majority of my fanfictions have no/minimal reader description and are intended for females of any race/size/texture. don’t be alarmed if you see an em dash, it’s simply punctuation. i mostly write smut, so be aware.
masterlist works in progress
requests taglist
characters -> individual masterlists
please let me know if anything in a fic of mine excludes any group of people!
Interactions on posts and works are greatly appreciated! :)
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bitches that want to come from a different platform to complain about what’s on tumblr are so goddamn jobless it’s insane like it’s not for you!!! don’t listen to hate i love your stuff
and clock them again cuz these hoes are really jobless!! Thank u for this! It really brighten me up (๑•᎑< ๑)♡
i never understood dumbass bitches that use ai pictures of michael, and yes, i’m saying dumbass bitches cause the amount of PHOTOS this man has, all eras. it’s a fuck ton out there and instead of using the REAL pictures you decided to use one that’s probably generated by chatgpt or google gemini, make that shit make sense. then the pictures barely look like him or make him look soulless, BECAUSE IT IS. i question if people who do this are even michael fans for real cause ain’t no fucking way. ain’t no way.
also, block me if you use ai, you already pissing me off.
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| CW: angst!, strong themes, existence guilt, ADHD functional struggles + guilt, shame, internalized ableism, comforting, Michael is a close friend, any era Michael
summary: Reader fails a college course because she’s been struggling lately. Michael holds her and tries to soothe the guilt and shame of it.
︎DISCLAIMER
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Your tears soak his shirt, his hand on your back trying to make them stop. You failed another college class.
You really didn’t mean to, you went to class and engaged and the teacher loved you, but you hardly handed any work in at all. The guilt of it all now was just overwhelming…hence Michael holding you to calm you down.
The car is parked on a random side street, his seat eased back so you can lay on his chest. He sort of expected this to happen, having seen all the work left undone all around the house. He knows you’ve been having a bit of a tough time lately, and this certainly won’t help get you out of that rut.
“Shhh, baby,” he coos, massaging the back of your neck between his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to cry. You can always try again, it’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” you protest, not wanting him to downplay your failures. “I didn’t even—I didn’t even try, Michael!”
You’re clearly trying to sound firm, but your voice comes out more a whimper than anything confident in what you’re saying.
He frowns, kissing your head. He hates when stuff brings you down this way, but up until now, you’ve never let him see a full breakdown.
“C’mon, I don’t want you saying stuff like that…you learned everything you needed to, didn’t you?” He asks, lifting your head from his chest.
Your eyes shift to the side shamefully, feeling even more guilty at the fact that you had learned everything you were supposed to, but you still didn’t do the necessary term work.
The tears in your eyes make Michael’s heart ache. You’ve always been so hard on yourself…
“Baby?” A whisper, almost begging as his hand so gently guided your face back to his.
“I’m sorry…” you whisper back, voice thin and broken.
Michael is the first person to ever speak to you so softly after messing up this way. It makes you feel seen and safe, but it also feels incredibly wrong, having been told your whole life that something was wrong with you. You don’t want to fall apart this way in front of him, to fail at things and disappoint him, but you can’t seem to stop…
He shakes his head.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he reassures you, running his thumb over your tear-slick cheekbone.
“Sure feels like I do…” you mumble, sniffling.
“I know it feels that way, sweetheart, I know…” his lips press gently to your forehead, helping your chest loosen just a little bit. “But I promise you that it’s gonna be okay. I’m not going to go away because you had trouble in a system that wasn’t made for you. I love you.”
Your face crumples and you press it back into his neck, squeezing your arms around his waist. You can’t believe the kindness that you’re receiving, especially after doing something so stupid. His understanding and generosity is something you’ve never allowed yourself to think or feel.
“Oh, Michael,” you whimper into his skin, not really saying anything, just feeling the odd swirl of warmth and love being swirled into the familiar nauseous whirlwind in your stomach.
You’re crying so much harder now, grateful and guilty all at once. It just feels so very wrong to receive comfort after doing something wrong, like you’ve done it for attention even though you’ve spent the last few months hiding your increasing dysfunctions in fear of being less than.
As painful as this is for you, it is for Michael. He’s always had a kind of empathetic connection to the ones he loves, and in this moment, he’s feeling the same physical manifestations of anxiety that you are.
“It’s not your fault,” he whispers into your hair, holding you tightly to him, needing you to believe it. “You didn’t fail. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not mad.”
His words aren’t ones you’ve heard before, ones that now feel uncomfortable to hear. But you feel them. He’s forcing the love into your body, sewing together your long broken heart that’s ached and ached without a relief.
The crying seems endless, but by the time you can finally breathe again, the guilt has faded and your mind gone fuzzy. All you can feel is Michael’s arms wrapped around you, his warm body swallowing you whole.
“…I still love you,” he whispers into the silence. “You know that, right?”
You hesitate, actually wanting to think it over and be honest with him.
Your silence causes a little flurry of anxiety in his gut, worry that you really didn’t know that you were loved by someone.
“…I know that you say that,” you say finally, tracing patterns on his shoulder.
He frowns, looking down at the awkward angle at your sad face, not sobbing anymore but clearly not quite peaceful.
“Why don’t you think I can love you for real?” He asks, a little upset now.
“…I don’t know what it feels like…” you admit quietly, tucking your face away again.
His lips flatten into a line, his brows furrowing in sympathy. You really weren’t given much leeway in love even after being diagnosed.
“…what you feel right now? That’s what it feels like.” He explains, his hand warm on your back through your shirt. “…can you feel it?”
You take a moment, shutting your eyes and trying to dig through the mess of what you’re currently experiencing emotionally.
The nod finally comes and Michael’s anxiety recedes, a soft laugh of relief xscaping him.
“You should feel that a lot when you’re with me,” he whispers, kissing your head once again. “I wanna be your safe place, can I be that for you?”
