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゛➜ COLLEGE BOYFRIEND!MICHAEL who takes up more space on the couch than he realizes. his long legs fold up awkwardly, knees bumping yours as he settles in beside you under the same blanket. the fabric smells like laundry detergent and the cologne he started wearing last semester after you'd bought for him as a birthday present. he’ll lean his head against your shoulder after a while, and mumble something about how this is his favorite part of the week — being able to sit under you, breathing in your comforting and familiar scent with nowhere else to be.

゛➜ COLLEGE BOYFRIEND!MICHAEL he’s been collecting baseball caps since forever. any kind—old team ones, thrift-store finds, the random ones people leave behind at parties. his side of the closet is just stacks of them, and half the time he’ll grab one and drop it on your head while you’re studying just to make you look up at him. and he’ll smile at you before attempting to figure what he actually came in the bedroom for.

sometimes, though, it’s the other way around. you’ll be in the car, the late-afternoon light cutting across the dashboard, and you’ll reach over, lift the worn brim off his head, and settle it on your own. the fabric is still warm from him. he’ll glance over, eyes soft, and coo under his breath at how cute you look—like the sight alone is enough to undo him. then he’ll lean across the console, one hand finding the back of your neck, and kiss you slow and deep until the world outside the windows fades and one thing inevitably leads to another.

゛➜ COLLEGE BOYFRIEND!MICHAEL who falls asleep in the weirdest positions when you study together. he’ll start out upright with a textbook open, then slowly slide down until his head is in your lap and one arm is wrapped loosely around your waist. you can feel him breathing steady against your thigh, and even when you try to move he just makes a soft noise and holds on tighter because he’s not ready to let you go.

゛➜ COLLEGE BOYFRIEND!MICHAEL who loves when you play with his hair. he’ll sit on the floor between your legs while a movie plays, head tipped back, eyes closed, completely quiet. if you stop even for a second he leans back into your hands and beings to complain and doesn't stop until you continue your soothing ministrations.

゛➜ COLLEGE BOYFRIEND!MICHAEL who takes you to the drive-in to see Howard the Duck because he swears it’s going to be “fun and weird in a good way.” he packs snacks, brings an extra blanket, and even wears one of his favorite baseball caps for the occasion. you think he’s actually excited about the movie.

turns out he’s not.

halfway through the first act his hand finds your thigh under the blanket, thumb brushing slow circles against the fabric of your jeans. when you glance over, he’s not looking at the screen at all—just watching you with a soft, heavy-lidded look he gets when he’s thinking about something he probably shouldn’t be thinking about in public. a few minutes later he’s already tugging you into the backseat, whispering that it’s “just for a second,” voice low and a little breathless against your ear.

the two of you end up tangled together under the blanket, his baseball cap knocked crooked, your laughter muffled against his mouth every time the movie gets particularly ridiculous. his hands are warm and careful, always checking your face between kisses like he still can’t believe you’re letting him have this. you’re so caught up in each other that neither of you notices the flashlight until it knocks firmly against the window.

an employee clears his throat. “you two just couldn't wait, huh?”

the drive back to your shared on-campus apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the radio and your barely-contained laughter. michael’s ears are burning. he keeps both hands on the wheel, jaw tight, refusing to look at you even as you lean over the center console and poke his cheek.

“you couldn't even wait until the beginning credits were over, baby.” you tease.

he scowls harder, mean-mugging you at the next red light like you’ve personally offended him-which in his book; you definitely did. “for the record, i was watching the movie.”

“sure you were.”

he mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “unbelievable,” but the corner of his mouth keeps threatening to curl upward every time you laugh. by the time he parks outside the apartment he’s still pretending to be annoyed, but the second the engine cuts off he reaches over, hooks a finger in the front of your shirt, and pulls you into one more kiss— he still can’t help himself even when he’s trying to be mad.

