Almost.
“Look at me while I’m speaking to you. What happened, and why are you acting so weird towards me?” Your voice quivered on the latter half of your question, insecurity starting to creep its way through your tone. Your cleared your throat and waited for him to speak.
He sighed visibly at the beginning of your monologue. The words affecting him in a way you couldn’t understand.
He continued removing your shoes as he answered, needing something to keep his eyes away from yours, due to the vulnerable truth behind his actions.
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I want you to control me.”
That was not what you were expecting. You waited, scared that you’d misinterpreted the intentions behind his words, hoping he’d expand on it further. By this point, both of your shoes were off, and he was still kneeling in front of your legs, both of his hands opting to massage on one of your aching feet. He still wasn’t looking at you.
“Mike…?” you asked. Your voice slightly deepened with a lust you were fighting so hard to control. You ran your fingers through his hair softly, eliciting a soft whine from his throat. You used the hand in his hair to gently guide his face up to yours. He obeyed your silent command as soon as you slightly tugged, actions already proving that he meant what you thought he did. Your stomach did a flip. The alcohol in your system was making you extremely sensitive to your emotions, everything heightened. Apparently, Michael was going through the same.
“I-I mean. Well look at you…Your legs are so long, ‘n you take care of me so good. You’re so good at telling people what to do and I always wish it was me on the other end of that. I- I think about you doing things to me. Things that I can’t control. I sometimes try ‘n push your buttons just so you can finally snap at me, but you’re so patient, even though your energy is kinda scary, and that somehow drives me even crazier.” The alcohol had him saying quite literally every word that came into his brain. He’d managed to fully massage all the tension from your feet during the rambling. He gave them each a quick peck and set them down gently onto the plush carpet beneath you. Then he sat up on his knees, properly. Both of his hands were placed on his lap like he was preparing for prayer.
“Please, baby. I can’t take it anymore. I want you to use me and control me and take everything I have. I want you to be mean to me and I want you to punish me for being rude earlier. Put me in my place, please. Please, pleasepleaseplease. It’s embarrassing, but I really do want this.” He added the last part after he noticed you weren’t responding, embarrassment and alcohol settling into his bones. He started sniffling, his eyes rimming with tears.
You didn’t say a word. Silently, you stood up, gripping Michael by the collar, dragging his frame up with yours, and then crashed your lips into his. He whimpered loudly. The sound shred the last bit of sanity you had left. The two of you tumbled through the doors that led to your room, his socks being kicked off and your shawl strewn onto the floor on the way there.
You turned him around and shoved him onto the bed forcefully. Michael looked up at you like you held the universe up just for him. Your hands made their way to his shirt first. The opened buttons were driving you crazy all day. You started unbuttoning, but grew impatient, opting to just aggressively pull them apart instead, buttons popping off and flying onto the floor in the act.
Michael was a whimpering mess beneath you, and you hadn’t even touched him properly. His hands were at his sides and his body was rigid. He hadn’t even tried touching you.
“Mikey, baby. You know you can touch me, right?”
“I just wanted your permission first ma- ahem. Baby.”
“What was that?” you questioned, catching his slip-up.
“Nothin’,” Mike said, clearly embarrassed. He tried kissing you after to cover it up, but the alcohol in your system made you not care. You pushed his torso back down onto the bed.
“Don’t lie to me, Michael. I can stop all this right now,” you said sternly.
“I..Uhm. It’s just.. sometimes I kinda wanna call you..mommy…?” He phrased it like a question.
That’s how you ended up the position the two of you were in right now. Him with his head propped up on the spare pillows he requested earlier, and your body propped up on his face, straddling it. Michael was going dumb beneath you, fully letting your core and the alcohol in his veins consume him.
“Mmm, Mikey. I didn’t know you had this in you,” you say with surprise laced into your voice. And it’s true. The two of you had sex a few times, but he usually seemed okay with taking over for you. Only now did you realize that it was more of him servicing you than taking control.
“I’ve always had it in me, m- ah baby,” he says, slightly pushing his head further into the pillow so he can speak.
You grab one of his nipples and pinch it harshly.
“Did I say you could stop? Don’t think I forgot about your little attitude earlier.”
That only turns him on further though, his hips jutting into the air immediately at the rough contact.
“N-no. I’m sor– ah– sorry baby. You’re right. I’ve been s-so bad,” his voice melting into a needy whine on the last word.
“Yeah, so bad. I– mmm– s-should teach you a lesson, shouldn’t I?”
“P-please. Please do whatever you want to me. I’ll make it up to y…ou, mmm.”
In one swift movement, you climb off of his face, and settle your soaking core onto his bare chest. You take your right hand and place it onto his neck with no pressure- yet.
“How sorry are you?” you question, his fucked out face only fueling your actions.
“Really sorry. Sorrier than I can even put into words,” he jumbled out. Not good enough. You give him a slight slap on the face, and then grip onto his neck with more fervor. He moans like it’s his first time being touched sexually.
“That’s it? You’re sooo sorry you can’t even say it?” you scoff at him, playing up your anger just to see him fold beneath your grasp. You begin grinding down hard onto his chest, reveling in this.
“N-no! I mean, yes, b-but, fuck keep using me like that please. I just, I have to show you. Let me show you?” he says, still trying to work your pussy between each word.
“Hmm, go ahead then,” you respond almost immediately, intrigued by his request.
He tenderly grabs onto your thighs and lifts your body up off of his chest, and places you next to him, sliding from the bed in the same movement. Then, he eagerly walks to the foot of the bed and sinks onto his knees, beckoning you toward him with two of his fingers, his twinkling eyes never leaving yours.
“Join me, please?” he asks, voice laced with desire.
You seductively crawl toward him, his body looking meek in this position. You can feel your core drip more at the sight of him. He uncrosses your legs for you, making sure to do all of the work. He’s gonna prove to you just how sorry he is for not being a good boy.
He takes one of your legs and starts to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of it; from the tips of your toes, to the backs of your knees. His eyes never leave yours. He’s waiting for some sign of approval, a praise, anything that tells him he’s making up for it, but you sit there in shock, staring at the submissive man beneath you. You’re almost too scared to move, afraid that any action or sound will break the spell.
Then he starts to speak. “You’re so beautiful. Your body’s like a painting that only Michelangelo himself could’ve imagined. How could I have been so stupid? You deserve everything. I’m gonna give you everything,” he says between kisses.
“This?” he says, kissing your inner thigh, “I don’t even deserve it. I’m lucky to be able to touch you like this. Lucky ta even see you like this.”
He grabs onto your hips, and looks up at you, pleading.
“M gonna make you feel so good. I promise.”
Michael kisses up the soft skin of your stomach, making sure to save what’s beneath it for last. Then, he makes it to your breasts, and drool dribbles out of his mouth as he speaks.
“I don’t even deserve these,” he says, almost to himself with a sigh. He peppers kisses to the undersides of them, teasing his way up to your erect nipples. Then, he takes one into his mouth, suckling like a man starved. You nearly scream from pleasure at the contact, causing Michael to look up with worry, only for him to see your blissed expression. He grabs your other nipple and rolls it between his fingers, still holding eye contact with you.
“F-fuck Michael, that’s it baby. Just like that.”
He switches his ministrations to your next nipple, replacing his mouth with his hand, and his hand with his mouth. He starts whimpering louder and louder with each gasp you take, your arousal fueling his tenfold. You feel high. You try clamping your legs together, but his lanky body is blocking you from doing so, eliciting a whine from your lips. He notices this. He notices everything. He removes the hand from your nipple and immediately starts rubbing languid, deep circles on your clit. You let out a loud moan straight from your diaphragm, internally thanking Michael for renting the whole resort out for the two of you.
Michael’s lips detach from your tit with a pop. “You like this?” he questions genuinely, wanting to be good for you.
“Mike- fuck- yes! L-love it! So good!” You can barely even think properly, your mind only focused on how his long fingers work your clit with ease.
“Mmm,” he responds, not fully satisfied with himself. He doesn’t want you to love it. He wants you to crave it.
He gets up and straddles your waist, fingers still slowly rubbing your clit, searching your neck for its sweet spot with his lips. When you buck your core into his hand at a particular area, he starts licking and biting on it, hungrily inhaling the perfume on your neck in the process.
“You-ngh. You smell so sweet. Did you wear my favorite perfume for me?” he asks, a wave of gratitude crashing onto him.
“Y-yes Mike. Come on– more. I need more. Give me more.” You’re desperate now. You have half a mind not to start fucking yourself on his fingers right there, but he’s one step ahead.
His fingers slide straight into your pussy, and your walls clenched around them immediately, not expecting the intrusion so suddenly. Your back arches up off the bed, lifting both of you in the process.
“M sorry. I’m gonna get you there baby. I promise.” Without another word, he carefully slides back down your frame, and starts suckling at your clit like he’s tasting ice cream for the first time ever, his fingers still curling and pumping in and out of you. Your eyes start to water.
“Oh my– fuuuuuck. Mikeyyy, baby. Mmm, s-shit. I feel sososo good. So good. You’re so good to me baby. My perfect- ah. My perfect angel. S-so pretty on your knees for me.” You smile at him weakly and squeeze his head in between your thighs forcefully, grinding yourself onto his mouth and nose. The dichotomy is giving him whiplash.
The praise that you give Michael is driving him halfway insane. He moans erotically into your squelching pussy, pumping his fingers into you faster and harsher, squeezing his thighs together for his own relief. The sight of you using him like this is making his brain go numb, the only thing on his mind is making up for his behavior earlier. Making sure you’re feeling good.
Your legs start to shake uncontrollably now, a telltale sign of your orgasm approaching.
This fuels Michael further.
“Please cum on my face. I wanna taste it, ma.”
You almost do it on the spot, but you have other plans. You lightly kick his face from between your legs and his mouth detaches from your pussy loudly. He looks at you confused, his face glistening with your arousal.
“I’m sorry. Did I do something wro-” You interrupt him by slamming your lips onto his, the force of it pushing his torso onto the floor. You moan at the taste of yourself on his mouth, your tongue searching for his in the process. You break the kiss and lean into his ear with a seductive whisper. “I want to fuck you, Michael.”