He sounds so desperate, like that’s what he needs to be for you, like it would make him sick to his stomach if you denied him.
“Yeah,” you choke out. “You were kind of already my safe place…my best friend.”
Best friend. He’s your best friend.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
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A/N: so so so incredibly self indulgent and I’m sorry if this is too dark! I’ve been having a bit of a tough time lately and I don’t really have anyone to talk to about it, so I thought maybe writing about Michael being kind in a scenario like this would help. I also hope this wasn’t too cheesy…
—I do not authorize my content to be fed to artificial intelligence—
masterlist | disordered!Michael Jackson x fem!Reader
| Word Count: 1.3k
| CW: disordered eating habits, (more tags below the cut)
an0rexia (Michael), angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: Michael is struggling. Food is the one and only thing he feels he has total control over, and you’ve finally noticed it.
set in off the wall/thriller-ish era
︎DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction depicts a real person and a highly personal fictional scenario. Nothing included in this story is implied to be accurate. This is a purely creative work and is not meant to offend, or make anyone uncomfortable.
Michael had been struggling to find his independence as a new adult, and the control from his father and the record label certainly wasn’t helping. You were his closest friend, his only true confidant that wasn’t an animal. He’d told you before how it felt that he wasn’t in control of his own life and how deeply it bothered him, but you thought it wasn’t any cause for concern at the time.
Now, Michael has seemed more tired. Less interested in outings. You attributed that to his rising solo success and the increasing amount of fans and paparazzi looking for him. Unfortunately, that’s not what was really bothering him.
He had been cutting meals, avoiding them all together when possible. The scale had been going missing from the bathroom more and more often. He didn’t want to buy his own although he could, worried that the press would catch him and makeup some degrading story about his mental state.
You’d noticed some more defined muscles in his arms and abdomen when his shirt rode up. Your hope was that it came from some kind of working out because he’d always been quite slim, but something still felt off to you deep down. Even if you didn’t bring it up.
A surprise visit to Hayvenhurst was your temporary solution, hoping to at least give him some general comfort if he really was suffering.
“Michael?” You call sweetly from the front door, having used your key that he wasn’t supposed to give you to open it.
Michael’s socked feet pad quietly in the dance studio, sweat dripping from his every pore and dripping to the floor. He can barely breathe, so incredibly exhausted from the hours and hours that he’s spent rehearsing.
The scale this morning told him that he’d plateaued, and he couldn’t allow that.
He pauses his obsessive dancing when he hears a voice.
“Y/N?” He asks in a breathless attempt at a shout.
His head peaks out of the studio and he walks towards the front hall, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on the way to avoid dripping everywhere.
“Oh!” His face lights up when he sees you, his shoulders rolling back to force his spin straighter and his lips pulling to show his big smile. “It’s you!”
“Yeah! How are you? I know I didn’t let you know I was coming over, but…surprise?” You try, gritting your teeth playfully as if he would ever be upset to see you.
“Don’t worry about it, I don’t have any plans.” He says happily, glad to have you here with him. “I was just practicing some choreography for my new album.”
“I can see that…” you laugh softly, looking him up and down.
His white t shirt is thin and absolutely soaked through. You can see his ribs through the shirt… you hadn’t noticed that before. You frown.
“Have you eaten today?” You ask gently, knowing it’s kind of a cliche, but wanting to be direct.
Michael’s eyebrows pinch together in momentary confusion, then he looks a little sad when he realizes that the mood is not longer as light and excited as it was moments ago.
“I— I, uh… I got a bit distracted…” he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and inadvertently displaying the thinness of his arm.
He didn’t want to tell you that he hadn’t eaten, but he hated the idea of truly lying to you. How disrespectful of him it would be to lie to the only person outside of his family who truly loves him?
You don’t want to come on strong about something like this, so you play a little coy, opting to, instead of confronting him, offer to make him something.
“Can I make you lunch? It’s 3 in the afternoon, you must be starving!” Your voice slides into a slightly lighter tone, not wanting to alienate him or make him feel uncomfortable.
He bristles a little at the offer of food, but nods anyway. He won’t disappoint you— even if you don’t know what’s going on in his head.
“A salad?” He asks weakly, a little worried that you’ll catch on because to him, it feels like everything is so obvious.
“Salad? What happened to the mashed potatoes and chicken?” You furrow your brows at him, already dragging him along to the kitchen.
“I, uhm…I’m a vegetarian now.” He says with a nervous little smile.
“Really? Just like that?” You tease lightly, obliging his request for salad because at least it’s something.
“Yeah. Just like that…” he laughs softly to alleviate some of his anxiety.
His eyes flit away, glancing at the floor almost as if he had done something wrong and was now sitting in the guilt of it.
“Is Caesar okay?” You ask gently, seeing that he’s starting to fall into himself a little bit.
He frowns a bit, knowing that that kind of salad is higher in calories than most.
“Would it be okay if you just used vinegar and salt?”
“Vinegar and salt? No oil?” You tilt your head at him. “Salads have oil, Michael.”
“I— I know they do, but I’ve been having it this way lately. It’s not bad.” He protests, trying not to seem defensive of his tactics, but it comes through anyway.
“Okay, what’s going on?” You ask more firmly, making him go docile immediately at your tone. “You’re acting really weird, sweetheart. Talk to me?”
He frowns again at the endearing nickname, hating to be hiding something from you.
You take his face in your hands, rubbing his cheekbones with your thumbs.
“Is it the food?” You ask, soft spoken now.
He nods weakly, shutting his eyes out of embarrassment. He’s silent for a moment then, just letting your warm hands hold his face while he gathers his thoughts.
“…y’know how I told you about not having any control?” His voice is thin like he wants to cry, but he doesn’t. “It’s that.”
“Oh, baby…” you hug him, feeling your chest ache with sympathy for him.
You can feel his heart thudding against this ribcage, his breathing getting a little more erratic. He’s obviously having mood swings from the malnourishment, he’s just usually better at catching them.
