anglefce

⊱ Bad!michael x f!reader ◞ it’s been hours at the studio. Michael working while you were sitting and growing more needy for him. When he finally caught a break- he finally gave you some attention but not the kind you wanted.

⊱ smut implied?, needy reader, teasing michael

The studio at 1am smells like stale coffee, old cables, and Michael—the one he does all his work in. The one that’s basically his second home.

He invited you.

“Come keep me company, angel. need you here.”

So you came. You thought you could handle watching him work.

You couldn’t.

It’s been four hours. Four hours of watching him through the glass. History is eating him alive, and you see it. take after take. Recordings of his voice on loop while he rewrites the same line. He soft grunts into the mic and the constant saying of, “run it back, Brad,” while rubbing his temples.

Yet you’re on the leather couch, going insane.

Mainly because he hasn’t touched you. hasn’t really looked at you. Too busy chasing perfection. You get it. You do. but god, you’re needy.

You started small. sighing when he does another take. tapping your foot. checking your nails. When he finally comes out for water, you’re up off that couch before Quincey can say “break.”

“Hey,” you mumble, feeling relieved you can have him to yourself. “You good?”

Michael downs half the water bottle, eyes finally landing on you. He’s noticed how needy you've been waiting for him. he sees the pout you’re trying to hide. the way you’re shifting your weight.

He doesn’t say anything. He just smirks. small. knowing. teasing.

“m’good, baby,” he says, voice all low and amused now. “You doing okay?”

You nodded, humming, but Michael knew you were getting bored with him being so busy.

“My baby bored?” He teases, looking down at you. Everyone else around you is voicing ideas to each other and getting up for a break.

You flush. “No. just… you’ve been at it for hours.”

He sets the water down. steps into your space. one hand finds your cheek, thumb sweeping under your eye like he’s wiping away something invisible.

“I know, angel,” he murmurs. “I see you bein’ so good for me out here.” He leans down, forehead touching yours for a second. Quick. Sweet. “Thank you for waitin’.”

Then he smirks, that little teasing one that makes your stomach flip.

“But you ain’t waitin’ too patient, are you?”

Before you can answer, he’s heading back to the booth. looks over his shoulder, though.

So naturally, you follow him.

You slip into the booth while Brad’s adjusting knobs. Michael’s got headphones around his neck, but he’s not working. He’s watching the door. waiting for you.

“There she is,” he says, soft, fond. like you’re the best thing he’s seen all night. “c’mere.”

You go feeling a small bit of excitement, you finally got him alone.

The red light blinks off. Brad and the other engineer slip out, murmuring about snacks. You can still hear them.

vending machine. ice. only a couple of feet past the door.

Michael steps close. Both hands on your waist now, warm and steady. He pulls you in, nose brushing your temple.

“You miss me that bad, huh?” he whispers. just pure sweetness. just him loving that you do. “With all these people there?”

You nod against him, not even caring how desperate you look. Michael didn’t mind either.

He laughs into your hair. quiet. “I like it when you need me.” His voice deeper than normal and genuine. It causes a shiver to go down your spine.

Then he’s moving you. guiding you back with those careful hands. past the soundboard, past the mic stand, into that dim corner where the booth light doesn’t reach. where the acoustic panels make everything hush.

Where producers are just a couple of feet away.

He cages you in, but gently. One forearm braced above your head, the other hand tilting your chin up. His eyes are all soft and dark.

“Open for me, baby,” he whispers, commanding you gently.

You obeyed, opening your mouth and feeling his spit slowly drop down. He shuts your mouth, watching as you swallow.

He hums in approval. By this point, you didn’t care you were around. You needed him. Getting caught was the last thing you were worried about. Your thighs squeezed together, feeling your need for him increasing.

“Good girl”, his voice deep and soothing. You could hear the voices of people right outside the booth. He’d have to go back soon.

But what you didn’t expect was him squeezing your hips before walking away. Leaving you all needy and wet for him. You looked at him with a small hint of irritation and want.

He sent you a teasing small smirk before he exited the booth.

You stood there, heart pounding, thighs still trembling with need as the door clicked shut behind him.

The voices outside grew louder—none of them having any idea what had just happened behind the glass door of the booth.

Your breath came in uneven gasps, fingers gripping the edge of the booth to steady yourself.

You took a moment to compose yourself, adjusting your clothes and smoothing your hair before stepping out of the booth.

You couldn’t wait to get home.