His entire body goes rigid and he gasps loudly. You palm him through his jeans, feeling his dick straining against the black fabric. He sucks in a sharp breath, wanting so desperately for more friction, while simultaneously wanting to show you he can be good.
“Ohhh, were you this hard all this time, baby?” you coo at him, loving how the condescending tone in your words feels.
“A-ah yes. I just wanted you to feel good,” he replies between choked breaths, seemingly trying not to pass out. He loves how dumb you’re making him feel.
“Aww my good boy, you did so well for me. I think it’s time for us to both feel good together, hmm?” you ask him, eager for his response. He looks so pretty like this, and his whimpers sound even prettier.
“O-only if that’s what you want. Ngh- everything’s your choice. Everything, everything,” he slurs out, already losing his grasp on reality due to the way you’re speaking to him and the way you rub hungrily against his clothed erection.
You unzip his jeans faster than he can even process and pulled them down off his legs along with his boxers, his leaking erection slapping against his abdomen harshly.
“Look at me,” you command him. He obeys without a second thought.
You take your pretty manicured hands and begin to jerk him off slowly, enjoying the way he tries not to grind up into your hands because he’s your good boy.
You speed up your actions faster, faster, faster, until you see Michael nearing his climax. He’s warning you over and over that he’s gonna cum, not wanting to before you do. Not after his behavior today. He didn’t deserve it, and you agree.
“Baby, pleeeeease, ‘m so close. Can’t do it. You have ta first. Iss too good ‘n I can’t hold it,” he whines, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. You kiss them away and go faster, ignoring his cries. The tears only turned you on further.
“F-fuck! Baby, I’m gonna–” You stop moving your hand entirely, and squeeze down on his dick hard.
“Wh-wha..” Michael trails off, not knowing how to speak anymore.
“Thank you,” he says, looking up at you with tear-filled eyes, chest heaving. He knew better than to complain- you touching him at all was enough.
You lean up to give him a quick kiss, before lining his dick up with your entrance and sinking down onto it. The stretch was enough to make your legs shake and almost make you fall over. You can’t take it all at once, opting to go slowly, grinding yourself against it in the meantime.
“Oh my GOD,” Michael cries out, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look at you. You look like an answered prayer.
“Mikey, you’re too big,” you whine out, drawling the last word out on purpose.
“I’m sor-ry,” he sincerely apologizes. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on by his facial expression. You sink the rest of the way down, too impatient to care about the burn. You grip onto his neck for support and start riding him slowly, your thighs burning with pain and pleasure. Michael moans at the feeling of your delicate fingers around his neck again and he loses his filter completely.
“Please choke me again. Hard. Control when I can breathe,” he begs you. You do just that and start bouncing against his length, the begging and whimpering from your boyfriend turning you on more than you’ve ever been.
His eyes start to roll back, and you loosen your grip so that he can gasp for air, his lungs greedily swallowing the oxygen creeping in. He starts rolling his hips up into yours to help, knowing riding isn’t easy for women. Always the gentleman, even when you’re fucking his brains out. He looks into your eyes, grabs your free hand and starts sucking on your fingers, muffling his moans with them from embarrassment. You don’t know whether to be angry that he won’t let you hear them, or turned on from the sight, so you grind and choke him harder.
His eyes fog over and he drools onto his chest, arching his back up to meet all of your grinds. You loosen your grip once again.
“Let me hear your pretty voice, baby,” you drawl at him, removing your fingers from his mouth and using them to play with your nipple. That basically does it for him.
“Baaaaaaby. Oh my God, I-I can’t even think. You’re s-so good to me and– YEAH keep touching yourself like that please. You’re so beauti-f-ful. I’m never letting you go. You’re t-too perfect iss driving me crazy. Plea—” you choke him again— “Mmmfuck. Please cum on me. Please use my body to cum.”
“Then fuck me like you want it, Mike,” you order, dragging your fingers down from his neck, using your nails to scratch all the way down to his chest.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He flips you over and pins you beneath him, and begins thrusting into you the exact way he knows you like it, totally focusing on your pleasure.
“I won’t, baby.” He presses a hand onto your stomach for comfort, but what he felt flipped a switch in him. He looked down and saw himself moving inside of your belly.
“Oh my Godñ…” he gasped out, making you look at him with concern. “B-baby. I can see myself inside of you,” he says, genuinely surprised.
“It’s ‘cause you’re so big,” you say, pouting at him. “G-go ahead, baby. Fuck me until m’ cervix is shaped like your dick.” He groans at the filth in your words, doing just as you say. His body begins to shake with pleasure. He feels so good, too good. Like something only his imagination could come up with. He starts drooling again.
The sight above you is getting you so close to your release. You reach your hand down to your clit and started playing with it, making sure to tilt Michael’s face down to watch before you do so. You want to put on a show for him. It is your anniversary, after all.
“M gonna cum for you Mikey. ‘M gonna make a mess of that pretty dick of yours,” you say nastily. You can feel the knot in your stomach start to tighten more and more.
“Y-Yes! Please cum all over me. Please turn me into a mess,” he begs, and that did it. Your entire body locks up and your vision turns blurry.
“Michael FUCK!” you scream—genuinely scream—out in pleasure. You grip onto his shoulders with all the force you can muster, mumbling out praises of “You’re so pretty” and “Did so good” until your lips fall numb. He rides you through the whole thing, legs shaking and forehead dripping with sweat.
“C-can I please cum? It hurts…” You look at him with surprise, not realizing he was still going for you, and it almost does enough for you to want a round two.
“Oh, Michael. You’re so obedient. I didn’t realize you were still going, love. Cum inside me, baby. Fill me up.”
He whimpers and cums on command, his body stilling and his toes curling up in pleasure. His eyes roll so far back into his head that you can’t even see his irises anymore.
“Thank you, thank you, thank y- ahh, thank you. ‘M so so–ahhhgghh, so sorry. I’ll be good forever, ‘m sorry my pretty girl.”
His sweaty body collapses onto yours, and you two lay there for a while, his dick still inside of you, fully softened up.
After at least ten minutes of this, Michael speaks.
“So…Can we do this again?” he asks hesitantly.
“Michael,” you start, “I don’t think I can ever go back. Do you know how sexy you are when you’re submissive?” Your thighs start to clench again at the thought of what you two got up to tonight.
“O-oh. Really? It wasn’t too much?” he asks shyly as he rolls off of your body.
“Really. You should’ve said something sooner, angel face. I prefer being dominant,” you reveal, although you’re sure it was obvious.
“I was just shy, is all. But you? I don’t think–no, I know I’ve never seen anything or anyone as sexy as you were tonight. I feel like I died from bliss and met God. Truly, you were heavenly. I didn’t want any of it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to…We still have a whole weekend to spend here,” you offer, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. He blushes a deep red.
“I’m gonna go get our stuff ready for a bath,” you say. “Tidy up the room for when we’re back, yeah?”
“I’ll do anything for you,” Michael says, clearly still pussy drunk. He grabs your hand before you head to the bathroom.
“I love you. I’m not just sayin’ that because of what we did tonight, you know that. But I love you. Thank you for being the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll cherish you for all of my days, and even afterwards, if I can.“ He gives you a brief, yet passionate kiss on the lips. “I’ll be as quick as possible. Happy anniversary, pretty girl.”
“Happy anniversary, Michael,” you say, trying not to cry. You don’t know how you’d gotten so lucky.
notes a short drabble of how his big hands and long fingers satisfy you ♡ for ref, his hand is 23-24cm (9-9.5in) long, with a span of 28 cm (11 inches). the avg is 19cm long!
when you're both making love, he wants you to know that you're undoubtedly his. he shows this by grabbing onto your throat as he drills his cock inside of you; the pressure his fingers put onto your neck make you feel so lightheaded. you pathetically attempt to hold onto michael's waist with your legs for support.
just putting one finger inside already sends you over the edge. michael is more than able to hit your cervix—it's that long and thick. when another finger enters into your folds, you can't help but start to cry. he doesn't admit it, but the sight of you trembling under his hands puts a hard tent on his pants.
michael was so shy to do this at first, but over time, he realized how much he loved slapping your ass. he enjoys how plump and hot it becomes, feeling the heat as he rubs the same spot to soothe the sting. your whimpers only make him want to do it harder, but he knows that he can't bring himself to. he loves you too much to risk actually hurting you.
he loves putting fingers down your throat to see you choke on it. the way your eyes water, your lips tighten, and your moans muffle through his digits is his favorite kind of foreplay. it gets him so hard that it makes him so, so impatient to replace his hand with his cock. “just a little more, baby," michael coos.
sometimes, when you both go out together, he'd wear his iconic rhinestone-studded glove. it gets you so wet to think that just the other night, his long fingers were gloved by your pussy instead. you've yet to ever tell him that, but you know he has his own dirty thoughts of you even outside of the bedroom.
Can you write something between Michael (in his Mature era) and a younger reader that has a kink for his hands? He notices and gives her what she wants !! Thank you I absolutely love your works
of course i can! i hope you enjoy this cutie <3
reading…
main page | masterlist
pairing: mature!michael x fem!reader
summary: you can’t help but get distracted by your boyfriend’s beautiful hands.
warnings: soft dom!mikey, dry (not for long) humping, finger sucking/ licking, sub!reader, hand kink, pet names: pretty/ good girl
wc: 1k
reqs: open :)
michael always had a book on hand, especially when lounging around the house. it was his favorite pastime. the two of you loved to spend lazy days together indulging in your own favorite hobbies. he read while you learned a new baking recipe, or he’d watch a show while you read an exciting new romance novel. this afternoon was similar to many of the others you shared, but something unexpected lit a spark inside you…
michael sat up on the couch, your legs atop his lap. he was in the middle of a new biography, absolutely focused. you were focused too- but not on the show you were watching. your head turned in michaels direction, eyes zooming in on his hand as he turned the page. he held the black cover in his left hand, his hand practically covered the entire book itself. the size difference caused a slight blood rush to your cheeks. michael glanced over at you, though you didn’t notice until he opened his mouth.
“yes,” his tone was low.
you darted your eyes to meet his, becoming entirely too self aware of the fact that you were practically drooling all over your boyfriends hands.
you asked innocently, “is your book entertaining?”
his smile was soft, “mhm…” but he was waiting for more, “is there anything else on your mind, pretty girl?”
michaels head tilted with his words, his silky hair fell over his face.
