â± Bad!michael x f!reader â michael had been at the studio all day working on his upcoming album. You decide to have a self care night and when michael comes back home all he wants to do is show how much he misses his woman.
â± smut, needy michael, soft dom michael, f!receiving
The house is quiet except for the hum of the record player. Whitney Houston crackles low in the living room, just loud enough to keep you company.
Michaelâs been at the studio since this afternoon. Heâd been working on his album âBadâ and you knew how much of a perfectionist he was. No pager beeps, no calls. But you donât let it ruin your night.
So you make it your night.
You draw a bath and pour in the expensive oil he surprised you with from Paris. You shave your legs slowly, scrub your skin till itâs soft, deep-condition your hair, and wrap it in a towel. The mirror fogs, and for once you donât rush.
Tonight you pick the black silk slip dress. It hits mid-thigh, with thin straps that are cool against your soft skin. You let your hair down while itâs still damp, comb through it until it smells like the shea butter in your conditioner. Dab perfume on your wrists, and behind your ears â the one he always notices.
Now the bedside lamp throws gold across the sheets. Your hairâs still damp at the ends, brushing your shoulders. You smell like vanilla and the perfume Michael loves â the one he always buries his face into.
Your hand lazily skimmed through the magazine. Then you hear it.
The front door. Keys. His footsteps, slower than usual. You knew he was tired.
Your bedroom door eases open and there he is. Hair a little messy, eyes heavy from the studio lights, but wide the second they land on you.
He leans in the doorway for a beat, just breathing. Like the sight of you in the bed, in silk, your feet and nails did... undo all twelve hours of work.
âBaby,â he whispers, voice worn thin from singing. âYou waited up for me.â
Itâs not a question. Itâs a relief.
He crosses the room in three steps, tired but drawn to you like he canât help it. Doesnât say anything else yet â just sits by your feet rubbing your ankle.
Like coming home to you is the only thing thatâs made sense all day.
âHow was the studio?â, you asked. Voice smooth as velvet. Heaven to Michael's ears after recording and singing all day.
He let out a small sigh still rubbing your ankle, moving up your smooth shaved leg slowly. âTiring, but youâve made my day 10x betterâ he said looking at you with that needy expression you knew all too well.
The way he kept touching you, staring at that slip dress, was impacting him a lot. The vanilla and shea butter scent coming from you made him wanna kiss you all over, bury himself in you.
You bite your lip, watching the way his thumb traces circles on your calf. His eyes havenât left you. Not the slip, not your damp hair, not the way the lamplight catches on your skin. You.
He doesnât wait for you to pat the spot next to you.
âMove over for me, baby,â he says, voice low, rough from the studio but sure. Thatâs the tone that makes your stomach flip â tired, but in control.
He slides onto the bed with purpose, one knee on the mattress, caging you in without touching you yet. Heâs close now â close enough that you smell the studio on him. Coffee, the faint musk of his cologne mixed with twelve hours of work.
He gives the world everything. But right now, his focus is only here. Only you.
Michael reaches out, fingers threading through a damp curl. He tucks it behind your ear, but his palm stays, cupping your jaw. Tilting your face up to him.
âI was thinkinâ about this all day,â he murmurs. âAbout gettinâ home to you like this.â His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, slow, possessive in the softest way. âAll that noise at the studio⊠this is the only thing that quiets it.â
His eyes drop to your lips, then back up. Dark. Steady. You knew Michael would be missing you, but this was something more.
âTurn for me,â he says quietly. A command wrapped in velvet.
You shift, heart pounding, and heâs right there. One arm bands around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. His nose finds that spot behind your ear where your perfume lives, and he inhales deep.
âThatâs my girl,â he breathes against your skin. His lips graze your shoulder, not quite kissing. Just claiming. âMade yourself pretty for me.â
His hand splays low on your stomach over the silk, holding you still. Grounding you.
âStudio was hell,â he says, mouth moving against your neck now. âBut I kept thinkinâ⊠I get to come home to this. I get to come home to you.â
The record player downstairs skips. Whitneyâs voice wavers. Michael doesnât care.
His fingers slide up, tracing the thin strap of your slip. He doesnât pull it down. Just hooks one finger under it, tugging lightly. A reminder.
âGonna lay you back now,â he tells you, voice gone impossibly soft but leaving no room for doubt. âGonna take care of my baby. You've been waitinâ all night for me, havenât you?â
He doesnât wait for an answer. Heâs already moving, already guiding you down onto the pillows with one hand at your hip, the other cradling your head.
Eyes on you like youâre the only thing heâs ever wanted to get right. The lamp throws gold across the sheets on your smooth soft skin.
He settles over you, but not on you â one arm braced beside your head, the other tracing the line of your collarbone over the silk. Like heâs got all the time in the world now that heâs home. Like the studio, the album, the pressure⊠none of it exists past this bed.
âLook at you,â he breathes. His knuckles graze your cheek, then down your throat. Worshipping.
His thumb hooks under your chin, tilting your face up again. He studies you. Heavy-lidded, mouth parted, but completely in control of himself â and you.
âYou donât know what you do to me,â he says, quiet, certain. You looked up at him with those knowing eyes. In this moment all you wanted was him. You didnât realize until now how much you missed him.