゛➜ COLLEGE BOYFRIEND!MICHAEL who gets so distracted when you walk around the apartment in just one of his t-shirts. the hem barely hits mid-thigh and he keeps losing his train of thought mid-sentence, eyes dropping before he forces them back up. he’ll clear his throat and try to focus on whatever he’s doing, but the second you bend over to grab something from a low shelf he goes completely still, bottom lip caught between his teeth. later when you’re both in bed he pulls you into his lap without a word, hands sliding up under the shirt to please you like he'd been wanting to all day.

at first you ignored it, simply giving him the credit where it was due— but michael was asked how he felt about the “feud” fans were creating, which he replied with “i wouldn’t call it a feud,” michael said with a small smile. “a feud requires both people to be involved. i’ve been minding my business. but if she enjoys the attention, i certainly wouldn’t want to take that away from her.”

what the fuck?? “if i enjoyed the attention?” you scoffed loud, did think he you were some kind of.. attention whore? from that day forward you swore you hated his guts.

better believe he felt the same way

a few days later you seated at an award ceremony, nominated for “Best R&B/Soul Album” and of course— he was nominated as well.

which caused nothing but an uproar, the screen panned between you and michael as you impatiently waited for the speaker to call a name.

the crowd bursted into cheers and applause— your name was called, you jumped immediately hugging your loved ones & surrounding celebrities.

days prior your manager coached about what you could say if you won, persistent on not saying anything about you and micheal’s current situation.

buttt— of course you retaliated.

your speech went on about who you thanked and how grateful you were, ending it off with a sweet smile that had absolutely nothing sweet behind it.

“and lastly, i want to thank the people who reminded me that i don’t need to compete with anyone. especially people who seem to think every room has to become a competition just because i walked into it.” you paused, letting the crowd react before continuing. “i’m happy with where i am, i’m proud of what i’ve accomplished, and i’m not going to let somebody else’s insecurity turn my success into a rivalry. i’m far too busy winning awards to participate.”

the crowd absolutely lost it.

your manger was seething, you had done the opposite of what she told you to do.

frankly you didn’t care, you were just happy to see micheal’s annoying smirk falter.

and thats how you ended up here.

sitting in a room with michael sitting across from you and both managers across talking your heads off about this “petty” thing.

your manager was still talking, her voice a low, she was pacing now, heels clicking against the parquet floor of the conference room at the record label's midtown headquarters.

“—and this charity gala is non-negotiable," she finished, “both of you. same table. smiling. the press will be there, and i swear to god, if i see one single headline about a ‘heated exchange’ or ‘tense body language’”

across the room, michael was slouched in a leather chair like he owned the place, one ankle crossed over his knee, sipping on orange juice.

he hadn’t looked at you once since you’d both been herded into this room twenty minutes ago. not a glance, not a twitch, nothing. he was wearing a red varsity jacket with cream-colored sleeves, white striped detailing on the collar, and a large colorful graphic on the front, dark glasses covering his eyes.

his manager — some tall guy and a motorola flip phone clipped to his belt cleared his throat. “the hotel arrangement is already set. one suite at the beverly hills hotel. two bedrooms, obviously, but shared living space. the narrative is that you two have ‘settled your differences’”

your head snapped up. “excuse me?”

“shared.” your manager repeated, her smile tight, looking between you two like you were misbehaving toddlers. “you want to act like children? fine. you can share a room like kids. maybe you’ll actually talk to each other and sort this out instead of airing it in front of millions tonight.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but michael finally looked up. his eyes met yours across the table. he raised one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, and the corner of his mouth curled up in something that wasn't quite a smile.

“sounds fun” he said, voice soft and twice as fake.

and the gala was absolute torture.

the beverly hills hotel was lit up, stretch limos lining the circular drive, paparazzi shouting from behind velvet ropes while holding cameras with massive flash attachments.

you stepped out of your town car in a black slip dress that clung to every curve, your brown skin glowing. your hair was styled into soft, bouncy curls that cascaded past your shoulders, with curled pieces framing your face.

and there he was.

michael was waiting at the entrance, looking unfairly good in a red tailored suit. he offered his arm as you approached, that fake smile plastered on his face, and you had no choice but to take it.