“um..”
your hands fiddled with the fuzzy blanket that covered your body, wishing it was covering your face. michael softly shut the book, resting a hand on the cover. his fingers were so long, and for a brief moment you imagined what it’d be like to take them in your mouth. the saliva mixing-
“mm.. it looks like there is something on your mind.”
you bit your lip, staring around the room. michael noticed every bit of change in your demeanor, you could never hide from your own emotions- especially arousal. you began to rise onto your knees, and placed your palms in your lap before deciding to crawl over to your boyfriend. the cushioned couch and blanket ruffled as you shifted your position, ending up with your head resting against your boyfriends thighs. michael placed the book beside him, and caressed your cheek with his thumb.
“tell me what it is that on your mind,” michael soothed.
you stared at his black shirt, “it’s just…,” you mumbled… you placed both your hands onto his wrist
he raised an eyebrow, “hm?”
“your,” you met his gaze, “your hands.”
“i see.”
michael moved the hand on your face to trace the curve of your waist, his free hand making its way to your hair. you shivered at the sensation.
“y’like that, pretty girl?”
you were too entranced by the sensation of his finger to respond, instead a gasp escaped from your soft lips. he dragged the finger back up to your face.
“sit up f’me.”
you complied, pressing your hands to his thighs to lift yourself up. michael, then, patted his thigh, spreading one leg from the other. you climbed onto him, using his broad shoulders for support. he held you by the hip and placed a tender peck onto your lips- which left you aching for more.
michael took one of your hands and held his in comparison, holy fuck. his hand was probably twice the size of your own.
“wow baby,” he teased, “lookit the difference.”
you took in every wrinkle of his skin. his touch was tender. all you wanted was to taste him. you took the opportunity to glide your hand to his wrist, and bring it to your lips. you looked at each finger like a lollipop, and rotated his hand the meet his thumb. michael wrapped his large hand around your face, covering your cheek entirely. you held onto the hem of his shirt as he finally gave you what you wanted.
your eyes fluttered shut your boyfriend parted your lips with his thumb.
“open.”
you obeyed, and he slowly inserted his thumb into your mouth. you moaned around his finger as your tongue explored every centimeter of his thumb. michael removed his finger, which made a soft pop! sound. you pouted, wanting more.
michael warned, “patience baby,” as he grazed his wet thumb across your lips.
his hand slid down your neck and to your chest. you anxiously followed every movement. michaels hand danced up to your chin, lifting your gaze to his. he entered his index and middle finger into your mouth. you hummed around him, licking around his fingers like like ice cream.
“move f’me, pretty girl.”
you began to rock your hips into him, your heart rate rapidly increasing. your eyes rolled as strings of saliva connected you and his hand. your hands moved to his collarbone, rubbing against his cotton shirt. the sound of your moans and ruffling fabric taking up the room.
“jus like that,” he cooed, the pulse of your pussy becoming more prominent by the second.
you picked up your pace, your breasts bouncing in your shirt. michael groaned at such a lewd sight. every sensation became more prominent. the wetness of his fingers, the aching of his cock, and the heat that took over you.
you took his fingers entirely, bopping your head up and down his hand desperate for more. you looked up at him through your lashes- as if you were sucking his erection. his brows furrowed.
“fuck,” michael moaned out
you slurped the dripping saliva, moving at a rapid pace. both of you were close, precum began to leak out of michaels cock. you placed a hand to the side of the couch for support, leaning back to hit all your sensitive spots. michaels hand followed your head, sticking his fingers around the insides of your mouth.
“yes, yes,” your tongue fell out of your mouth as drool wet your chin and his fingers, “mikey-“
“‘s’it my good girl,” he whispered, “jus’ like that.”
his words sent you over, and you both rode out your orgasm together. he leaked all through his pants, and there was now a very prominent wet spot on his thigh. as you caught your breath, you collapsed onto his chest and held onto the collar of his shirt. michael wrapped his arms around you, holding your tender body. both of you stood in this silence, chests rising and falling in synchronicity.
bad ! era synopsis — the rivalry between you and michael runs deep until one hotel mishap brings you two closer than ever.
content — porn with plot, forced proximity, mean dom! michael and mean switch! reader, cursing, smut, p in v, aphrodisiac, hate sex, dry humping, unprotected, spanking, backshots, choking, riding, lowk brat tamer mike
As the industry’s queen, you didn't just top charts, you made them.
If you wore a certain outfit, it was gospel. If you gave an artist the cold shoulder, their career was essentially on life support. You were charming, yes, but it was a calculated, lethal kind of charm—the kind that you’d lose your mind trying to detect.
And then there was Michael.
For years, the two of you had been locked in a cold war that played out in the headlines. It was a cycle of petty war.
During a Rolling Stone interview, when asked about his latest hit, you hadn't even looked up from your manicure. "Oh, Michael's great," you’d said with a bored, sharp smile. "He’s doing a really impressive job of mimicking the production style I debuted two years ago. It’s sweet, like a little tribute act."
At the Grammys, you’d walked right past his table, deliberately spilling your champagne so that his handlers had to scramble to clean it up, offering nothing but a dead eyed, "Oops, my bad."
Michael didn't play nice, either. In a broadcasted acceptance speech, he’d thanked his team for keeping his music about "real soul" and not just "a pretty voice and PR stunts," a jab so blatant it made the morning headlines the next day.
The night of the International Music Awards, the tension was suffocating. You were draped in a beautifully tight dress, Michael across the aisle in a tailored suit that cost more than a house. You spent the entire ceremony trading glares; every time he caught you looking, he’d just raise a brow, or roll his eyes, completely unimpressed, which only made you want to scream.
By 2:00 AM, you were on your way to the hotel. Your team was exhausted, and you dismissed them with a flick of your wrist. "Go away. I need to sleep for a week."
You swiped your keycard, the light chirped green, and you kicked the door shut behind you, ready to peel off your makeup and collapse. But you stopped dead.
Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket discarded on the floor, rubbing his temples as if he had the world's worst headache. He looked up, startled, his eyes wide.
"What the hell?" you breathed, staring at him like he was a roach in your kitchen.
Michael stood up, looking just as confused as you were. "What’re you doing here?" he asked, his voice rough. "This is my room."
"In your dreams, maybe," you snapped, waving your keycard at him. "This is my suite. I booked the penthouse. Get your shit and get out before I lose my mind."
"I booked the penthouse too, lady," he said, gesturing to his own room key on the nightstand. "I’ve been here for an hour."
You stormed toward him, your heels stabbing into the carpet. "Oh my God, I have absolutely zero desire to be breathing the same air as you right now. Get out you disgusting creep."
"Creep? Are you kidding me?" Michael walked over to the desk, his voice rising in genuine annoyance, dropping all that 'mean' act for a second. "I got here before you, Y/N. I didn't steal your fucking room."
"I’m not spending ten seconds in this room with you."
"You think I want to be stuck with you? You’re the last person I want to see after that shitshow of a ceremony."
You both stared at each other, the annoyance quickly curdling into genuine frustration. "This is a joke, right? Some kind of sick, twisted prank by the hotel?" You marched over to the bedside phone and slammed the receiver off the hook, dialing the front desk with aggressive, angry jabs.
"Yeah, hello?" you barked into the phone, not even waiting for a greeting. "There's a man in my room. A very annoying, very uninvited man. Fix this. Now."
You listened for a moment, your expression twisting into a mask of pure fury. You slammed the phone back down. "They’re 'lookin into it,'" you hissed at him. "Which means they have no clue what’s going on."
"Great," Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just great."
"We’re going to the front desk before I burn this entire Goddamn building down."you hissed, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him toward the door.
Downstairs, the front desk clerk looked like he wanted to jump out of a window. He frantically tapped at his computer while you paced in front of the desk, heels clicking hard against the marble floor.
"I’m so, SO sorry," the clerk stammered, his voice shaking. "There was a mishap in the reservation book. The entire hotel is booked for the award show. I have absolutely nothing left."
"I don’t give a shit if you have nothing left," you snarled, your patience completely shredded. "Find me a room, or I’ll have this hotel torn down by morning."
"The only other option is the Riverside Inn," the clerk whispered. "It’s... it’s a two-star motel on the edge of town."
Michael let out a dry, humorless laugh. "A two-star? You’re joking."
"I’m not staying in a dump like that," you snapped, turning to Michael. "Fix it. You’re the 'Global Icon,' right pretty boy? Use your influence…or dance or something. Whatever it is you do to get us a real room."
"Oh, sure, let me just snap my fingers and make a room appear," Michael shot back, his voice starting to lose its patience. "Don't act like this is my fault. I’m just as annoyed as you are, brat."
"Don't call me a brat, asshole," you hissed.
You both stood there, glaring at each other, the lobby staff watching in terrified silence. It was clear: you were too vain to leave, he was too exhausted, and both of you were too stubborn to admit that the only option left was to tolerate each other’s presence for the night.
You looked at Michael, then back at the terrified clerk, your jaw locked. "I hate you," you growled. "I hope you know I’m going to make this the most miserable night of your pathetic life."
Michael just sighed, turning toward the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. Save that bullshit for the cameras, princess."
The ride back to the penthouse was a study in controlled rage. You stood in the far corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, vibrating with the kind of cold, sharp anger that usually sent assistants into early retirement. Michael stood by the doors, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at his own reflection with a jaw so tight it looked like it might shatter.
When the doors slid open, you didn't even wait for him.
"I take the bed," you said, not looking at him. "You take anything else. If I even hear you breathing, I’m calling the front desk and telling them you’re harassing me."
Michael walked past you, throwing his own jacket over the back of a velvet armchair. "That’s fine by me, Y/N. Just keep your stuff on your side of the room. I don't want your designer nonsense touching my things."
"My 'nonsense' is worth more than your lousy ass career, so keep your crusty hands off my stuff," you snapped, tossing your heels aside and watching as they narrowly missed his feet.
You were mid argument, deep in a heated debate over who got access to the walk in closet—"I need it to curate my looks," you argued, to which he replied, "I need it to actually unpack, not play dress up"—when a sharp knock echoed at the door.