The warmth of his back seeps through his thin shirt as you rub in circles with your palm, wanting him to be okay.
“I just—” he chokes out in a squeak. “I just want to be—e in control of something…”
“I get it, sweetheart, I do…” you whisper, hoping that it helps to know that he’s not crazy. “But you could get sick this way… you know that, right?”
You pull away from the hug to look in his eyes so he truly understands the risks of what he’s doing.
He swallows hard, looking down and playing with his fingers. He looks so nervous, something he never was with you before.
“…I know.” He says finally. “I just…try not to think about it…”
“I’d miss you if something happened to you, Michael.” You state clearly, squeezing one of his hands. “Can we try to find something else to help you feel in control? Something less dangerous?”
The urge to shake his head is strong, to tell you that this is what he needs to do, but he can’t stand the thought that you’ve just put into his head, your grieving him if he were to go too far.
“Okay…” he agrees weakly, pulling you into another hug and tucking his face into your neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Michael.”
In this moment (like many others before), he feels eternally grateful to have a friend. To have someone to count on and notice things that are wrong. He loves you so much and ultimately, that’s the only thing in his head now.
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A/N: heavy topic but I haven’t really seen much about this, and I’ve struggled myself, so I figured it would make sense to explore this area. I have another version of this that’s a bit more angsty and dark, if anyone is interest in it, I can finish it and post it as well.
—I do not authorize my content to be fed to artificial intelligence—
masterlist | OTW!Michael Jackson x autistic!Reader
| Word Count: 1.4k
| CW: slight angst, insecurity (reader), social struggles, high functioning, undiagnosed autism, existence guilt (due to past experiences), fluff
Summary: While shopping, Michael bumps into the only other adult in the toy store. He tells her to come over the next day to hang out. She’s excited, but she’s worried that she’ll accidentally freak him out.
——————————————————
︎DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction depicts a real person and a fictional scenario. Nothing included in this story is implied to be accurate. This is a purely creative work and is not meant to offend, or make anyone uncomfortable.
Toys fill every shelf all around you. It’s overwhelming in a way, but you’re able to stay calm by the prospect of bringing home a new treat.
Your eyes scan over the aisle with sports equipment, fingers rubbing together at your sides.
There’s just so much to look at, so many things to choose from…
You feel your mind wandering, your eyes glazing over a little bit at the massive visual stimuli.
That is until you feel a tap on your shoulder.
It startles you and you yelp quietly. The one who tapped your shoulder looks remorseful that he scared you, but you suddenly don’t care that he did. It’s Michael Jackson.
His first big solo album, Off the Wall, has been on repeat in your house ever since it came out. It’s one of those hyperfixations that just never seems to let up.
“Hi?” He greets hesitantly, nervous smile on his face.
Your mind takes a moment to catch up, but when it does, your face cracks into a wide grin.
“Hi!” You chirp excitedly, clasping your hands together behind your back to avoid making any abnormal motions.
He laughs softly, smooth and a little lower than you’d expect.
“M’sorry to have startled you, but I never see other adults in here.”
“It’s no problem!” You say, quicker and louder than you would’ve liked to. It makes you cringe a little.
“Would you…well, would you maybe wanna hangout?” His hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck.
You’re a little shocked at his immediate offer after only a couple words spoken to eachother. Admittedly, you’re buzzing with the idea of being friends with him, but that familiar shame and fear has finally appeared in your gut anyway.
Friendships are not common for you, and any attempt has almost always ended in some kind of bullying. That pattern is not lost on you, and has caused you to shy away from potential friendships.
“Hangout?” You ask in a more casual voice, trying to avoid what’s scared off others in the past.
“Yeah,” He repeats with a gentle voice, sensing your sudden nerves. “You could come over to my place. I’ve got lots of animals and stuff. We could play with them.”
Your face lights up at the mention of animals. Being one of your main interests, animals are a great way to lure you in and bring your mood up.
“Oh!” You exclaim happily, clapping your hands a little bit. “I love animals!”
That makes him laugh again.
It’s not the mean kind of laugh that you sometimes hear, but it’s kind, amused and glad to have made you happy.
He pulls a little card out of his pocket and takes a marker out of a box on a shelf. His writing is pretty—a little messy, but still pretty.
You take the card with his address and the time to come over graciously, bouncing just slightly on the balls of your feet.
“Thank you so much,” you beam, slipping the card into the back pocket of your jeans.
“‘Don’t need to thank me,” he assures you, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “I always wanna make new friends.”
On the card, he wrote 3pm, hoping that you might stay long enough to see the gorgeous sunset behind the trees lining his property. He hopes that this friendship will work out, because, like you, he also struggles making friends. Everyone always seems to want something from him, but maybe you could be different. You seemed to like the same things as him, after all…
You wake up at your normal time the next day, but you feel tired. You were anxious when you fell asleep, and you were nervous when you woke up. It must’ve affected your sleep.
Pacing your halls, trying to plan out everything you’ll say and everything he’ll say back is exhausting, but you’re terrified. The anxiety of this not being a normal situation like it would usually be brings on a stomach ache and you have to sit down for a while.
You take out your “Passion Book” to distract yourself, flipping through the pages slowly until you feel your body settle.
The Passion Book is something of an Interest board, a collection of photos of things you’ve been obsessed with. It feels like home to you, like a grounding piece of yourself, because sometimes it feels like yourself is just a composite of your interests.
Before you know it, you’re smiling and lost in new concepts that your book sparked.
At noon, your alarm goes off. Every morning, you set alarms to make sure you do everything you need to do at exactly the right time. Today it comes in very handy because you hadn’t realized how long you spent looking at your photos.
You put on your favourite outfit, wanting to feel as comfortable and confident as possible to avoid any extra emotional disregulations.
Before leaving your house, you look at yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath and smoothing your hands over your clothes. You grab your Passion Book and head out.