“smile, honey” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear, his lips barely moving as the cameras flashed around you. “y’lookin’ like a sad puppy”

you kept the grin plastered on, leaning into him like you were sharing a secret, your hand resting light on his forearm. “go fuck yourself.”

“already did” he returned, just as sweet, his hand settling at the small of your back,subtle and warm.

the photographers ate it up.

look at them getting along!

the feud is over!

you wanted to scream.

inside, the ballroom was all crystal chandeliers and you were seated at the head table, of course, right next to michael, your knees bumping under the linen as you tried to arrange yourself without touching him.

“nervous?” he asked, his voice carrying that mocking lilt that made you want to dump wine in his lap.

“thrilled actually” you shot back, taking the glass from the server offered and taking a long sip. “i love pretending to like people i despise. it's my favorite hobby”

his laugh was genuine, surprising you, a rich sound that vibrated through his chest. “at least you're honest”

dinner was a blur of speeches and polite applause. you laughed at the right moments, clinked glasses with donors, and all the while felt michael’s presence beside you like a physical weight.

he kept touching you— small, casual brushes of his hand against your arm, his knee bumping yours under the table, his breath warm against your ear when he leaned in to comment on something.

by the time you made it to the hotel room— you were exhausted, immediately kicking your heels off.

the door clicked shut behind your managers, finally leaving you alone, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

michael dropped the act immediately. he loosened his bowtie with a sharp tug, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it over the back of the floral sofa.

“i'm taking the master bedroom.”

“like hell you are” you snapped, “you think you can just waltz in and take whatever you want?”

he turned, finally, really looked at you. his eyes dragged down your body, slow and insulting, before climbing back to your face. “i think” he said, stepping closer, “that you're used to getting everything you want, and you can't stand that i don't give a shit.”

“you don't give a shit?” you laughed, harsh and disbelieving. “you've been obsessed with me for years. every interview, every passive-aggressive comment—”

“you couldn't just win your little award and shut up. you had to make it about me. you had to get that last word in, didn't you?” he cut in, voice dropping, stepping closer again.

“you said i begged for attention.”

“i said you enjoyed attention.” he was right in front of you now, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “and look at you now, still mad that i didn't give you the satisfaction of a fight.”

your chest was heaving, breath coming short and fast. “i hate you.”

“no you don't” he said softly, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. “you hate that i don't feel into your games. you hate that i see right through you.”

you shoved him. both hands flat against his chest, pushing hard, but he didn't budge. just caught your wrists, his fingers wrapping tight around your bones, and something in his expression shifted.

“careful girl” he warned, voice low.

“or what?”

he stared at you for a long moment, something dark moving behind his eyes. then he laughed, quiet and disbelieving. “you really wan’ to do this?”

“do what?”

" he pulled you closer, suddenly, roughly, his grip on your wrists yanking you against him. you felt him— all of him, hard.

your breath caught in your throat. “you've been asking for it all night. fuckin’ all year”

“i haven't—“

“every time you open that pretty mouth” he continued, ignoring you, “you use it for the wrong things.”

you couldn't speak. your heart was hammering against your ribs.

your knees went weak.

because you couldn't move. you were frozen, trapped in the heat of him, in the smell of his skin. the way his thumb was pressing into the soft spot under your chin.

he kissed you.

it wasn't gentle. it was teeth and tongue and punishment, his mouth crushing yours with a force that made you whimper. he walked you backward until your spine hit the wall, his body pinning you there, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip— hard.

you kissed him back. you couldn't help it. you bit his lip, hard, and he groaned into your mouth a sound, so broken and hungry— before pulling back just enough to breathe.