It was a waiter, looking terrified as he wheeled in a silver cart laden with an extravagant spread of pastries, chocolate truffles, and exotic fruits drenched in thick honey. He stammered a frantic apology from the manager, desperate to appease both of you. You scoffed, eyeing the spread. "Tell them to keep the bum ass bribe."
Michael, however, stepped forward, offering the waiter a warm, polite smile that made you want to gag. "Thank you. This is very kind of them," he said smoothly, before the guy practically sprinted out of the room.
He picked up a small, honey glazed pastry, turning it over in his fingers. It smelled intoxicating—deep, floral, and strangely heavy. He took a bite, his expression shifting from polite to genuinely impressed. "You should try this, actually. It's not bad."
"I’m not gonna eat from a hotel that can't even book a room correctly," you said, but the smell was starting to worm its way into your senses, making your mouth water against your will.
"Suit yourself," he murmured, his voice sounding weirdly satisfied as he reached for another, smacking his lips as he chewed.
"Can you stop?" you groaned, leaning against the marble counter. "The smacking. It’s like listening to a wet sponge. It’s fucking repulsive."
"Shut up and try one," he countered, holding the plate out.
You grabbed a honey covered strawberry, mostly just to get him to shut up, and took a reluctant bite. The flavor hit you like a physical force. Sweet, intense, and wildly addictive. You hated it. You hated that it was the one of the best things you’d ever tasted, and you hated even more that he was watching you, waiting for your reaction.
"Good?" he asked, his voice low and smug.
"Fuck off," you muttered, though you were already reaching for another one.
An hour later, the room had gone quiet. The suite felt different—warmer, the air thicker. Michael had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running providing a steady, rhythmic background to your boredom. You were sitting on the bed, robe pulled tight, watching a documentary on the television, but your focus was shattered.
A strange, prickling heat began to crawl up your spine. It was a slow, creeping tingle that made the fabric of your robe feel like sandpaper against your skin. Your heart rate spiked, a frantic, thumping rhythm that wouldn't slow down, and your hands felt unsteady as you reached for another fruit from the nightstand.
When the bathroom door finally opened, the tension in the room snapped into focus. Michael walked out, dressed in plain cotton pajamas that did nothing to hide the fact that he was looking just as frayed as you felt. He walked over and sat on the very edge of the bed, his back to you, his shoulders visibly tense.
He let out a long, ragged sigh, his head dropping back.
The sound irritated you to your core. "What’s your problem now?" you snapped, sitting up and pulling the robe tighter around your burning skin.
He didn't turn around. He just stared at the wall, his breathing noticeably heavy, his voice a low, strangled rasp. "Nothin’."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room. You watched him, your own breath hitching as a wave of heat flooded to your stomach, your thighs clenching together, desperate for relief. He shifted, his posture suddenly rigid, and you caught the flash of a distinct, thickening bulge in his pajamas that he was clearly struggling to hide.
He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a hazy, dark intensity. "Are you... are you feeling kinda hot?"
You tightened your grip on the blanket, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "A little," you lied, your voice breathless. The silence in the room was heavy. You went to the bathroom, your hands pressed against the cool tile, trying to wash the heat from your face. It was no use. Every shallow breath you took felt like you were inhaling honey—thick and intoxicating.
You walked back into the bedroom, your robe feeling like a weighted shackle. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look up, but the way his hands gripped the edge of the mattress told you everything.
"I can’t take this," you breathed, your voice trembling. The air felt thin. "I’m so hot."
"Me too," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, raw and jagged. "We need to fix this."
He slowly looked up. His hair was a damp, messy wreck, and his eyes were dilated, black holes swallowing the dim light. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the way his gaze dragged over the slip of your robe made your stomach flip. You felt a deep, aching throb pulling at your core everything to do with the man sitting three feet away.
You didn't answer with words. You crossed the room in two strides, your movements fluid, and loomed over him. You reached out and shoved his chest, not hard, but enough to make him stumble back onto the mattress. "Move," you ordered.
He didn't fight you. He fell back, propping himself up on his elbows, watching you with a dangerous, hungry expectation. You climbed over him, the scent of the honeyed aphrodisiac radiating from his skin acting like a magnet. You straddled his hips, feeling the thick straining of his dick through his pajamas, and began to press down. You started moving against him, a slow, torturous grind that made his breath hitch.
“I can’t believe im doing this,” You gasp out, feeling his hands come up, gripping your waist with bruising force, his thumb digging into your hip as he moves you against him faster. “This is so gross.”
He let out a frustrated grunt as his hips stuttered forward, a clumsy, needy twitch, pressing his firmly against the center of your panties. He looked up at you, his eyes glassy and needy, his face a messy, dark crimson where a deep blush had spread over his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked completely undone by the simple feeling of you against him. "Shut the fuck up," he grits, though he didn't stop, his hips rolling forward seeking the heat and friction you offered. You let out a small, breathy sound he leaned into it, another buck of his hips sending a jolt through both of you.
His hand slipped between you, fingers finding the edge of your panties. You held your breath as he traced along the seam, teasing without entering. Teasing you before his fingers slid beneath the lace, finding you slick and ready. A low groan escaped his throat. "God, you’re s'wet for me."
"Don’t flatter yourself." But the heat on your cheeks betrayed you. His touch was skilled, knowing exactly where to press, how to curl. Your hips began moving against his hand, chasing the friction with uncontrollable hunger.
But it wasn’t enough to calm the heat. You grab his wrist, stilling his movements. His eyes widened in surprise. His pants came off in a tangle of fabric and impatience. He lay beneath you, fully exposed, letting you drink in the sight. Lean hips. Defined stomach. The way his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he watched you with anticipation.
You positioned yourself above him, feeling the tip press against your entrance. "Last..chance to back out," You pant.
He just smirked, hands resting on your hips as you slowly sinking down, every inch making your head fuzzy as you struggle to fully take him. The feeling was so overwhelming. His hands move to your thighs as you began to move, finding a rhythm that drove him deeper with each roll of your hips.
He threw his head back, a string of curses falling from his lips. He looked up at you with wide eyes, big hands moving to grip at every inch of your waist and hips.
You bit your lip, fighting back a smile as you look down at him, hands on his chest as you lazily roll your hips on his cock, his thick tip leaking deep inside your pussy.
"God... feels s'good," He babbles, voice shaky and lashes fluttering with every movement. His words encourage you to roll your hips faster, grinding his fat dick right against your cervix, wet squelching sounds harmonizing with his now louder whimpers.
His arms pull you down onto his chest, wrapping around you as he stuffs his face into your sweaty shoulder. His hips buck upward, creamy slick coating his length with every rut. The mixture creates an obscene glide between your bodies.
“Look at you—haah—moaning like a little bitch in heat.” You mock in between moans, letting out a small laugh as you grind against him, watching as his face scrunches up in pleasure, biting his lip to hold back from moaning. “Oh, you think that shit funny?” He grunts, letting out a frustrated, guttural sound and in one fluid motion, he flipped you, pinning you on your stomach beneath him. He was actually strong—terrifyingly so. He didn't waste time. He shoved his knee between your thighs, forcing them wider, his eyes burning with that familiar, hateful intensity.
"Awww, look at you. Such a mess f’me."
Michael’s hips rock forward, driving his dick as deep as it would go into your tight walls, you claw at the blanket every time he even pushes an inch further into your cunt, fucking you into the mattress with slow and purposeful strokes until you swore you felt him in your throat.
This man is must be trying to kill me, you think to yourself as you clutch the pillow beneath you, it slowly becoming stained with sweat, tears, smeared with your mascara and lip gloss, you're becoming a complete mess yet he shows no sign of letting up soon. He was having sweet revenge. Your arms started to waiver, no longer able to support your weight as Michael continued to pound into you from behind, one hand molding the flesh of your ass while the other hand rests at your waist, tugging you back against his hips, slender fingers splayed across your curves, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Another high pitched whine leaves your lips as the tip of his cock nudges right against your sweet spot, dropping your head against the pillow as pleasure ignites every nerve in your body till you felt as if you were burning. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest and you swear you could just feel his stupid fucking grin tugging at his lips as he watches you slowly but surely lose every coherent and bitchy thought in your mind.
"Fuck," he curses lowly, his hand gripping your ass a little tighter, his eyes glued to the way your cunt clenched around him, sucking him right back in whenever his hips drew backwards. "Ain’t got nothing to say now do you? Creamin' round me like a good girl. My dick that good, huh?" His hand moves to your throat, gripping it tightly, watching you gasp for air.
There's a sharp reply sitting in the back of your throat—God knows you wanted to get him off his high horse so badly — but even if you could talk, there's no point in arguing. No one has ever fucked you like this and he knows this. He had you hooked. There was no escaping for you now.
You honestly should’ve felt embarrassed by the sounds you were making, clenching around him like you don't want him to leave, to stop just yet, and Michael only feeds into it, leaning his body over yours, giving your ass a good couple of hard smacks before planting both of his arms at the sides of yours til you could feel the sweaty heat of him on your back.
A whimper bubbles up on your barely glossed lips, the rest of it smeared across your face from where you've been writhing against pillows and blankets. Michael grins against your skin— the feeling of his lips on you causes goosebumps to rise across your neck and shoulders before he plants wet kisses along them until he reaches your lips.
Michael pulls his chest away from your sticky back, his hand pushing down on the small of it while his other finds your puffy clit between your dripping folds. A scream tears in the column of your throat as he simultaneously pumps his throbbing cock into you and draws his name across your clit in tight movements. The combination has your mind in a frenzy, clouding with visions of lust as your thighs tremble and struggle to keep you up.
Juices roll down you thighs in thick waves, gathering around Michael’s cock in a frothy white mix the more he fucks into you — the wet pap, pap, pap of his balls against your cunt echoing throughout your bedroom. You glaze him in your arousal, smearing it up his pelvis and the fronts of his toned thighs. you make him a complete mess. "ffuck s’too much," you babble out, eyes rolling to the back out your head as you reach your hand behind you, finger tips pushing against his pelvis in a desperate effort to slow him down.
"You’re doing so well, though. Keep singing for me, mama, lemme hear you." He praises over your loud tune of kitten mewls, breathless pants and soft hiccups, feeling him reach for your arm and tossing it off him. You can feel yourself getting closer and he's not even fully inside of you. He can feel it too. But Michael doesn't falter, placing his foot on the bed as leverage to move his hips faster, harder— groaning deep between bared and gritted fangs while he watches your ass jiggle against his pelvis, shining with your slick. "You gonna cum, baby?"