In the cab, your leg bounces with increasing anxiety, your heart fluttery uncomfortably. You thought you’d don’t enough to avoid this…
You spend a couple minutes just sitting in the car once you arrive, needing some time to calm down and prepare yourself.
When you finally do feel well enough, you walk up to his front door and ring the doorbell, hands clenching the sides of your novel-sized photo book to ground yourself. You hope that Michael likes your book, that maybe the photos will captivate him the way they do you. But if they don’t, you hope he’ll just brush it off—you couldn’t bring yourself to leave it at home.
As soon as he hears the bell, he’s bounding to the door, so incredibly excited at the prospect of finally, finally making a real friend. He swings the door open and smiles brightly at you.
“Hi,” He greets politely, also not wanting to show his cards and scare you away.
“Sorry—h—hi, Michael,” you respond shyly, not feeling nearly as warmed up and social as you did in the toy store. Your body is flooding with that strange guilt, and you just hope that you haven’t already done something wrong.
His brows furrow when you open with an apology, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Are you alright?” He asks gently, not wanting to overstep, but not being able to ignore the way you’re almost shivering despite the warm weather.
“Y—yeah,” you try to laugh, holding your book to your body behind crossed arms. “I’m just nervous. I don’t really have a lot of friends…”
Your genuine admission makes his smile soften, making him feel just a little bit more comfortable knowing that you’re in the same boat as him.
“That’s okay,” he reassures you. “I don’t really have many friends either.”
“Really?” You lift your eyes to meet his, not really believing that someone as cool as him wouldn’t have lots of good friends.
“Yeah, that’s why I was so excited to see you at the toy store.” He explains. “It’s weird to most people. The interest in toys, I mean.”
“I think they’re the weird ones.” You mumble, not even intending it as a joke, but it makes him laugh either way.
“Hey, what’s that?” He asks when he notices the book grasped tightly to your chest.
The sick feeling immediately returns. Oh god, he’s going to think there’s something wrong with you the second he opens the book…
“Oh, it’s just…it’s just a photo album.”
He takes it from you carefully, flipping through the pages silently.
“I…I’m sorry,” you whisper shamefully after a minute, thinking that he’s uncomfortable now having seen the contents of the random book you brought with you. “I was going to leave it at home. I should have left it at home.”
He shakes his head without looking up right away.
“I’m not mad,” he says simply. “It’s pretty cool, actually.”
“You think so?” You smile slightly, his words making you feel just a bit warmer inside.
“I do,” he says easily. “I have some of these animals.” he points at the llamas and giraffes. “They’re out back. Do you wanna go see them?”
“If that’s alright?” You smile weakly.
“More than alright. That’s why you came over, no?” He teases, smiling warmly to make it obvious that he is in fact just teasing.
support writers!-›interactions greatly appreciated!
A/N: I myself am not diagnosed with autism, but I do fit the criteria and so this story was mostly just based on my experience. (I am diagnosed ADHD). I really hope this doesn’t come across as offensive in any way, I’ve just been thinking about it a lot. please let me know if my using the term autism in this context is offensive and I will adjust the description.
This was honestly supposed to be way more angsty, and I may do a rewrite with more angst, but this is where we are atm bc I HAVE to post smth.
not proofread and written while I was half asleep!
—I do not authorize my content to be fed to artificial intelligence—
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
| CW: 18+ explicit material, pet play but not rlly (no dress up or role playing), crying (Michael), subby subby Michael, handjob, oral (f receiving), patronizing, nervy Michael, sexual deprivation, leg humping if you squint
any era Michael, no/minimal reader or Michael physical description
| Summary: Michael has been deprived of his rightful place between your legs for a week now, and you’ve cruelly promised it to him just to keep him waiting.
︎DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction depicts a real person and a sexual scenario. Nothing included in this story is implied to be accurate. This is a purely creative work and is not meant to offend, or make anyone uncomfortable.
-> Michael is VERY submissive, please be aware before reading!
“Babyyyyy!” Michael whines, his big hands grabbing at your body. “I haven’t eaten in a week!!”
His cute pout that accompanies his protest is enough to make you swoon, but you like seeing him be so desperate.
“No, sweetheart,” you shake your head, laughing down at him and petting his soft hair as he clings to your thigh. “Why’re you so needy today, huh? I let you play with my boobs this morning, you needy thing.”
He hits his head on your leg, petulant and tortured.
“I know— I know you did, but… but, baby…” his huge eyes start watering as they stare up at you. “You promised me I could kiss you there if I didn’t whine all week! I did it, I did a good job! You said that I did!”
Fat tears roll down his flushed cheeks, his hips trying to rub his painful erection on your shin. You’ve left him aching for so long now, taking your time to really enjoy his anticipation becoming pathetic, deprived need.
His jaw is quivering under your touch as you cup it, swiping your thumb over his wet cheek bone. His whole body is tense or trembling or jerking with the silent sobs and delayed gratification that’s never seeming to come.
“Poor baby…” you frown sympathetically down at him.
He makes an almost animalistic sound, and you realize that he’s acting like a puppy right now. His eyes are so big and beggy, his lower body bucking at your leg, the whining…
“Oh god,” you whisper to yourself.
“W—what is it?” He asks, voice shaky and thin, obviously taking everything out of him.
“You’re a puppy.” You state, not explaining— not even when his wide eyes of shock turn into a quivering bottom lip and more tears.
His large hands come up to cover his face, embarrassment burning through his entire body.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whimpers, thinking he’s disgusted you with how needy he’s been. “I just— I can’t help it. It hurts, mama…”
“Shhh, no, puppy,” you tug his hand-mask from his face, needing to see how much praise he’s going to need to dial all of this back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”
Warm lips press to the top of his head and then his temple, a gesture that always physically calms him.
He’s still shivering, but at least he’s nuzzling into your leg a bit now. The look in his eyes tells you he feels a bit more stable with the reassurance, that the love is starting to seep back in.