“bedroom.” he ordered, but he was already dragging you there, hands rough, mouth finding your neck and sucking hard enough to leave marks.

the master bedroom was dark, city lights filtering through the gauzy curtains, and he shoved you onto the bed with a force that should have been insulting but only made you wetter. you scrambled back, but he was on you immediately, crawling over you, his hands pushing your dress up around your waist.

“wait—“you started.

“nuh uh” he caught your chin, forced you to look at him. “no more waiting.”

your breath hitched.

he stripped you efficiently, almost brutally, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it aside. your stockings followed — ripped down your legs, the delicate lace torn by his impatience. you lay there exposed, chest heaving in just your black lace bra, and he stood back for a moment just to look at you.

“prettier when you're quiet”

he unbuckled his belt slowly, deliberately, watching your face as he pulled it free. the sound of leather sliding through loops made your stomach clench. then his pants, his shirt, until he was standing there in nothing but boxer briefs, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric.

you'd imagined this. in the dark, in private, you'd thought about it — what he looked like, what he'd feel like. reality was worse. better.

he climbed onto the bed, kneeling between your spread thighs. his hand wrapped around his length, stroking once, twice.

your mouth went dry. he was thick, heavy, the tip already wet with precum, and he was looking at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

shifting forward until he was kneeling over your chest, one hand braced against the headboard, the other guiding himself toward your mouth.

you should have pushed him off, called your manager on the rotary phone sitting on the nightstand.

done something other than open your mouth and let him slide past your lips.

he groaned, low and guttural, his hips jerking forward before he caught himself. “fuck. that's it.”

he started moving, shallow thrusts at first, letting you adjust to the size of him, the weight on your tongue. you tried to pull back, to control the pace, but his hand found your hair, tangling tight, holding you still.

his voice tight. “take it. all of it.”

he pushed deeper, hitting the back of your throat, and you gagged— a wet, messy sound that made him shudder. he pulled back just enough to let you breathe, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, before thrusting forward again.

“you're even prettier watching you gag on my dick” he said, almost conversational, his hips setting a rhythm that had you struggling to keep up.

“look at you. mascara running, drooling all over yourself. this is what you needed, isn't it? someone to shut that smart mouth for you.”

you moaned around him, the vibration making him curse, his grip in your hair tightening to the point of pain. he was fucking your face now, proper and deep, using you exactly how he wanted, and you were arching up into it, your hips rolling against nothing, desperate for friction.

he pulled out suddenly, leaving you gasping, your lips swollen and wet. he looked down at you with something like contempt mixed with awe.

“turn over” he ordered. “on your knees. now.”

you moved, scrambling to obey, and hated yourself for it even as you presented yourself to him, ass in the air, face pressed against the floral bedspread. he grabbed your hips, pulling you back toward him.

you gasped.

he pressed forward, the head catching at your entrance, pushing just enough to stretch you open, the stretch burned in a way that had your vision blurring at the edges.

“hmfg mikey—“

he thrust in, hard and deep, one long stroke that bottomed out and made you scream into the pillow. you were wet— embarrassingly, shamefully wet.

“oh, fuck” he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hips stilling as he pulsed inside you. “fuck, you're tight. been thinking about this? about me filling you up?”

you couldn't answer. you were panting, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your body adjusting around the intrusion.

he was splitting you open, and he hadn't even started moving yet.

he pulled back, slow, until just the tip was inside, then slammed forward again. you jolted forward, a cry tearing from your throat, and he laughed — dark and satisfied.

“that's it mama” he praised, condescending and warm all at once. “take it. good girl. such a good girl for me when you stop running that mouth.”

he set a pace, brutal and relentless, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had the bed frame knocking against the wall.

every thrust hit deep, grazing that spot inside you that made your toes curl, and you were pushing back into it, meeting him stroke for stroke, even as you hated him for making you feel this way.

“if i knew fuckin' you stupid would stop you from being so bitchy” he grunted, leaning over you, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right at your ear, “i would've done this a long time ago.”

you moaned, unable to help it, and he felt you clench around him.