This man may be a perfectionist, but he loves it when it gets messy. When he sees that white ring form around his cock, your cum drips to his balls. He goes crazy. He doesn’t hold back, picking up his pace and watching you fall apart under him.

He is very handsy. He always has to be touching you. Squeezing your waist, holding your hips, your legs, anything. His hands never leave you.

Absolutely pussy drunk. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t get to cum, or even undress. Your pleasure is his biggest priority. He could spend hours between your legs just wanting to hear those pretty sounds coming from your lips. He’d make you cum multiple times, not even pulling up for a break. He’d only stop if you pushed him away physically, too overstimulated.

This man is HUNG. 7 inches soft, 9 inches when hard. It’s uncut and girthy. When you guys first started getting more intimate, it took a bit for him to fully fit in with you. But when he did, you saw stars.

Rarely subs. He’d most likely have been in his earlier eras, but after that, he is dominant. He never wants you working hard during your lovemaking. He does all the work. You lie there and look pretty for him. He isn’t aggressive; he doesn’t like any type of form of hitting or pain to your precious self. His closest form is subbing if he’s too tired, but you still need him. He’d lie back, letting you use his cock. But he’d definitely be thrusting up, still doing the majority of the work.

He loves making you a complete mess on his cock. Hearing you only be able to whine and moan while mumbling nonsense. He knows he’s big, and he takes pride in it.

Specific kinks

Creampies ⊱ he loves filling you up. He can go at it many times, so his cum ends up leaking out the majority of the time. The sight always amazes him. You filled up to the brim with his cum, showing his possession over you. It also fills his small breeding kink.

Size ⊱ as stated before, this man is hung and big. When you guys first started making love, he loved that he couldn’t fit it in. How much you’d try and push your hips back to push more inches in, but you couldn’t. The small tears rolling down your cheeks from how much just his tip fills you up. He lived for it. He loves watching you go dumb on his cock and even his fingers. The feeling of you being stretched out by him makes him cum quicker than anything.

Exhibition ⊱ It’s known how much Michael loves filming things and taking photos with his camera. You both have many ‘films’ together that he keeps to look back on, especially when he has to be away from you. Whenever you get a new set of lingerie (he obviously bought), he’d take pictures of you on the bed as you model for him. He secretly has a fantasy of someone finding them. But he’d never admit that.

Praise ⊱ He’s always praising you. He needs you to know how good you take him. He’d always whisper with each thrust, “doing so well”, “you look so pretty spread like this f’me, “you’re so perfect”. He compliments you a lot in general, so he has to do the same in bed.

Spit ⊱ receiving and giving. He does it a lot to tease you. One time, he had invited you to the studio. Quincey and they were all there. Michael pulled you aside in a dark corner while producers were 5 feet away. He tipped your head back and slowly spit in your mouth, watching as you swallowed. He grinned, seeing how flustered you got. “Good girl”, he squeezed your hips and walked back to the booth, leaving you hot and bothered. But you’d always get him back after.

⊱ Bad!michael x f!reader ◞ 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.

⊱ 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.

Michael’s been at the studio since this afternoon. He’d been working on his album ‘Bad’ and you knew how much of a perfectionist he was. No pager beeps, no calls. But you don’t 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 it’s soft, deep-condition your hair, and wrap it in a towel. The mirror fogs, and for once you don’t 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 it’s still damp, comb through it until it smells like the shea butter in your conditioner. Dab perfume on your wrists, and behind your ears — the one he always notices.

Now the bedside lamp throws gold across the sheets. Your hair’s still damp at the ends, brushing your shoulders. You smell like vanilla and the perfume Michael loves — 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.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice worn thin from singing. “You waited up for me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a relief.

He crosses the room in three steps, tired but drawn to you like he can’t help it. Doesn’t say anything else yet — just sits by your feet rubbing your ankle.

Like coming home to you is the only thing that’s made sense all day.

“How was the studio?”, 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. “Tiring, but you’ve made my day 10x better” 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 haven’t left you. Not the slip, not your damp hair, not the way the lamplight catches on your skin. You.

He doesn’t wait for you to pat the spot next to you.

“Move over for me, baby,” he says, voice low, rough from the studio but sure. That’s the tone that makes your stomach flip — tired, but in control.

You do. Instantly.

He slides onto the bed with purpose, one knee on the mattress, caging you in without touching you yet. He’s close now — 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.

“I was thinkin’ about this all day,” he murmurs. “About gettin’ home to you like this.” His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, slow, possessive in the softest way. “All that noise at the studio… this is the only thing that quiets it.”