“…you really wanna eat, puppy?” You ask, holding his chin.
He nods excitedly, eyes getting bigger.
“Yes! Oh, please, I need to. So bad.”
You ruffle his hair, finally giving him a little nod of permission.
Denim hits the floor with a hollow, muted thump and he’s already licking at your panties.
“Calm down,” you chastise him gently. “Take them off, pretty boy.”
He nods obediently and removes them, sliding them into the pocket of his pants discreetly. Your slick is under his tongue almost immediately and he’s pushing you onto the bed.
Legs spread by needy hands, he sucks and licks and kisses at your sweet cunt, whimpering and moaning happily at finally being able to have his mouth where it really belongs.
“That’s a good boy…” you coo at him, patronizing him because the wait wasn’t enough.
The expected reaction was that he would pout, but he actually seems to enjoy it, nudging his nose against your clit.
“Doing so good for me, aren’t you, pup?” He shivers at your continued praise and new pet name.
Pet names from you drive him wild, and suddenly he’s not just using his mouth to play with your yummy cunny, but trying desperately to get you to your peak.
He’s deeply satisfied when you’re the one suddenly whimpering and pushing him away by his shoulders. He laughs. Not cruelly, but happily.
“You’re so pretty from down there,” he states, hands digging into your hips and massaging them absentmindedly.
“Happy to please my sweetheart. Always.” You smile, bringing a loving kiss to his forehead. “Do you want me to play with you now?
His face breaks into a grin, excitement flooding his features.
“Yes, please!” He scrambles with his belt to get this achy thing out of his pants. “It’s really starting to hurt; please, go fast.”
“I’ve made you wait long enough,” you say, taking his cock in your hand. “I’m gonna let you come as fast as you need to, okay?”
He pulls you into a grateful hug as his needy hips buck up into your dry fist. You know it hurts; he’s whimpering in both pain and long awaited pleasure.
The nightstand squeaks when you pull out the drawer, grabbing the lube. You squirt some into your free hand and bring it down to his cock with the other one, revelling in the sweet sound he makes when he realizes this doesn’t have to be painful anymore.
His arms are still wrapped around you, and it makes the position odd, but he’s been too much of a good boy to make him move.
“Atta’ boy…” you coo lovingly, twisting your hands around his cock to make him whine in overstimulation. “Thought you had to come really bad? Where is it, baby? c’mon, hurry up. You can do it.”
Your voice is making his head swim, his thoughts turning into alphabet soup as he feels his orgasm finally, finally approaching.
“M’trying…” he whimpers pathetically, his cock twitching in your hands. “M’there, oh, please—…”
A laugh bubbles low in your chest as his babbling, his body and mind both clearly struggling.
The come lands on your breasts and under his jaw, the position allowing for an uncomfortable placing for his semen. You make a slightly disgusted sound as you realize some even got in your hair, but that’s overshadowed by Michael’s panting, his body slightly slumped against yours.
“Michael? Puppy?” You ask in a soft-spoken voice. “Are you okay?”
He’s silent for a moment before he nods into your shoulder.
“M’okay…” he mumbles, meekly pushing your fidgeting hands away from his soft, over sensitive cock. “…thank you.”
The whisper of thanks makes you smile, the kind of smile that comes from deep, internal happiness.
“It’s no problem, baby,” you sigh, kissing his flushed and slightly damp head. “You deserved it.”
He nuzzles into you, furthering your proof of his puppy-esc mannerisms. You laugh.
“Why’re you laughing?” He looks up at you, voice still meek.
“You’re just really cute, that’s all.”
support writers!->interactions greatly appreciated!
A/N: this is probably kinkier than anything I’ve ever posted but I was thinking abt it and what the hell it’s pretty hot. lmk if this is too much or if you guys want more
—I do not authorize my content to be fed to artificial intelligence—
| CW: 18+ sexual material, making out, groping, fwb (kind of), cumming in pants, patronizing, slightly subby Michael, a bit of vitiligo and insecurity (Michael) related angst, Michael picks up reader
| Summary: Michael’s family have all left on a vacation and he’s all alone in the Hayvenhurst house. He calls up his longtime friend to hangout and she comes right away. They’re close in a way that isn’t common, but feels right to them.
︎DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction depicts a real person and a suggestive scenario. Nothing included in this story is implied to be accurate. This is a purely creative work and is not meant to offend, or make anyone uncomfortable.
With the Hayvenhurst house empty for the first time in a long time, Michael feels free. His fingers pressing hard into each key of his grand piano in the grand entrance.
Normally, Michael plays the piano with a light touch, not wanting to trigger his father of his presence. But with his father gone, he’s free to let the melodies ring throughout the house.
His mind wanders, colours and cartoon characters creating a beautiful collage behind the notes. He has no fear, and his body is finally able to relax, even on the shellacked wood of the bench he’s perched on.
The song that comes together under the pads of his fingers starts to sound like words to him. Namely, words that describe you.
He stops playing and plops his hands onto his thighs and huffs; he misses you.
It’s been nearly two weeks since he saw you, and he’s really been missing you. If it were up to him, you’d live in his bedroom with him, but he doesn’t like having you around his dad. It’s like a gut feeling.
The house is empty now, though…
Your phone rings and nearly bounces off your kitchen counter with Michael’s call, almost as if it itself was overjoyed by the number.
You groan, spitting out the toothpaste in your mouth and rushing out of the bathroom to catch that call.
“Hello?” You ask, voice a little grumbly from sleep. You clear your throat away from the receiver.
“Baby?” Michael’s soft tone greets you, a smile blooming on your face with instant recognition. “Are you busy today?”
“Michael!” You almost squeak, the gleefulness in your voice making him twist the phone cord around his index. “No, I’m not busy at all. Why?”
He smiles to himself before responding through a light laugh.