“D-don’t fucking call me that,” you grit out, though he doesn’t really care for what you’re saying for the musician is already playing with your sensitive clit once again, drawing electrifying shapes against it and rubbing your juices back into your sex while you clench around his sloppy cock. The hotel mix up had to be one of the best accidents you've ever experienced, you think as you fall apart— eyes rolling far back into your skull while you clench and cream on him.
"Atta girl," Michael coos as you come down from your earth shattering high, a mess of weak bones and jelly legs in his arms. "You're so fucking disgusting," You pant, though your body says otherwise, clenching his dick with a vice like grip. "Get off me."
"Cant when you're dripping down my… and..., fuck," His words struggle to come out of his mouth as he cums hard, his entire body shuddering, pumping his thick load into you while you groan— partially at his audacity, but mostly at how full you feel.
The aftermath was a slow descent. You lay there, tangled in the disheveled sheets, your limbs feeling like weights. The room was deathly quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized gasping that filled the space between you. You were a mess—sore, flushed, and utterly breathless—yet your body was still humming with the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac.
He slowly pulls out, flipping you on your back so he could see your precious face, but his eyes drift back to your leaking pussy, watching a mix of your releases seep out of you and onto the starch sheets. You scrunch your face up at the feeling, your chest heaving, trying to gather the shredded remnants of your pride. "That," you rasped, your voice cracking as you struggled to sound dismissive, "was a disgusting mistake. I don't know what came over me, but it won't happen again."
Michael let out a low chuckle. He propped himself up on one elbow, his hair wild and his gaze dark with a triumphant, knowing amusement. He didn't say a word; he just leaned down, captured your chin in his hand, and tilted your head back. He kissed you—slow, deep, and impossibly possessive—until your stubborn resolve crumbled into nothingness, your fingers curling into his damp hair to pull him closer.
Just as you were spiraling back into his orbit, a sharp, polite knock rapped against the suite door.
"Ma’am?" a muffled voice called out. "I just wanted to inform you that we’ve managed to open up another premium suite if you’d like to relocate?"
You pulled back, chest heaving, and looked at Michael. You both went silent, staring at the door. You looked at each other—at the wreck of the room, the clothes strewn everywhere, and the heat still radiating off your skin.
"We're... we're fine," you called out, your voice sounding breathless and shy, a far cry from your usual cold, untouchable persona. "We'll stay here."
"Very well," the worker replied, their voice tight with suppressed excitement.
As the worker’s footsteps receded, they tiptoed down the hall to where a group of hotel staff had been huddled, holding their breath in the corridor. As soon as the worker rounded the corner, they let out a jubilant, hushed cheer.
"They totally fucked," the worker whispered, grinning at the manager, who was practically vibrating with relief. "The honey worked."
The manager leaned against the wall, fanning their face with a clipboard, a smug, brilliant smile spreading across their lips. In a desperate, high stakes gamble to save their jobs from your wrath, they had concocted the perfect dish—a blend of rare, potent ingredients they hoped would finally break the tension between the two most difficult stars on the planet. It hadn't just saved their jobs, it had changed the entire industry's dynamic overnight.
Back in the suite, you had no idea about the little plan. You just glared at Michael, who was currently pulling you closer to him as he laid back on the pillows, his smirk wider than ever.
"I still hate you," you mumbled into his chest.
"I know, baby," he murmured, his hands wandering back down to your waist, his eyes darkening as he was about to remind you once more why you weren't leaving that room. "I know."
the inevitable consequences of a very passionate night … ⋆❤︎︎࣪˖ ˚₊⋆.
intro ✴︎⸝꙳.˖𖥔݁˖⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 4.8k ) childhoodbsf!popstar!reader x bad!michael jackson ╱ last night your husband made love to you for six hours straight, beyond the break of dawn, and now you must both face the physical consequences. . . but not without a little more lovemakin' of course!
notes ♡⋆°୭ 𝟏𝟖+ established relationship: husband n wife of 8 years. read this for context of the night before if u haven’t already ;). . . waking up cockwarming. cosy fluff. morning sex. cuddles n kisses! you’re broken n bruised. . . both covered in evidence of sex. creampie. m+f!orgasm. breeding kink. pregnancy talk. u call him bambi and he calls u tink for tinker bell! softdom!michael. light dirty talk. soft sleepy sex. aftercare
JANUARY 27, 1989. Los Angeles, California…
At ten o'clock in the morning, after only four hours of sleep, you unfortunately awoke. Nothing could be registered but the harsh sunlight breaking its way forcefully through the curtains—painfully so. Your head was blaring with an ache, your throat felt uncomfortably dry, and as you stretched upon your first intake of breath, you felt entirely paralysed from the waist down. An exaggeration, of course—though you were always prone to hyperbole when it came to describing the feeling of what Michael could so easily do to you.
But for a moment, you wondered why you felt this concerningly awful. In your sleepy haze, you assumed you were hungover, except such an assumption only lasted for that short moment, because suddenly another sensation hit you, born between your lower thighs. You were sleeping on your husband's warm chest—you had registered that already—but as your body grew familiar with the bright of day (as opposed to the happy slumber you'd been frustrated to be pulled from) you felt something else. Shuffling on Michael's torso slightly—humming into his neck as he too stirred—a warm, trickling substance exuded from your sex, swimming from your entrance to the already ruined sheets below.
Funny that you should notice the cum before the much more obvious thing that had accompanied it, because immediately afterward, you finally remembered that you and your husband had fallen asleep cockwarming. While unconscious, Michael was beginning to harden inside you, somehow still nestled in your comforting heat despite the hours of sleep. Usually, when you cockwarmed in other positions, he'd slip out easily during slumber because he did tend to move around a lot, but since your straddled weight had been keeping him still, that position had kept the two of you deeply entwined the whole time.
You smiled as you took acknowledgement of the feeling, and began peppering kisses all over Michael's neck and chest. But you giggled against his skin as you now noticed how the area was littered with your smudged lipstick kiss stains aside your lovebites—purple bruises that decorated his beautiful frame, a frame now mostly devoid of the makeup he'd covered himself in before the concert last night. He could only ever be this vulnerable with you—nobody else. The patches of pale and brown were colliding with one another all over his torso, and on his face were light expanses of depigmentation, shone over by the morning light.
Eagerly you kissed every inch of what you could reach, ensuring you didn't move too much and trigger him to accidentally slip out of where you wished he could stay forever.
While smothering him in your affection, you laughed again as you saw what were literal bite marks on his shoulders—faint, but visible up close—from where you'd gotten a little carried away during one round. His torso had been pressed flush to yours, suffocating you beautifully with his weight, and you’d been trying to suppress your moans. Then, it seemed that the only way to do that effectively was to bite your man’s shoulder, but that wasn’t a sustainable option of course, so most of the time your whines and screams were released into the sex-scented air, and Michael’s shoulders were safe from being gnawed at further.
At the time, you had believed the two of you were alone in the house—it being so big that the noise of the others coming back had completely bypassed your senses. So, without the knowledge of there being several people who went on to listen to you and Michael going at it all night, at the time you really had no actual reason to be suppressing any of your moans. Truthfully, you just felt slightly self-conscious sometimes, because even though you’d been together and married for so long, you often felt it was a little ridiculous the way you acted around your man. You were concerned your pornographic moans would sound either pathetic or over-done, but as the years had passed, Michael truly had become a master at sexual intercourse, and he knew it too—so he never once judged you for the noises you made. To him, hearing your high whines and your soft moans was a slice of heaven on earth.
A much lesser, subtle version of those sounds he now heard as he himself awoke. You were still humming against his smooth skin, kissing him all over—partly because you loved to do so, and partly because you wanted to wake him.
“Hey, honey,” he giggled as you were busy smooching from his forehead to his cheeks.
“Hi, sexy,” you beamed, with so much love in your eyes, and in his too. “My angel…”
He gripped your waist with a soft passion, then ran his hands up and down your ass and thighs that sat over his mid-section. You were still leaning forward, now cradling his jaw beneath a handsome smile. Your heart ached—but with the satisfaction of completion, the overwhelming gratitude that this was your forever beau.
“You’re drippin’ out of me,” you whispered in his ear with a smirk, and he laughed, instantly remembering everything.
“Yeah?” he chuckled. “Lemme see…”
You felt him twitch inside you, hardening even more, and you clamped your eyes shut in anticipation. Could you really go for another round? You definitely should no longer be in this position, and no wonder your legs were aching so much despite how you were always so athletic—because not only had you been fucked into the mattress for six hours straight, but you’d also then slept directly on top of Michael, with your legs bracketing his thighs, for a subsequent four hours immediately after. It was a serious advantage that you were a dancer, for in your skill you were incredibly flexible, and God knows how bad this would've been otherwise.
But somehow in that moment, under the mid-morning radiance, it didn’t matter. Despite all the aches, you were so cosy, cuddled up into your husband's chest with his thick cock inside you, the tip inching closer and closer to your cervix the more his member grew.
Keeping one hand on your hip, Michael reached his other down further to your leaking pussy, spreading his fingers to caress the width of your stretched folds, tugged tight around his length. Using his index and middle finger, he ran through the mess seeping from there and down his balls.
“Mikey…” you sighed against his Adam’s apple, head resting in the crook of his neck as your arms wrapped around him, hands finding their place in his adorable, messy curls. He felt so perfect both beneath you and inside you, now fully hard, and still playing with the mess he’d made in the earlier hours of the morning.
“How d’you feel, mama?” he murmured with a kiss to your temple, morning voice thick and husky—his natural tone coming through in the most intimate of moments.
“I feel like you broke me,” you giggled, and Michael adored the way the sound vibrated against his collarbone.
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, 'm sorry, baby. I'll run you a bath when we get up, alright? Carry y' everywhere…” Two kisses to your cheek. “And then we’re gonna have to rehabilitate before tonight.”
“Tonight? Oh God, I forgot about that…”
Admittedly, you were still in a haze—of post-sex and of too-little sleep—so it had slipped your mind that you were to be performing two songs with Michael tonight for the very last date of his world tour.
"Yeah, y' not gettin' out of it either," he replied, rubbing his thumbs over your hips.