“you like that? like being put in your place?”

“shut up” you managed, but it came out broken, desperate.

“what happened to all that mouth, girl?” he taunted, his hand sliding around your throat and squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “huh? where's all that attitude now?”

he fucked you harder, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, wet and obscene.

you were babbling now, incoherent, your body racing toward something huge and terrifying, and he was right there with you, his breath coming in harsh gasps against your neck.

“gonna cum inside you” he warned, his hips stuttering, losing rhythm. “gonna fill you up s’good, make you take it all. you want that? want me to mark you?”

“yes” you sobbed, the word torn from somewhere deep, honest in a way that terrified you. “yes, please—“

he groaned, long and low, and slammed deep one final time. you felt the his hot pylse, the way he throbbed, flooding you with his release. he kept thrusting, shallow and messy, working himself through it, milking every drop into your cunt.

when he finally pulled out, his seed trickled down your thigh. he collapsed beside you, chest heaving, and you lay there trembling, your body still pulsing with aftershocks.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

then he rolled toward you, his hand finding your jaw, turning your face toward his. his expression was softer now, but no less intense.

“still hate me?” he asked, voice rough.

you stared at him, at the sweat on his brow, at the marks you'd left on his shoulder, at the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world.

“maybe” you whispered.

he smiled real this time, small and private.

his hand slid down your body, finding where you were still sensitive, still wet with both of you, and you gasped as his fingers circled your clit.

“then let's see if i can change your mind” he murmured, and pulled you close again.

— ᢉ𐭩 .ᐟ a lil something to keep you guys fed while i work on reqs :p

Late night had settled over the Hayvenhurst estate and rain was pounding against its windows. Inside Michael's room, a candle crackled quietly and burned into a pool of oil while Luther Vandross played quietly from a stereo in the corner of room. Michael had goosebumps up his arms from the contrast of the warm air in the room and the cool breeze flowing through the curtains. He didn't notice though, his focus hadn't left you once.

Under him, you had your legs spread around his hips and the sheets were warm and slightly damp with the evidence of what you and Michael had been up to for the past hour. He rolled his hips slow and deep like he was savoring every little movement. Every time his curious hips prodded at that little spot deep inside you, your tummy jumped hard against his and your walls fluttered around him. When he felt it, a high shaky little sound left his throat.

Soft brown eyes stayed on yours as he bit down on his bottom lip to quiet himself. Michael brushed his lips against your ear and murmured,

“Can you do it for me, baby?” He used that real soft, sweet tone he always did when he really wanted something from you. “The thing where you...squirt." he dropped his voice to a softer octave at the last word as if it was forbidden. "Please. Wanna see it again.”

Instantly, you grew embarrassed and your face went warm.

“Mikey, don’t start.” You moaned against his cheek.

A soft little sound that sounded a lot like a bratty huff left his throat. He cupped your jaw so couldn't turn away. His doe eyes got even bigger, shiny and pleading as his bottom lip pushed out in a subtle pout.

“Please, baby. I’ll be so good for you. I won’t tell anybody. It’s just us.” He kissed your lips sloppily in between sentences while his hips kept moving. "You can trust me" Another whiny, shaky moan slipped out of him when your stomach jumped again, sweat slicking between you two from the heat of his body against yours. “You’re sooo pretty when you cum like that. I love you so much....Please lemme feel it again. I’ll do anything you want me to.”

You reached up and let your fingers trail slow down his abdomen, dragging your nails lightly and sending chills down his spine.

"Anything?"

His tummy clenched hard under your touch and a cracked moan left his lips. His hips stuttered like he’d lost his rhythm completely— which was nearly impossible for Michael Jackson, but that's how infatuated he was with you.

“Don’t— don’t do that,” he whimpered. “It’s too much. Baby, please—”

You already knew what touching him while talking dirty did to him. It always brought him right to the edge, he was such a desperate little lover boy.