“Just wonderin’ if you wan’ed to come over,” he bites his lip before continuing. “My whole family is out of town for the next few days and I thought… sleepover?”
The nervousness in his voice makes your chest warm and you frown in a happy, sympathetic way. Always such a bundle of nerves, that one…
“Of course, sweet,” you respond kindly, already glancing to your bedroom in excitement to get a nice outfit. “I’ll be over in the hour.”
Michael’s presence always warrants a nice outfit, and you never take that for granted. You don’t get the same opportunities to dress up as he does because of all his galas and awards shows, so this is a cherished tradition.
The search doesn’t take long and you decide on something functional, yet fashionable. You got your hair professionally cut and styled yesterday, and it really boosts everything about your look. You toss on some jewelry and you’re on your way in a half hour.
Michael makes a tray of snacks for the both of you while he waits for your arrival, plating it as pretty as he can. He sighs contentedly when your knock comes just as he’s placing the platter on the coffee table. Perfect timing.
He bounds to the door and captures you with his arms. You’re locked against him, squealing as he lifts you up off the ground.
Your feet only touch the ground again so that he can grab your face in his hands and kiss you, letting it linger until it’s just smiles pressed against one another.
“You’re so touchy today, Michael,” you giggle, rubbing your hands over his tiny waist.
“Mm,” he hums, pressing his lips back to yours. “Told you, family isn’t home. Wanna be normal with you again.”
His words are mumbled into your mouth, his tongue trying to find its way in too.
“Okay— okay, baby,” you put your hands on his chest and put some space between the two of you. “Let’s get inside first, hm?”
He looks sad for a moment before his face lights up. You give him a suspicious look but before you can say anything, he’s whisking you off your feet and gathering your body in his arms.
“Oh!” You gasp, eyes wide with awe. “When did you get so strong?”
“Come on,” he rolls his eyes as he kicks the front door shut. “Gimme’ some credit; I’m still a guy.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” you assure, letting your lips press along his strong jawline. “‘Wasn’t takin’ a shot at you.”
He smiles down at you in his arms and takes you into the living room, tossing you onto the plush couch before diving onto it beside you.
“I made snacks.” He points excitedly at the charcuterie board on the table infront of you. “All your favourite things.”
“Ooo,” you pick up a finger food and pop it into your mouth. “It’s perfect. Thanks, sweet.”
He blushes at the nickname, something he’s always been sensitive to with you.
You’re his best friend and you’ve been his safe space for his entire adult life. Naturally, your relationship became almost as close as a couple. But when he finally tried to take your bra off while you guys were… cuddling, you stopped him. That led to a serious discussion about how your relationship would function.
He agreed that a girlfriend wasn’t what he needed, and you said the same. But he also mentioned that physical touch was important to him and made him feel comfortable, that he’d really miss kissing you and having free-roam access to your body.
You understood his need for intimacy, and decided to continue it even after settling on being ‘just friends’.
The relationship would be complicated to explain to anyone outside of it, but between the two of you, it was incredibly simple.
“M’glad you like it.” he smiles, and stares, his eyes going all puppy-like the longer he looks at you. “…I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”
His hand finds your forearm and rubs it kindly. He sighs softly, a little tired.
“Everything has been kind of stressful lately, and— and it’s been kind of, well, lonely…” he admits quietly. “…Do you mind if we do that thing?”
His meek request makes you frown, pulling his body to your chest on instinct.
“Yeah, we can.” You answer simply, messing with the hair by his temples as you feel his heartbeat calm against your breasts. “Right here is okay?”
He nods, trying to discreetly nuzzle his face into your barely visible cleavage. It makes you laugh softly, his neediness so sweet— hence the nickname.
Your hand slides down to his thigh, rubbing it soothingly before it works its way closer to his sensitive places. His hips nudge forward with a quiet whimper into your soft breasts, encouraging your hand to pet his inner thigh.
“Shh, baby,” you hush him, kissing the top of his head. “I’m not teasing you, you can relax.”
He visibly relaxes at your gentle words, his arms wrapping lazily around your waist. His lips start pressing kisses to the silky skin where his face has been resting. It sends a shiver down your spine.
The bulge in his pants is starting to become visible and you keep your promise, cupping your hand over his crotch and pushing your palm down slightly. He gasps and moves to tuck his now warm face into the crook of your neck.
“Been a while, hasn’t it, sweet?” You coo, almost patronizing, just the way he likes it.
He manages a pathetic nod, not daring to show his face at this point.
“I’ll take care of it,” you assure him, tucking your free hand under his chin and lifting it up to kiss him. “Do you want me to take it out?”
“No—” he almost cries. “Please, don’t.”
His reaction makes you frown.
“I won’t, Michael,” you kiss the words into his mouth. “Don’t worry.”
He smiles weakly, grateful that you’re being understanding and not asking any questions.
You squeeze his cock through his pants, swallowing his shameful little whimpers. Your thumb rubs the side of the bump, finding where his sensitive tip is to stimulate it.
His hips rut against your hand, trying to reach his climax without you ever actually making direct contact with his cock. He presses his face straight back into your boobs.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, baby,” you coo into his soft curls, smelling his girly hair products that he absolutely isn’t shy about. “All twitchy already. Let it go, sweet.”
He nearly starts crying at your kind, patronizing words, his body getting ready to release and mixing his mind up.
The come makes a small mark on his pants and he pulls one of your thighs between his legs to—shamefully— hump through his orgasm.
It’s always magical to watch him finish, like his brain is short circuiting and all he wants is to be right up against your body.
You laugh quietly into his hair and he notices it as he starts to come down. He lets go of your thigh and pouts, staring down at the new stain on his pants.
“…don’t laugh…” he mumbles, embarrassed.
“I’m not laughing at you, Michael, I promise.” You shake your head, still laughing. “I just think it’s cute. Here— c’mon, kiss me.”
You pull his face up and kiss him, powering through his pout until he melts into the kiss.