You pulled your head out of his neck and squinted at him in annoyance. "Michael, you made me like this. You're to blame."
"Oh, was I also to blame for how you begged me to keep goin', huh?" he smirked, with a light smack to your ass.
Instinctively you moaned, before nudging his bicep and resting back on his chest again, nuzzling into his warmth.
"Honey, y' look crazy," Michael chuckled, referring to the bruises blossoming all over your skin, your entirely messy hair, and the makeup smudged all across your features.
"Shut up, you look crazier. And wait 'til you see those scratch marks."
"Oh, Bill saw 'em last night."
"What? Bill was in the kitchen with you?"
"Mm." Michael was trying not to laugh.
"Michael!" You nudged him again, although it was really more of an actual hit this time. "It's bad enough that he heard us but now you're tellin' me he saw what I did to you?"
"Baby, he doesn't care. He found it funny."
"He probably thinks I'm some sort of depraved sex freak."
Michael sighed in amusement. “C’mon, y’know he's heard a lot more than jus' las' night. He's known us since the very beginnin', baby, this is nothin' new," he pointed out, as his attempt at reminding you that you didn't need to freak out over the current situation, but his supposed reassurance only really stressed you out further.
He kissed your temple, running his big hand through your hair and cradling the back of your head as you laid in his comfort. His other hand continued to rub up and down your torso, but it mostly sat over your ass, squeezing and kneading the skin there. He was achingly hard inside you, but in knowing how fucked out and essentially broken you were, he wondered if he shouldn’t go any further.
"Darlin'..." he whispered, rubbing his thumb over your lips that were bruised with his kiss—the intensity of a mouth that couldn't display its affections gently, despite how gentle the owner himself was in many other ways. Now, both your top and bottom lip were a fluctuation between your natural shade, your smudged lipstick, and purplish-brown marks where his teeth and the force of his own lips had brushed harshly.
To each other, you both looked sexier than ever—entirely ruined at the mercy of your love's passion, looking as though you'd each been attacked by a vicious animal and then ran over by a car in short sequence.
"Mm?" You yawned, noticing a very faint lipstick kiss on the underside of his jaw as you lifted your head. You giggled and kissed over it. "Love decoratin' your pretty face in kisses, my baby. So handsome."
Michael laughed softly, thumb still smoothing over the softness of your bottom lip. He blinked back the intense pleasure of your soaking pussy gripping him, and to you it didn't go unnoticed.
"Mikey, I love you," you sighed, reaching your hands up to wreathe them through his curls, scratching lightly but careful to irritate his sensitive scalp.
"I love you more, I swear. God, my beautiful lady... Never get tired of havin' y' like this..." he whispered back, bucking his hips up a little to direct a slow thrust upward. He hit your sweet spot instantly and you gasped, trying not to tug hard at his hair.
Protectively, he pulled the silk comforter up around your waist, so it would both cushion your lower back and provide a little privacy if one of the maids happened to walk in. Although, it was pretty much a straight given that after last night's noisy activities, everybody would be steering clear of the master bedroom this morning. Nobody would dare go near even the doorknob, until they'd seen with their own eyes that the two of you were elsewhere.
"So, d'y' think we made a baby las' night?" Michael asked—as casually as he might ask how you'd slept, or what you wanted for breakfast—while he continued to rock into you with his slow strokes from beneath.
"Michael..." you warned, because he was no longer just moving with absent mind—he was initiating morning sex, and that really wasn't the appropriate, responsible thing to be doing right now. Especially not after last night. The two of you had a lot to do today that simply couldn't involve more lovemaking.
But Michael wasn't interested in what was most appropriate.
"How many times did I cum in y', honey, I can't remember?" he murmured in your ear, repositioning his arms to create a protective hold around your waist, his slick cock coated in more and more of your wetness with each re-entry into your heat.
"I don't remember either, baby," you giggled, but you cut yourself off with a sharp moan, arching your head back as he rolled his hips up again, so achingly slow; and you couldn't argue against the honest truth that this really was the most perfect way to start your day.
"Mikey, my legs literally don't work, I can't ride..."
"Shh, 's okay, I don't want y' to. Lay like this with me, mama. Rest on me..."
"Mmkay." You grinned, knowing you were about to get scintillating princess treatment. This exact position had actually inspired part of the ending of The Lady in My Life, back in '82. Wrapping your arms comfortably around his neck, and shuffling your weight a little to get the perfect resting position, you pressed several kisses to your man's chest as your way of confirming that you were settled.
"Mhm, jus' like that," Michael groaned, both at the feeling of your soft body against his, and at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his throbbing length. "Yes, baby, now let me—mmmfuck—"
Another deep stroke upward, where his feet were now planted on the bed to allow him to drive into you with ease. His arms mostly stayed wrapped around you, but his hands would often snake their way down to your ass, to grip and knead.
"Such a pretty ass f'me, baby... All for me, huh?"
You only mumbled into his chest, equal parts sleepy and dazed out in your arousal.
"Got the most perfect body, angel girl..." He smacked your ass a little harsher this time, and you yelped, beginning to kiss over his neck to keep quiet. You really couldn't be sounding like a whore this early in the morning, and even though Michael wasn't fucking you hard like he had been a few hours ago, often it was actually the slower, more sensual sex that had you unable to control the noises that elicited from your throat.
Michael hadn't forgotten about the question that had gone unanswered by you just a few minutes prior, as pertaining to the babymaking potentiality.
"Y' think our baby's down there, huh?"
It was a sort of unspoken agreement that you were both ready for another child. What had been unspoken had been instead prophesied and actualised in every filthy act of the night prior.
But you didn't know how to respond to such a question, because indeed, you hadn't at all talked about this. In that moment, you pictured that there very well might be a zygote currently forming itself within your fallopian tube, ready to travel to your uterus to begin its growth. Certainly, you felt there had to be—but that wasn't how the fertilisation process worked, and science told that even though you were ovulating, the amount of cum your husband had shot into you consecutively didn't increase your chances of getting pregnant.
The sex itself had surely been a statement though, on both your part and Michael's, because there had been no element of protection used, and neither of you had cared for a moment. Whether an embryo was to begin inside you or not, the way you'd made love last night was a symbol of something you had both wordlessly wanted. Three kids had always felt too little a number for Michael, because he was still set on one day having eighteen—in his ridiculous idealism—and you were also looking forward to the day your careers would come to a comfortable lull, a period that still allowed you to create and perform successfully, but didn't demand of you constant presence.
During that time, when it eventually came, you would spend so much of it making more babies, with the confidence that they wouldn't be pushed to the side in the multitude that would then exist in your household. You could spend at least two years at a time away from any industry responsibility, just living for the purpose of creating children and nurturing them.
Now, Michael was just finishing up his world tour, and you were close to the end of yours too, so even while you were both still in your prime, still the most magnetic, well-known figures in entertainment, it wouldn't be the worst time to have a baby. After all, did you really want to wait until that unknown date that your careers could begin to quieten? Neither of you knew when that would be, so wasn't it best to live in the present?
"Mikey, baby..." You moaned and whined, pulling your head back to kiss all over his face and his neck, sucking more marks into his erogenous zones, and licking over the marks already cemented into his salty skin.
You rocked a little, grinding your clit over his pelvis as his thrusts quickened—still on the slower side, his perfect girth filling you incredibly. You were amazed at how seamlessly your pussy could envelop him in this way, even after the organ had faced so much the night before. And too, you wondered how on earth this was the same body part that had produced three children (a set of twins, even) for the man plowing into you.
Michael's low grunts were even more gruff now that it was the morning, and when he wasn't busy talking you through it, those sounds were creating the perfect autonomous sensory meridian response, only adding to the flutters of sheer pleasure building up through your spine.
"Sweet girl, wanna make you feel so good..." he whispered, bringing one hand to your head again to cradle the back of it. You always smiled whenever he did.
But you were starting to place yourself in the real world again, remembering the busy day ahead.
"Baby, y'know we need to get up soon... You need to start signing those—ohh, mmph—autographs for the fans... And then we need to—"
"Aht," Michael stopped you from any further logical speaking, never ceasing to fuck up into you in those beautifully slow rolls. "There's nothin' we need to do more than this right here, mama. 'N then 'm gonna pamper y' in the tub. Y' not gonna rush us, 'm takin' it real slow, yeah?"
Instantly, at the sound of his handsome voice you were back in your daze of total arousal. "Mm... oh, baby, you hit my spot so good..."
"Yeah, I know," he whispered, kissing your nose and your bruised lips softly. You kept shuffling on him, wanting to make out but also loving the feel of being babied as you clung to his chest.
Moments passed without a word—with nothing but grunts, sighs, and moans, and Michael was moving even slower now, almost not moving at all at points. This was the beauty of sleepy sex, for you were merged as one, in the most intimate embrace you could wish for.
You played with his curls again, leaning back to press your lips to his. "Bambi," you whispered.
The doe eyes that earned him the nickname looked up into your own orbs. "Mm?"
"Are we really sayin' we want another baby?" you asked.
"Y'know 'm always ready, Tink. But it's obviously up to you."
You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath that then undercut a high moan as he hit your spot a little harsher than the last time. You cleared your throat.
"I actually think, um... I think I am ready. Y'know..." As you spoke, Michael took his hand from your ass and interlaced it with one of your hands, listening intently. "You're just about to finish touring," you continued, "and I'll be done too after next month. It'll be the first time in a while where we'll be free to somewhat relax. I think now's a better time than ever."
"Really?" Michael's eyes were shining. "I think so too, baby. You seriously want a fourth now?"
"Mhm. Really. I've been thinkin' about it for a while," you said quietly, before beaming as your man paused his thrusts, beginning to tickle you with a huge, heart-achingly childlike smile on his face. The sudden action made you squeal, and even more so as he started to smother kisses all over your chest and neck, completely overcome by the ecstasy of sheer happiness.
"Seriously, honey?!" Michael grinned, cupping your cheek and pulling you down into a kiss that you had to fight to retreat from in order to respond.
"Yes, baby," you laughed, and again he tickled you further. "Mikey, stop it!"