His eyes drop to your lips, then back up. Dark. Steady. You knew Michael would be missing you, but this was something more.

“Turn for me,” he says quietly. A command wrapped in velvet.

You shift, heart pounding, and he’s 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.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your skin. His lips graze your shoulder, not quite kissing. Just claiming. “Made yourself pretty for me.”

His hand splays low on your stomach over the silk, holding you still. Grounding you.

“Studio was hell,” he says, mouth moving against your neck now. “But I kept thinkin’… I get to come home to this. I get to come home to you.”

The record player downstairs skips. Whitney’s voice wavers. Michael doesn’t care.

His fingers slide up, tracing the thin strap of your slip. He doesn’t pull it down. Just hooks one finger under it, tugging lightly. A reminder.

“Gonna lay you back now,” he tells you, voice gone impossibly soft but leaving no room for doubt. “Gonna take care of my baby. You've been waitin’ all night for me, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s already moving, already guiding you down onto the pillows with one hand at your hip, the other cradling your head.

Eyes on you like you’re the only thing he’s 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 — one arm braced beside your head, the other tracing the line of your collarbone over the silk. Like he’s got all the time in the world now that he’s home. Like the studio, the album, the pressure… none of it exists past this bed.

“Look at you,” 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 — and you.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he says, quiet, certain. You looked up at him with those knowing eyes. In this moment all you wanted was him. You didn’t 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.

It’s slow. Deep. He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding into your damp hair, cradling the back of your head like you’re something precious.

He pulls back before you’re ready, just to watch you chase his lips. That makes him smile. Your eyes look up at Michaels with want. “Please, Michael.”.

“Uh-uh,” 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.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he tells you between kisses down your neck. “How you taste. How you feel under me.” His hand splays across your ribs, over the silk, holding you exactly where he wants you.

The record’s 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. You’re body wrapped in Michael’s.

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.

“I need this so bad tonight.” 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 couldn’t wait any longer.

“Michael, touch me” you say almost a whisper in his ear. He doesn’t 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 Michael’s throat as he rubbed where you needed him the most. You squirmed slightly, wanting him to take your panties off already and take you.

“So wet f’me” 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 him—so 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.

"Shh... I got you,"

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 overwhelming—warm, 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 needed—what 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.

“Come on baby, lemme taste you” 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 yours—dark, 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.

꒰ thriller!mike/ thrad!mike x reader

Matching outfits. Always. Most of the time it wasn’t even intentional. He’d get so happy whenever he realized you two were matching without even planning it.

Michael could never take compliments without getting flustered, but you LOVED complimenting him. Especially because of how shy and giggly he’d get afterward.

“Come on, angel face,” you teased once, and Michael couldn’t stop blushing the entire way there.

Whenever he had the opportunity, he invited you to events with him. He’d always have a hand on your thigh or his fingers intertwined with yours. He was still getting used to the fame and attention, still the same sweet, shy boy no matter how confident he looked on stage or in interviews.

Speaking of events, he often dreaded going to them if you couldn’t come. He’d much rather spend his time with you — dancing around together, playing board games, watching movies, or even just cuddling in silence. He could spend hours lying next to you, tracing random patterns onto your hand while talking about absolutely anything.

He always needed his ‘good luck’ kiss from you before rehearsals or performances. Michael genuinely believed those tiny kisses made him perform ten times better. The problem was, he could never leave it at just one.

‘Bye, love,’ he mumbled softly before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. You stood there smiling as he jogged away, only to hear hurried footsteps racing back toward you moments later.

‘Wait, one more.’

A blush spread across his face as he pressed another kiss to your forehead before practically sprinting back to the booth.

Movie nights with you were basically a nightly tradition. Michael would purposely put on horror movies so you’d hold onto him, but it usually ended with both of you getting scared and the movie being shut off halfway through while you hid under blankets together.

His animals absolutely adore you. You and Michael shared the same love for animals, and he trusted you more than anyone else around them. You were one of the only people gentle and patient enough for them to immediately warm up to.

His camera was filled with pictures of you — blurry candids, sleepy photos, random moments you didn’t even know he captured. There was nothing he loved more than looking through them whenever he was away on tour. Some nights he’d scroll through them for hours just because he missed you.

And whenever he had to be away, he made sure to call you every single night. He didn’t care how exhausted he was after rehearsals that lasted all day or performing multiple shows back-to-back. No matter what, your call was the highlight of his night.