“Do you feel better?” You ask after allowing him some time to calm down.
“Yes, much better.” He smiles bashfully. “And— and I… I guess I owe you an explanation for that little outburst…”
He nervously rubs the back of his neck.
“You don’t owe me anything.” You kiss him reassuringly. “But, yeah, do you wanna talk about that?”
It’s silent for a moment, and you can tell that this is a sensitive thing for him.
“…The… vitiligo. It’s, uhm… it’s spreading.” He finally admits, averting his eyes.
“Oh,” you frown, glancing down at his crotch. “You didn’t think I’d care about that, did you?”
“No, I— I didn’t think that you’d say anything.” He rushes to reassure you. “It’s just… I haven’t gotten used to it myself yet.”
“It’s okay, baby,” you take his hand and rub your thumb on the back of it. “I can’t imagine how something like this can mess with someone’s head.”
He smiles at you, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks and pull you in for a thankful kiss.
“You’re my favourite,” he whispers. “I love you I love you I love you—”
“Okay!” You giggle, pushing him off of you to save yourself from being smothered. “I love you too, sweet.”
support writers!->interactions greatly appreciated!
A/N: this wasn’t supposed to be angsty at all but here we are… I was half asleep writing this so if it doesn’t make sense, that’s why 😭 also this is my first Michael fic so lmk if you guys want more!
—I do not authorize my content to be fed to artificial intelligence—
Hi, can you please make a submissive Michael fit. Specifically in his thriller era, any trope will do. Also maybe add a jealousy plot. Please ive been looking for a fic like that and i couldn’t find any, and I really love your work too.
| Summary: On the set of the Thriller short film, you spend a little too much time with John Landis and unintentionally make Michael feel left out.
———————————————————————————
︎DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction depicts a real person and a sexual scenario. Nothing included in this story is implied to be accurate. This is a purely creative work and is not meant to offend, or make anyone uncomfortable.
You spent all day talking to John. You laughed with him, laying your hand playfully on his arm.
Michael felt sick. His pretty girl, essentially on the arm of another man…
He hung back, by walls, half hidden behind props and people. He felt shameful, almost.
It was weird, he knew you were his girl, and that you loved him dearly, but he was for some reason absolutely certain that you’d now break up with him for this man.
You noticed Michael’s distance, having gotten used to him being stuck to your side for the last six months. It had you constantly glancing around the area during conversations, probably coming off as rude. You didn’t pay any mind to how you were being perceived.
Michael nervously played with his hands, standing in the corner of the rehearsal room, dreading the moment when you’d come up to him and tell him it was over.
He was so caught up in thought that he didn’t hear you approach.
“Sweetheart?” Your honeyed voice came.
His eyes lifted and he immediately felt a wave of sadness.
You walked closer, he closed up.
“I’m sorry…” he mumbles.
Your head cocks to the side, brows furrowing in confusion and concern.
“Sorry? Whatever for, Michael?”
There it was. His real name. It was coming.
He felt tears filling his eyes.
“It’s okay, I— I promise.” He chokes out, his hand rubbing his opposite forearm in a self-soothing motion.
Guilt radiates off him in waves and makes your own stomach twist up in knots.
“Baby— what are you talking about?” You try again, wanting desperately to know what’s upset your sweet boy this much.
Heat blooms under your fingers where they now lay on his cheeks and jaw, cupping his pretty face. The tears in his eyes are now clear to you and you don’t even know what’s wrong.
“…you.” He says simply, gesturing to you weakly. “You want to be with John. It’s okay.”
His eyes avert to the smooth wooden floor, shame clawing its way through his veins.
You frown. Your heart aches, and as if it wasn’t enough, he continues.
“and I’m sorry,” his voice catches. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you everything you needed.”
“Oh, baby…” you pull him into a tight hug, tucking his face in your neck and kissing his head. “I don’t want to be with John.”
His back is trembling under your rubbing palm and he stays silent for a minute or so before pulling his tear-streaked face from the crook of your neck.
“…are you sure?” He asks, voice shaky and quiet with a crushing self doubt. “You just— you looked so happy with him…”
“Michael,” you laugh gently, running your thumb over his jawline. “If only you could see what I look like when I’m with you.”
You hug him again for a second before pulling away to kiss him properly.
“Why did you just assume that I’d leave you for some rando that made me laugh a little?”
He shrugs, not answering and chasing your lips. You laugh and push him back enough that he can’t reach your face.
“C’mon, baby, talk to me.”
Groaning, he drops his head onto your shoulder. With a huff, he explains that he felt a lot of things when he saw you so close with John. First it was jealousy— a deep, burning jealously. But then it was shame. Who was he to feel any claim over you? Once that thought crossed his mind, there was only sadness and guilt. It had to have been his fault that you were looking elsewhere, right?
You listened intently to his soft, rapid voice. The urgency to explain everything quickly enough that you wouldn’t misunderstand one part because you hadn’t heard the next yet.
When he was done, he hugged you again, knowing better than to go for your lips again after you stopped him.
“You’re allowed to be jealous, Michael,” you tell him, patting his back. “I am your girlfriend.”
That draws a laugh from him, his shoulders shaking against you.
“You are…” he agreed quietly, hands finding your waist.
His touch is gentle, nervous and careful in a way you’d expect to have passed by this point in the relationship. But not with Michael.
“Mm,” you hum, fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck. “And what did you want to do when you first felt jealous? The first thing that came to mind.”
He thinks, tilting his head and looking at a the ceiling for a moment.
“I wanted to push John away from you,” he admits easily. “And…”
He trails off then, finding that part a little harder to admit to.
“And what?” You encourage, giving him a quick kiss.
“I… I wanted to show him that you were mine.” He says finally, bashful smile stretching across his beautiful face. “Y’know, kiss you and… and maybe grab you a little bit.”