Without pulling out for even a second, he shifted the two of you onto your sides facing each other, and in that new position—your other favourite for morning sex, alongside spooning—he made love to you with even more passion. Legs and hands entwined, bodies entirely covered in the bruised effects of an ardent devoted love well-displayed, Michael sped up, mercilessly hitting your spot as he fantasised about how you'd both go through the process of pregnancy again, and then the process of bringing another child into the world he hoped to save. He held so much gratitude for you being the one to give him all his children—that you'd put your life on hold in so many ways for at least a year, and he couldn't wait to help you through it all again.
As he held your leg up to hit deeper, he smirked at the sight of your thigh.
His amused expression confused you. "What's so funny, baby? Oh fuck—"
"Your thigh, honey," Michael chuckled, slowing down his pace slightly to talk. "There's bruises near the top, look. That hasn't happened in a while."
Your mouth shot open—sure enough, there were more bruises you hadn't even noticed, in the shape of Michael's fingerprints, from where he'd held your legs in place during mating press and every other position where he'd needed to keep your ever-moving body still.
"Michael, what the—? Thank God they're so high nobody's gonna s—ohhh, baby, stop it, 'm gonna scream—"
He only chuckled more, pounding into you harder now as the bedframe began to shake. While one hand held your leg up, his other was resting over your womb, moving from there to your clit and back again, as he thought of nothing but the image of you swollen with his fourth child.
"I love you, oh God, I love you..." he repeated, and you said each word back with sincere conviction.
"My baby," you whined.
"Perfect mama... 'm so happy y' givin' me another... I don't deserve you."
"You deserve all that's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful..." you sighed, eyes shut in pleasure as you grabbed his hand to hold it again.
"Y' gonna cum, pretty angel?" he murmured in your ear, unfortunately needing to let go of your hand almost immediately because your clit needed him more.
He rubbed in figure-eights, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, all the while never ceasing to whisper his devotion and gratitude for your body and your soul.
"Oh, Mikey, yes—"
"Yeah, tha's it, let it all go for me, baby girl... C'mon..."
A few moments later, and the coil in your abdomen split open, releasing its tightness into white hot bouts of pleasure. The sensation coursed through your veins, coating your husband's shaft in even more wet slick and leaving you breathless, falling forward into his chest as he chased his own release.
Soon enough he was there, and your cunt was filled to the brim with hot ropes of his seed, aside noisy groans that filled the huge bedroom—because if you were bad enough at keeping quiet during the act, Michael was even worse.
You laid there in each other's arms for a couple of silent minutes, clinging, wanting to stay in the embrace for a lifetime. Michael ran his hands up and down your torso, and then his index finger over your wedding ring, as he always liked to do post-sex. He brought your leg to rest over his thigh, breathing in your scent as you breathed in his.
You found yourself reminiscing to him over that time you broke a bed together during your honeymoon at Disney, because you'd truly been close to experiencing that same incident again last night. You laughed at the memory as you each traced over your matching tattoos: your first initial in cursive on the inside of his wrist, and his on the inside of your own wrist too. You’d got them tatted a few years ago after a drunken rendezvous, and you’d seen it as a great achievement that you’d managed to convince Michael to actually be on board with a tattoo, even though it was only small.
But there were two issues that disrupted your sweet creampie-cuddling session.
"Baby, you need to pull out."
"Why?"
"Because first I need to pee, and then I need to take off these damn sheets before Maria has to." You shook your head in disbelief at the mess you could already see parts of dotted around the mattress. "I refuse to let her deal with this, oh my God."
Michael laughed. Maria was one of your maids, and you absolutely detested the image of her having to clean your cum-ridden bed herself. You might have been a whore for your husband, but you wouldn't be so disgusting to make others subject to the sight—even if they had been unintentionally subject to the sounds. There were indeed stains of Michael's release and your own sticky liquid all throughout different areas of the bed, and from where you lay in his arms, you guessed correctly that it must be way worse than the minimal parts you could currently see from your angle.
"Alright, fine," Michael sighed, pulling out slowly. You both hissed, and of course when you shuffled to sit up, more thick cum oozed from your entrance, staining another inch of fabric. There had been no point in attempting to avoid that though, because the bed was already messy enough.
Turning to dangle your legs over the side, you winced at the aches, then stood up on the carpet below. Or—attempted to stand up, rather; because as soon as you tried to, your knees buckled, and you quite literally almost fell to the floor.
"Ow, shit—!"
This was even worse than a day-long dance rehearsal, or the most difficult workout routine you'd ever put yourself through. What the fuck? Michael had never taken you so intensely before—and that was a significant statement to make, given that he was such an intense lover.
"Mama, y' okay?" he asked, brows furrowed, but he'd expected this. There had been many a time in the past where he assigned himself the duty of carrying you around everywhere after a night of hard sex.
As he looked at you, hunched over, attempting to walk with legs that felt nearly limp and effectively useless, he noticed a matching bruise on your other thigh and smiled to himself. Without wasting a moment, he was out of bed as quick as ever.
"C'mere. Up," he ordered gently, standing naked beside you, arms outstretched and prepared to pick you up into a bridal carry. That he did, while you hummed into his neck, so appreciative of his gentlemanly efforts that always followed what could only be deemed the very opposite of gentle.
"There you go, honeybaby," Michael smiled, kissing your forehead over and over as he maneuvred your spent body into the ensuite. After having peed, you sorted out the sheets, tugging them off the mattress with the silk comforter that was also partly affected, before stuffing them into a bag that you'd deal with later. Meanwhile, Michael was preparing a bubble bath, and lighting candles around the tub for ambience, even though it was eleven o'clock in the morning.
At the mention of a bubble bath, the name reminded you of a certain somebody. "Mikey, where's Bubbles?" you called from the bedroom.
"Bill's lookin' after him!" Michael called back over the noise of running water. "He's not gonna run in 'n interrupt us, don't worry!"
You laughed to yourself. You were always so welcoming and understanding of Michael's need to have all sorts of animals around in the house, but sometimes it got a little stressful. Not knowing whether a bird or a snake or a damn chimpanzee would face you when you turned wasn't the most calming experience you could expect to have in your mansion, but you put up with it all for Michael's sake.
After he bathed you that morning, so sensually and passionately that you very nearly begged him to take you again, you both tried your best to make yourselves look as presentable as possible. It took a very long time, but eventually you were done.
Or at least you assumed you were; because of course the conversation surrounding the state of Michael's back was had only in the early morning, a good twelve hours before he was to go onstage and forget all about the evidence of your wild night together, displaying the extent of it to the world.
Then, when you joined him on said stage for a sensual duet, you didn't hesitate to run your hands all over the artwork you'd produced. You would be chastised for such promiscuity in the weeks that followed, but you never regretted the display one bit; nor did you regret the embryo that indeed began to grow that same night, into your welcoming womb.
i'm sorry to say this but some of you people genuinely have no lives. for people who claim to hate maddie so much, i sure do see her appearing on ya'lls blogs extremely often lmao. also, i'm not defending maddie on the topic of her beliefs so don't you dare try to bring that shit up in order to defend your parasocial shit. you guys genuinely have no shame and that's the fucking issue. you're mad that jaafar—a grown ass man btw—is with a white woman, point-blank. you all are so furious and upset that you don't have a chance with him, so you take it out on his fiancé out of spite. i myself only tolerate maddie slander if its specifically the topic of her beliefs. & also, all of my mutuals believing some random tiktok bullshit about her "going after randy to make jaafar jealous" is so insane to me. what happened to that "don't believe everything you see on the internet" mindset you all seem to preach, huh? nonono but of course it flies away whenever you see it's promoting malicious rumors about a woman you don't like. a woman you don't like mostly because she's white. ya'll won't admit it (some of ya'll have tho) but we all know you're upset because a sought after black man chose to be with a white woman. i'm so done with this community it's not even fucking funny. you people are slowly turning mjblr into mjtwt and that is NOT what we stand for. everyday ya'll conjure up some new controversy or drama to try and fill the void of yours that is boredom. please grow up and let people live their own lives. they don't know you exist. jaafar doesn't want you or know you. get it through your heads. just needed to rant abt this bc ya'll are becoming insufferable.
Summary: See what happens when 2 exes bump into each other after 3 years at Wimbledon
WC: 1.2k I think
Warnings: Exes to lovers, these fools broke up over BS, they get back together, allusion to her finna get broken through that mattress, not an OC his nickname for her is just cherry
Note: Calling all agents, another fic has been posted. I know it's late, but like yall saw my man again take it easy because 🩴 I don’t play…
Your close friend Tiffany asked if you wanted to go to the Wimbledon match with her today, and your answer was an automatic yes. You would be a fool not to go. You had a plan to look your absolute best, get some content to post, watch a match, and maybe, just maybe, meet a man or two. Bumping into your ex was not on your damn bingo sheet. So imagine your surprise when you're walking with Tiffany, looking to your right, and there he is, looking the way he does. Finally making eye contact with you, he stops his conversation, excusing himself to the person he was talking to, making his way over to you.
Tiffany starts slapping you on the shoulder: “ Girrrll, your man is coming over here, and he looks good”. Straightening out your clothes in a hurried fashion, you turn to her: “ First, he is not my man and has not been in 3 years, and second, I am not worried about him at all. Now, how do I look?”
Hearing someone clear their throat, pausing in your bickering, you see your ex- fiance standing there in front of you with his hands in his pockets. “Wow, Cherry, you look just wow,” folding your arms. “Jaafar, you look quite handsome yourself”. Nodding his head, he takes a glance around, then back to you, “Yeah, it's been a while since we've seen each other”. “Yeah, Jaafar, that’s what happens when two people break off an engagement”. He sighs, messing with his shades.
Sighing, “ Jaafar, listen: what we had was fun, but it’s over; we’re not together anymore for a reason,” going to walk away but gently grabs her wrist. Looking over at Tiffany, “Could you give us a few minutes?” She looks at you: “Scream if you have to, and I’ll cut him; I don't care how big his booty is,” and you stare at her with your head tilted. “Tif- yeah, it's fine, just go.” She walks away .
“ Listen cherry I miss you-” cutting him off, “ Jaafar, I don't want to hear that, dude”. Gently grabbing both of her wrists, “Woman, please, will you just listen to me for once? This is why we split”
“No, we split sir, because we just didn’t work”. “See, I don’t believe that these past three years of my life have been miserable without you, baby. I miss my woman.”