“You get so needy when you want somethin' from me,” you murmured. “Look at you. Shakin' just from me touchin’ on you. Throbbin’ inside me like a good boy.”

Michael’s eyes fluttered and another needy whimper left him as his hips jerked without warning. You felt him throb hard inside you, pressure heavy in your belly. He looked almost frustrated about it, like his body was betraying him.

“Don’t say it like that,” he breathed, more pouty now. “You know what it does to me. M'gon cum if you keep talkin’ like that. I can’t hold it when you talk dirty to me. I never can. You’re bein’ mean, baby”

“Maybe I want you to cum for me...and in me”

Then, Michael made the mistake of looking down between your bodies. Your cream was painting the base of his dick like melted ice cream on warm brown skin. Michael fought to keep his eyes from rolling back and soft sounds slipped past his lips as he dropped his forehead against yours, hips still rolling against yours almost frantically. He was so cute when he got like this, flustered and needy.

One of his large hands slipped between your bodies and long fingers found your clit, rubbing slow circles while he prodded gently as your insides, trying to figure out what felt best for you. He held your eye contact consistently the whole time, even as his long lashed fluttered and his eyes threatened to shut from the way you were soaking him.

The next stroke hit that tender bundle of nerves deliberately, like muscle memory. Your tummy jumped hard again and your walls pulsed rhythmically around him. The wet sound of your pussy taking him deep filled the quiet room. Michael’s doe eyes never left yours, even as needy little whimpers left him and his thighs started trembling. His arms were on either side of your head, encasing you possessively as he kept pressing wet kisses to your swollen, pouty lips.

“I know you don’t wanna,” he whispered. He sounded desperate and was almost embarrassed at how needy he sounded, but there was still soft stubbornness under it. “But it feels sooo good when you do cum on me like that. Please lemme feel it. I’ll be so good for you after. I-I promise." his hips stuttered and his voice cracked when you clenched around him like you were trying to take him deeper. "I’ll go real slow… I’ll hold you the whole time… you don’t even have t'look if you don’t wanna. Just this once mama.”

You cupped his face and squeezed gently, pushing his lips into a cute pout.

“You can’t help yourself, huh?” you asked softly, brushing your lips against his as you held his face and kept his fluttering eyes trained on you. “Just beggin' so good for me. Can't even help how needy you sound, can you? You get this look every time you want me to squirt for you. All needy and stubborn at the same time. Look how weak you get for it.”

His whole body shivered and a cracked, soft moan spilled out of him, hips still stuttering slightly and losing their rhythm. You felt another strong throb inside you and his arms were starting to shake where he held himself up. He went still for half a second like he’d heard you, then started the same precise angle again anyway.

“Stop,” he whined. “Please stop talkin’ to me like that. M'serious baby. I’m right there. I can’t— and you’re still not givin’ me what I asked for”

Like he was on a mission, he kept circling your clit gently with your slick and stroking deep against that spot, eyes locked on yours the whole time. Every time your tummy jumped against his he made another soft, desperate sound. When you pulsed around him he whimpered like it was almost too much. His rhythm started to falter and he tried to slow down, hips pulling back just a little like he needed a second. But you locked your legs around his hips and pulled him back in deep.

"Uh-uh. Don't run from me Mikey" you whispered against his lips.

Michael made a high almost scared sound involuntarily, like the pleasure was overstimulating. His forehead dropped against your collar bone before raising again. His big eyes stayed on yours, slightly teary-eyed from the intense pleasure and bottom lip still pushed out just a little.

“You’re’ close, I can feel it mama. Creamin' all over me, and it's gettin' louder. Do it for me. Please baby. I need it. It'll feel so good...I’ll be so good." His hips jerked without permission when you pressed your lips to his throat, tongue flicking against his pulse point. "I-I’ll stay real gentle, I promise. I’ll hold you the whole time. Please. I only get like this for you— and I asked so nice…”

He gently flicked his fingertips across your clit, changing the pace and forcing your legs to close tighter around his waist. He kept the same angle, continuously prodding that sensitive little spot inside you even though his arms were shaking from how overstimulated he felt. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The sensation tipped over and your back arched. A broken cry left your throat as the orgasm hit hard your stomach convulsed against his as a strong stream of wetness pulsed out of you around his dick, soaking both of you and the sheets. Your walls pulsed around him in heavy waves while you shook in his arms.