He leans down, nose brushing yours, lips hovering just out of reach. Making you wait. Making you want. Then your lips meet in a kiss. Your need for each other is showing.
Itâs slow. Deep. He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding into your damp hair, cradling the back of your head like youâre something precious.
He pulls back before youâre ready, just to watch you chase his lips. That makes him smile. Your eyes look up at Michaels with want. âPlease, Michael.â.
âUh-uh,â he whispers, thumb at your bottom lip.
His mouth finds your jaw next. Then the spot under your ear that makes you shiver. A small whimper leaves your soft lips.
âBeen thinkinâ about this all day,â he tells you between kisses down your neck. âHow you taste. How you feel under me.â His hand splays across your ribs, over the silk, holding you exactly where he wants you.
The recordâs stopped downstairs. The house is silent except for your breathing and the soft sound he makes when your fingers twist in his shirt.
The lamp still throws gold across the sheets. Youâre body wrapped in Michaelâs.
He starts trailing kisses down your neck, his hand slowly moving from your ribs to your waist, pulling you even closer.
The silk of your nightgown whispers against your skin as he presses against you, his hard length evident through his pants.
âI need this so bad tonight.â He whispers. The need for you is evident in his voice.
You buck your leg up slightly, touching his hardness through his pants. Michael hums fighting the urge not to grind his crotch back on your knee.
The wetness in your panties was getting unbearable. You both needed each other and as time went on, you couldnât wait any longer.
âMichael, touch meâ you say almost a whisper in his ear. He doesnât hesitate and slides his rough big hand up your soft thigh till it reaches the damp spot you had left in your panties.
A groan left Michaelâs throat as he rubbed where you needed him the most. You squirmed slightly, wanting him to take your panties off already and take you.
âSo wet fâmeâ he said pushing up your slip dress with one hand. His other hand, which was on your panties pulled them down exposing your wetness to him.
The sudden cool air made you squirm. You spread your legs unconsciously. His breath hitches as he takes in the sight of you spread out before him, completely exposed.
He swallows hard, his hands trembling slightly as he grips your thighs and spreads them wider. "Baby..."
You were practically vibrating under him, your thighs quivering as his thumb found your clit and pressed in slow, deliberate circles.
He could smell how badly you wanted himâso sweet and all that tired energy had finally broken through.
A small, needy sound escaped you, barely more than a whimper, and it sent a jolt straight to his hardness.
His thumb picked up the pace, rubbing firm circles that had your hips bucking into his hand. He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where you needed him most.
His warm breath ghosted over your sensitive folds just before his tongue finally touched you.
A choked moan escaped your lips as he licked a slow stripe up your center. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, holding you open for him while he worshipped you with his mouth.
Your fingers immediately flew to his hair, tangling in the thick curls as your head fell back against the pillows.
The feeling of his tongue was overwhelmingâwarm, wet, and devastatingly slow.
He took his time, flattening his tongue to lap up your wetness before wrapping his lips around your sensitive bud and sucking gently.
"Oh my god, Michael..." you gasped out, your hips lifting off the bed as you sought more friction.
He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. His hands slid under your bottom, lifting you closer to his face as he buried his tongue inside you.
"Please," you whimpered, tugging at his hair. Your release is already feeling close.
He looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes, seeing you writhing and begging for more. He knew exactly what you neededâwhat every inch of your body was screaming for.
He added two fingers, curling them inside you to hit that spot that made your toes curl. "Baby... look at you..."
He could feel how close you were already, your walls fluttering around his fingers. Your thoughts were foggy with pleasure, barely forming complete sentences.
"I can't... I can't take it..." you whispered, your body tensing as he continued his relentless assault.
Michael's fingers kept going and his face lifted up looking up at your closed eyes, mouth slightly open letting out the prettiest sounds for him.
âCome on baby, lemme taste youâ Michael said moving his mouth back down on you.
Your thighs were shaking around his head, your breath coming in desperate pants, and your grip on his hair was painful.
Your thighs squeezed around his head like a vice, trembling violently as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. You could barely think, your mind completely shattered into a million pieces.
"Michael... Michael..." you chanted his name like a prayer, your voice breaking on each syllable.
He kept licking, gentle and sweet, until you finally pushed at his shoulders weakly.
He lifted his face slowly, your juices coating his lips and chin. His eyes met yoursâdark, intense, and filled with satisfaction. He crawled up your body, pressing soft kisses along your stomach until he reached your mouth.
You could taste yourself on him as he kissed you deeply.
The kiss was slow and messy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to share your taste. You melted into the mattress, completely satisfied and spent.
He hovered over you, his weight grounding you while his hand stroked your hair back from your sweaty forehead.
"You okay, baby?" he whispered, his nose bumping against yours.
You nodded vaguely, still lost in the afterglow. Your legs spread out limply, your core still pulsing softly.
Michael shifted his weight to settle beside you, immediately pulling your limp body into his chest.
You curled into him instinctively, burying your face in his neck as your breathing slowly returned to normal. His large hand rubbed soothing circles up and down your spine, grounding you back to reality.
"I've got you," he whispered into your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.