Removing his hands from around your wrist, “Okay, we can talk after, just not right now,” putting a hand on his shoulder and letting it trail down, you turn to leave.
It’s been about 45 minutes since your conversation with your ex-fiancé. It was not you and Tiffany walking to your seats. “ So girly, what did he say? Let me know,” rolling your eyes. “ He wants to get back together”. Stopping and staring at you “ and what the hell is wrong with that”. Staring at her, you throw your hands in the air: “Everything, Tiff, you were there when we broke up, so why would we do that again?” Sucking her teeth she side eyes you “ I’ll tell you something becuase I love you and I understand that was a rough breakup for yall but that was also a bullshit ass breakup yall negros were being immature.” Walking the aisle to your seats you pause in disbelief “no way in hell. I know you fucking lying” Tiffany bumps into your back “ what girl im trying to sit down” attempting to look around you.
Jaafar looks up at you from his seat, now smirking, “Well, isn’t this just fate for us, Cherry?” Sitting down in the seat next to him, you heard Tiffany cackling in your ear. With a raised eyebrow and a quirked lip, you point a finger at him, shake your head, and proceed to turn away.
“Nope, I said talk after, so we’re talking after”. He rests his left arm around the back of your seat and looks at you: “ I think this is the perfect time- I really did miss you, mama; we- no, I should’ve fought more to keep you”. You go to speak, but you're cut off, hearing everything begin, you put your hand on his thigh, patting it.
The point that was in play is now over you and jaafar were itching to continue the conversation from earlier. You lean over to whisper, “Come on, let's go talk”. Walking without waiting for him to follow, because the way it was looking, you had a feeling you were getting your man back. He was single and begging for you, and you missed him, so yeah, you’re getting him back. Checking your mini mirror to make sure you still looked good, you didn't hear him walk up behind you.
“Cherry,” you gasp, “ Jaaf yeah, umm.” “I can't sit here and lie and say I haven't missed you as well, but I don't want to be how we were when we broke up,” putting your hands on your face, laughing.
“For three years straight..” You inhaled deeply before letting it out slowly. “I pretended not to think or be bothered by not having you anymore, but you’re right, I can’t do it anymore”.
You’re not paying attention, pouring your heart out before you feel a pair of pillowy lips against yours. You both stand there for a moment, reconnecting through the intimacy of kissing, pouring your longing from the past years into each other. You separate to catch air and laugh as you wipe his bottom lip. His hands are holding your face, and yours are holding onto his neck. “You know, if you wanted me to shush forehead, you could have just said that.”
He laughs, “Mama, you should be the last person to speak on foreheads.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever mr.dumptruck”. He stares at you: “Too far, no butt jokes”. You laugh, letting go of him reaching for your purse to grab your phone. Putting up a finger to signal one minute to him as he looks confused, you take your phone and start typing. “So we’re really trying this thing over again?”
He nods, “Yeah, we are, and we’re going to be mature and communicate and not run at the first sign because I can't imagine life with anyone else”.
“Well, in that case, you should check your messages.” Walking backwards, you wave your phone towards him. “Why ,what did you send me?” he looks at his phone. “You sent an address”. With your back now facing him, you call over your shoulder, “It’s my hotel address, and if you're not there in the next 30 minutes, I’ll definitely already be started before you ”. Jaafar grabs his keys and runs to the valet area to beat you to the hotel. Looking down at the text you sent to his phone, cheesing because he got his woman back, and this time he wasn't letting her go.
Cherry Pie💋: 423 Stewart Lane. See you soon.
Outer Galaxy Space Agents
Tags- @mamasturns @mamasturn @swavydadon @niyahctrl @neighbourscat @melaninjoys @darkseidex @mouthfullofrocki @moodymp4 @multifandomposts-blog @callmeoncette @cherrishkissed @faiology @angelfacediary @esioleren @allth3stars @sintizc @yourleogf @narratedillusions @alohaluz @bawdylanguageee @prettyangeliczz @maczken @aristoleyaferrarii (let me know if anyone wants to be removed)
Summary: See what happens when 2 exes bump into each other after 3 years at Wimbledon
WC: 1.2k I think
Warnings: Exes to lovers, these fools broke up over BS, they get back together, allusion to her finna get broken through that mattress, not an OC his nickname for her is just cherry
Note: Calling all agents, another fic has been posted. I know it's late, but like yall saw my man again take it easy because 🩴 I don’t play…
Your close friend Tiffany asked if you wanted to go to the Wimbledon match with her today, and your answer was an automatic yes. You would be a fool not to go. You had a plan to look your absolute best, get some content to post, watch a match, and maybe, just maybe, meet a man or two. Bumping into your ex was not on your damn bingo sheet. So imagine your surprise when you're walking with Tiffany, looking to your right, and there he is, looking the way he does. Finally making eye contact with you, he stops his conversation, excusing himself to the person he was talking to, making his way over to you.
Tiffany starts slapping you on the shoulder: “ Girrrll, your man is coming over here, and he looks good”. Straightening out your clothes in a hurried fashion, you turn to her: “ First, he is not my man and has not been in 3 years, and second, I am not worried about him at all. Now, how do I look?”
Hearing someone clear their throat, pausing in your bickering, you see your ex- fiance standing there in front of you with his hands in his pockets. “Wow, Cherry, you look just wow,” folding your arms. “Jaafar, you look quite handsome yourself”. Nodding his head, he takes a glance around, then back to you, “Yeah, it's been a while since we've seen each other”. “Yeah, Jaafar, that’s what happens when two people break off an engagement”. He sighs, messing with his shades.
Sighing, “ Jaafar, listen: what we had was fun, but it’s over; we’re not together anymore for a reason,” going to walk away but gently grabs her wrist. Looking over at Tiffany, “Could you give us a few minutes?” She looks at you: “Scream if you have to, and I’ll cut him; I don't care how big his booty is,” and you stare at her with your head tilted. “Tif- yeah, it's fine, just go.” She walks away .
“ Listen cherry I miss you-” cutting him off, “ Jaafar, I don't want to hear that, dude”. Gently grabbing both of her wrists, “Woman, please, will you just listen to me for once? This is why we split”
“No, we split sir, because we just didn’t work”. “See, I don’t believe that these past three years of my life have been miserable without you, baby. I miss my woman.”
Removing his hands from around your wrist, “Okay, we can talk after, just not right now,” putting a hand on his shoulder and letting it trail down, you turn to leave.
It’s been about 45 minutes since your conversation with your ex-fiancé. It was not you and Tiffany walking to your seats. “ So girly, what did he say? Let me know,” rolling your eyes. “ He wants to get back together”. Stopping and staring at you “ and what the hell is wrong with that”. Staring at her, you throw your hands in the air: “Everything, Tiff, you were there when we broke up, so why would we do that again?” Sucking her teeth she side eyes you “ I’ll tell you something becuase I love you and I understand that was a rough breakup for yall but that was also a bullshit ass breakup yall negros were being immature.” Walking the aisle to your seats you pause in disbelief “no way in hell. I know you fucking lying” Tiffany bumps into your back “ what girl im trying to sit down” attempting to look around you.
Jaafar looks up at you from his seat, now smirking, “Well, isn’t this just fate for us, Cherry?” Sitting down in the seat next to him, you heard Tiffany cackling in your ear. With a raised eyebrow and a quirked lip, you point a finger at him, shake your head, and proceed to turn away.
“Nope, I said talk after, so we’re talking after”. He rests his left arm around the back of your seat and looks at you: “ I think this is the perfect time- I really did miss you, mama; we- no, I should’ve fought more to keep you”. You go to speak, but you're cut off, hearing everything begin, you put your hand on his thigh, patting it.
The point that was in play is now over you and jaafar were itching to continue the conversation from earlier. You lean over to whisper, “Come on, let's go talk”. Walking without waiting for him to follow, because the way it was looking, you had a feeling you were getting your man back. He was single and begging for you, and you missed him, so yeah, you’re getting him back. Checking your mini mirror to make sure you still looked good, you didn't hear him walk up behind you.
“Cherry,” you gasp, “ Jaaf yeah, umm.” “I can't sit here and lie and say I haven't missed you as well, but I don't want to be how we were when we broke up,” putting your hands on your face, laughing.
“For three years straight..” You inhaled deeply before letting it out slowly. “I pretended not to think or be bothered by not having you anymore, but you’re right, I can’t do it anymore”.
You’re not paying attention, pouring your heart out before you feel a pair of pillowy lips against yours. You both stand there for a moment, reconnecting through the intimacy of kissing, pouring your longing from the past years into each other. You separate to catch air and laugh as you wipe his bottom lip. His hands are holding your face, and yours are holding onto his neck. “You know, if you wanted me to shush forehead, you could have just said that.”
He laughs, “Mama, you should be the last person to speak on foreheads.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever mr.dumptruck”. He stares at you: “Too far, no butt jokes”. You laugh, letting go of him reaching for your purse to grab your phone. Putting up a finger to signal one minute to him as he looks confused, you take your phone and start typing. “So we’re really trying this thing over again?”
He nods, “Yeah, we are, and we’re going to be mature and communicate and not run at the first sign because I can't imagine life with anyone else”.
“Well, in that case, you should check your messages.” Walking backwards, you wave your phone towards him. “Why ,what did you send me?” he looks at his phone. “You sent an address”. With your back now facing him, you call over your shoulder, “It’s my hotel address, and if you're not there in the next 30 minutes, I’ll definitely already be started before you ”. Jaafar grabs his keys and runs to the valet area to beat you to the hotel. Looking down at the text you sent to his phone, cheesing because he got his woman back, and this time he wasn't letting her go.
Cherry Pie💋: 423 Stewart Lane. See you soon.
Outer Galaxy Space Agents
Tags- @mamasturns @mamasturn @swavydadon @niyahctrl @neighbourscat @melaninjoys @darkseidex @mouthfullofrocki @moodymp4 @multifandomposts-blog @callmeoncette @cherrishkissed @faiology @angelfacediary @esioleren @allth3stars @sintizc @yourleogf @narratedillusions @alohaluz @bawdylanguageee @prettyangeliczz @maczken @aristoleyaferrarii (let me know if anyone wants to be removed)
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
origamiaround
areudirty
blakekathryn