“Grab me, huh?” You tease, absentmindedly playing with his soft curls. “I’d have to imagine that that thought got you a bit worked up…”
His cheeks warm and you swear you can see them getting redder.
“Well, I—I wasn’t…” he tries to laugh off your increasingly sexual words, but it comes off nervous. “It wasn’t like I had a, y’know…”
“Hm.” You hum, a hand wandering down the front of his torso. “Oh. But, Michael, what’s this?”
The bulge in his pants fills out the cup of your palm and he groans in embarrassment.
“M’sorry, baby,” he mumbles. “It’s just… when you kissed me…”
“Sensitive boy…” you coo patronizingly. “Do you wanna go to your dressing room?”
He nods meekly.
“Yes, mama,” he adds in a quiet, obedient voice.
The pet name is one that he only uses in bed and it makes butterflies appear suddenly in your stomach. You smile at the feeling and drag him by his hand to his private, locking room.
He sits on the couch in the room right away, hands clasped together in his lap. His back is straight and his eyes are focused on his fiddling fingers as you lock the door.
“How’s that boner feeling, love?” You ask in a sincere voice, even if the question sounds crude or teasing.
“Don’t call it that…” he mumbles, his hands moving instinctively to cover his crotch.
Erections are rather embarrassing in his mind, even around you.
“…it’s fine.” His meek voice adds.
“Can I ride you?” You ask, removing your belt and jeans.
His Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat before answering.
“Of course.”
“Okay. Pants off, pretty boy.” You instruct, sitting down next to him on the couch and rubbing his shoulder.
Obeying immediately, he undoes his belt and chucks his pants somewhere on the floor.
The thickened, hard length of his cock is visible through his briefs, and it makes you bite your lip.
“Take it out.” Your voice comes, low and commanding.
Goosebumps prickle his soft skin and he shivers, taking an extra moment before reaching into his cotton underwear and pulling his cock out.
“Prettiest boy,” you coo as you catch sight of his cock, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss.
Your thighs bracket his and you settle yourself down enough to rub your slick cunt on the length of him.
He makes a pathetic sound into your mouth, but that only fuels the butterflies.
“Put it in now,”
Your instructions keep him grounded, keep his imaginative mind from wandering too far from the sensations.
His hand comes down to grasp his warm shaft, guiding its weeping tip to your opening.
It presses at its entrance, eager and aching. You let yourself sink slowly, accepting every inch with silent gratitude.
When he’s filled you to the hilt, you lay down against his chest, his hand finding your back.
He doesn’t ask to start, just gently rocks his hips up into yours, drawing soft moans from your lips that he wants to kiss so very badly.
“Baby— ” he nearly begs after a minute. “Wanna kiss you.”
You smile at his needy voice and lift your face from his rapidly rising and falling chest.
His mouth finds yours as soon as it’s in his sights, his tongue tucking itself behind your front teeth to keep you there.
It makes you giggle, but that’s cut short by a moan, jostling of the laugh forcing his cock right up against your sweet spot.
“There, mama?” He asks, voice breathless and eager to please.
You nod, sneaking a hand between your tightly packed bodies to rub your clit.
“No—no,” he whines, sounding genuinely upset that you’d even think of depriving him of dragging you to your climax. “Let me rub it, please, baby…”
The sweetness that radiates off him makes you smile and grab his face to kiss him more deeply, allowing for his own hand to find your sensitive nub.
He plays with it while thrusting sloppily up into you, nearing his edge. You can feel him twitching inside, notice his kiss becoming less involved as he tries to block out reality to last a little longer.
“It’s okay, pretty boy,” you coo reassuringly, kissing all along his jawline. “You’re allowed to—mm—to come.”
His hand not focused on your clit squeezes your waist in thanks, his body now allowing itself to peacefully climb to climax.
He pinches your bundle of nerves and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to cry out in pleasure into the crook of his neck. Your orgasm washes over you in waves, your gummy cunt squeezing his cock in bursts.
A spasms grasps Michael’s cock and he whimpers, holding you tight to him before you feel milky substance coating your insides and Michael sigh beside your ear.
You come down first, pressing lazy, thankful kisses to his collarbone.
“Felt great, baby,” you praise, rubbing his side.
“Mm,” he hums, eyes still shut as the last of his orgasm rushes through him. “Always wanna make you come…”
His voice is mumbly and tired and you can tell that that took a bit out of him.
“Tired?”
“Mhm…”
You lift yourself off his soft cock, putting your panties on quickly to avoid any of his come leaking onto your thighs.
He looks at you, confused that you’re getting off his cock so quickly.
“Just going to tell John that we’re leaving early,” you say with a smile.
“Wait— ” he tries, but you shush him.
“You’re tired.”
He shuts his mouth and accepts your decision to take him home early. He’s such an obedient boyfriend.
You dress yourself and disappear to break the news to John, returning with a big smile and a fast food cup of orange juice to go.
“Thank you, baby,” Michael smiles as he takes the drink from you, sipping some from the straw as you locate his clothing.
He puts his clothes on himself, but you insist on doing up his pants for him. It’s intimate and you both enjoy it a great deal.
Bill arrives quickly, and you allow Michael to fall asleep on your shoulder in the back of seat of his expensive car.
support writers!-›interactions greatly appreciated!
A/N: the switching of tenses made sense when I wrote this, so I’m gonna leave it. thank you for the request, by the way! sorry if this was more angsty than you intended, but it’s just how the story unfolded as I was writing it.
this is not proof read!
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Michael is officially no longer in my theaters I’m so bugged I’ll cry
I watched it five times and wanted to go oneeee lassstttt timmeeee before it’s taken off but didn’t have time to :( end of an era ig, but till Michael 2!!
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respectfully, if you’re not a fan of michael jackson, don’t come here and complain about the MICHAEL JACKSON FAN WORK made by MICHAEL JACKSON FANS, you’re making yourself look stupid, like… why are you even here…?
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