Michael’s eyes went wide when he looked down between your bodies the second he felt it start, watching the mess flood out around him. A soft shaky moan tore out of his chest and his hips stuttered hard.

“Oh my God—baby, look at you...it’s so much— I can feel it all over me—”

The feeling of you squirting around him pulled him right over the edge. His whole body tensed and his eyes rolled back hard as another higher pitched cracked moan left his throat as he started to cum inside you. It was loud enough that your hand flew up and covered his mouth so no one down the hall would hear. You did not need his brothers teasing y'all tomorrow.

He came hard, grunting and whining shakily against your palm, forehead pressed to yours. His body trembled while he spilled inside you in long pulses, throbbing continuously. The sheets were soaked. He stayed buried deep, dick still pulsing inside you through the last of it as weak spurts left him.

Even after the strongest waves faded he kept making small needy sounds against your hand, oversensitive and shaking, so soft and fucked out that every tiny flutter of your walls made him whimper again as his tummy convulsed.

"I love you so much" he mumbled against your hand, long lashes blinking away tears.

He only got like this for you, and it showed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

please respect my work 💌

Everything posted here is written

by @brownsugarletters. Please do not repost, copy, translate, claim as your own, upload to Al tools, or share my writing outside of Tumblr without permission.

You didn’t meet Michael; you created him. Tired fighting crows, you turned to find a solution.

Which led you here: hunched over a table passed down through several generations of your family, weaving thread into a tattered sewing machine. Feeding orange cloth to the needle.

You stitched arms, legs, and a head… stuffing the hollow tubes with straw. Hair made out of hay; you took the time to dye it black. Taking a step back to admire your handiwork, you couldn’t help but realize the lifeless doll you had created would make good boyfriend material.

Maybe your imagination got the better of you when sewing the face on…

Partners were hard to come by out here. You liked living on the farm, herding cows, and tending to wheat. But the quietness of it all consumed you. Some days, while pulling weeds from wheat fields, you spoke to the lifeless ragdoll you hooked to a poll. Shooing any bird that dared to pick at the loose straw sticking from his neck.

You named him Michael. Michael, the protector of you and your farmland. That night, after you pecked the sun-kissed cloth of Michael’s cheek, you prepared for bed, looking forward to another day of pulling weeds and rambling to a sack of hay and thread.

From the cracked window came a sweet melody, cradling you from your sleep to the window's edge. When you looked out to the sprawling grain field, the pole that Michael once sat motionless on was now moving. Well, wriggling.

You rubbed your eyes; were you still dreaming? No… this was too real for that. You dashed out of the house in a quilted robe, treading through the night to reach the sweet song calling through you.

That’s when you met Michael. Button eyes filled with a light that only seemed possible from the sun's reflection.

You had to teach Scarecrow!michael how to walk. For the first couple of days you couldn't help but find his stuttering movements cute as he made his way to you with outstretched arms. You were worried his clinginess would fade with time; what an irrational fear. Michael is practically your shadow!

Speaking didn’t seem to be a problem for scarecrow!michael. He spoke…a lot. Making up for the times he couldn’t respond to you while you told the most amazing tales about your life. Time he dubbed “torture.”

Scarecrow!michael smells like wheat and faint bread from following you around the kitchen so much.

Scarecrow!michael takes the title of “protector of the farmhouse and YOU” very seriously. Whenever the mailboy drives down to the farm, he’s quickly chased away by Michael’s hollers. Sure, he was uncanny to others, but to you? He was adorable! As for the birds desperate to feast on your carrots? You haven’t seen them for months.

Scarecrow!michael doesn’t need to sleep. He just… powers down. Unfortunately, you found this out at night while wrapped in his arms; turning over to get snug, you heard a faint "Is it morning yet?" and cracked your eyes open to see Michael's piercing eyes staring at you. After that night you had to set strict rules for when Michael could wake you up. Now, he roams the property and tidies up any loose ends you forgot in the day. Always slipping back to bed for sunrise.

Scarecrow!michael tried to prank you one day by sleeping, since it's hard to discern rest and lifelessness through button eyes. When he didn't respond, you feared the miracle that had brought him to life faded. The moment tears well in your eyes and begin to darken the fabric of his cheeks, the comedy of the prank shatters, and Michael instantly moves to comfort you. “Sorry, love…I didn't mean it. I'm here," he murmurs, cloth arms wrapping around your waist.

Just like sleeping, Scarecrow!michael doesn't need to eat. In fact, he can't. He doesn't have organs. But he does like the smell of your baking and making you feel good, so he's tried to eat your bread far too many times to count. Every time he attempts to swallow, the mushed-up crumbs fall right through the hay of his neck. And every time it does, he hides his face behind his hands, muttering a weak, “m’sorry.”

While snooping around for books one day, Scarecrow!michael found photos of your ex and grew insecure of his appearance. What if he didn’t look human enough for you? That evening you found him trying to stitch ears onto his head. You quickly reminded him that he's specially made for you and no other, putting his worries to rest.  

You can hear Scarecrow!michael coming by the shuffling fabric and the smell of daisies he rolled in to impress you. 

Scarecrow!michael gives scratchy but heartfelt hugs. His kisses tickle a little. You thank yourself every day for using cushy fabric when the two of you start sharing a bed, or you'd be itching all night.

Scarecrow!michael is very light (a result of being made of straw) You have to lock him indoors whenever it’s windy or he’ll blow away. All it took for him to comply was "If you fly away, we won’t be together anymore," and he sat right back down.

Because straw makes up Michael's body fat (if you can even call it that...) is a playground for weevils and mites to find their way in his hair and stuffing, so, like the wonderful girlfriend you are, you pluck them out for him. 

Scarecrow!michael sometimes envies the idea that he'll never be a human, like you. With skin that warms on its own, eyes that dart around, hair coily and soft to the touch… that is until he realized he could change his appearance with a needle and twine. A discovery that made lovemaking all that more interesting as Michael toyed around with the sizes and shapes of his length.

Scarecrow!michael gets extremely flustered whenever you pick him up and carry him to your bedroom. You knew you had to be a little dominant when it came to Michael or he'd never catch the hint. You were pleasantly surprised when he dropped his patchy pants to reveal the modifications he made while you were busy in the garden beds. You didn't exactly sew him with pleasure in mind, but he made do.

Scarecrow!michael's libido is insane. He can go till sunrise—making love to you. But he knows you need your rest. So, like the gentleman he is, Michael lets you come down from a high of god knows how many orgasms at 2am.

Big giver. Scarecrow!michael gets off on hearing you wail and moan under him. Your pussy is the one thing he can truly eat. 

Grovelled whenever you say, “I'm just going to get a few things," because he knows you'll be away from him for the rest of the day in town. “Please don't go; I'll get them myself." He clings to your leg, forcing you to drag your feet as you pull him against the floor towards the door. “Mikey, it's only a few hours you'll live.”

When you come back, you find the house glistening from top to bottom. Michael happily waits by the entrance as you take it all in. “Y’sure you won't leave again?” You giggle and kiss him in response.

If leaving for a few hours got you serenaded and pressed into the bed, why wouldn't you do it again? The added bonus is you can tick “buy fuel” off your to-do list!

　　　　　　　　Hungry 4 more?

a/n I'm have TOOO much fun.... this was a side quest I didn't see myself making but 300 words became 1k and here we are