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┊ ♡ ﹒ summary : michael’s feeling a bit insecure because his vitiligo is starting to affect his private parts and it’s making you spiral because you haven’t gotten dick in months so you think you’re the problem. fortunately for him? you think his dick is still pretty and you’re still going to slobber on it and show him a REAL thriller night.
┊ ♡ ﹒ byi : smut 🔞, michael’s vitiligo is the main point of “conflict”, oral sex (male receiving), shy michael, reader is high strung and a little ditzy (bimbo), a little bit of angst if you squint. some self esteem issues. had fun writing this!
The first few times, you didn’t think much of it.
Michael was busy and exhausted, that was expected. Michael had always carried the entertainment industry on his back, and it wasn’t unusual for work to follow him home. So, when he rolled over with an apologetic smile or distracted you with a kiss against your forehead before things could go any further, you accepted it without question.
Then weeks became months.
The affection never disappeared. If anything, it seemed to increase. Michael still reached for your hand in public. Still pulled you against him on the couch. Still buried his face in your neck when he came home after long days. He still looked at you with love so obvious that you could see tiny little hearts in his pupils. Yet somewhere along the way, a distance had developed between you. Not emotional distance but physical distance. You know.. sexually. Every time the relationship threatened to cross a certain.. threshold, he found a reason to retreat.
Michael took care of you in other ways though: his hands, his mouth, even his thigh but you couldn’t remember the last time he really fucked you. Or, actually maybe you could! It was about three months ago—you rode him at four in the morning before he had to get ready for an early morning flight out to attend an award show. But that’s not the point here! The point is, when he came back, things changed. And of course, you enjoyed the alternatives but there is truly nothing like feeling all six inches of his dick digging into you.
And at first, you blamed circumstances.
Eventually, you started blaming yourself.
The following weeks were a disaster, diva.
You changed your hair, changed it again. Then you became convinced the first version had actually looked better and spent three days mourning it. You switched nail colors so many times that your nail tech eventually stopped asking questions and just started staring at you with growing concern because you were starting to work her nerves. Long nails! Short nails! Red! Pink! Nude! French tips! Nothing seemed helped. Every appointment had the optimism of a woman who was genuinely convinced that the solution to her problems might be hiding inside a bottle of acrylic powder. It never was.
You bought new clothes.
You rearranged your makeup routine.
You spent a ridiculous amount of (his <3) money on skincare products advertised by women who were so obviously professionally done in makeup.
At one point, you became convinced that a boob job would somehow save your relationship.
A boob job would not save your relationship but mostly because your relationship wasn’t actually in danger. But to be fair, you just didn’t know that yet.
The problem was that once insecurity took root, it became impossible to think normally. Suddenly every mirror was an enemy, every picture of yourself fueled your dilemma and every minor flaw you found turned into a very big one. You stood in front of mirrors turning your head from side to side like a confused puppy.
Maybe it was your hair.
Maybe it was your body.
Maybe your skin looked weird.
Maybe your face looked weird.
Maybe you needed botox?
The theories became increasingly unhinged.
By the end of the second month, you had somehow managed to convince yourself that Michael no longer desired you because of a collection of microscopic imperfections that literally nobody else on Earth had ever noticed. The longer Michael avoided sex, the easier it became to convince yourself that there had to be a reason. A person didn’t simply wake up one day and stop wanting someone they loved.
So naturally, the explanation had to be you.
There was simply no other possibility.
Certainly not Michael Jackson, like.. thee Michael Jackson? Get real. A man who instinctively apologizes to inanimate objects after bumping into them. A man who asks you to send his food back because he doesn’t want the staff to feel bad. A man whose default response to conflict is both palms up and hoping the issue is resolved without much confrontation.
No. Clearly the issue wasn’t him.
By the time Michael finally came home from the studio that night, you’d already prosecuted the case, delivered the verdict, and sentenced yourself accordingly. The only problem was that nobody had bothered informing the defendant.
Michael knew something was wrong the moment he walked through the front door.
And not because you said anything weird. In fact, the opposite. You greeted him with a bright smile and an enthusiastic, “Hi, baby!” before immediately returning to furiously wiping down a perfectly clean kitchen counter. The surrounding area smelled aggressively of purple fabuloso. Every surface sparkled pristinely, the furniture had been rearranged—there wasn’t a single thing out of place.
Michael glanced at the clock on the stove. It was nearly two in the morning and exhaustion lingered in the slope of his shoulders. The Bad sessions had been consuming him lately, turning days into nights and nights into mornings. Normally he returned home looking drained, tonight however, the fatigue seemed to disappear the second he got a proper look at you.
He smiled to himself.
Stress cleaning.
He’s learned this quirk of yours long ago. Stress cleaning only happened when something was deeply upsetting that pretty little heart of yours. Normal people cried. Some people yelled. You wanted to flip houses. And that was okay.
“How was the studio?” you asked cheerfully, already moving on to a cabinet door that did not need cleaning. Michael slowly set his bag down on the kitchen island. The smile on your face looked.. suspiciously forced and assembled in a hurry, your eyes red and puffy.
“It was real good.”
“That’s good.” You continued scrubbing.
For a few moments, Michael kept watching you. The way you moved from one task to another without actually accomplishing anything. The way you wiped surfaces that were already spotless. The way your smile appeared and disappeared depending on whether you thought he was looking. A lesser man might have missed it. Michael didn’t.
Slowly, he crossed the room. “Baby love.” The nickname was soft, gentle. And it usually made you look at him.
This time, it didn’t.
Michael’s smile faded slightly. He’s worried.
“Hey.” His hand settled lightly against your arm, stopping your endless circuit around the kitchen and only then did you glance up. The concern in his eyes nearly made you cry all over again. After spending weeks convincing yourself that Michael no longer wanted you, it felt deeply unfair that he still looked at you like that. With that stupidly beautiful face like your sadness mattered.
“You okay?” The question was simple.
And you hated it because it would’ve been much easier if he’d been cold. So much easier if he’d actually done something wrong. Instead, here he was. Standing in front of you after a fourteen hour day, still more interested in your feelings than his own exhaustion.
You nodded too quickly. “I’m fine, Mikey.”
Michael tilted his head. Patient. Skeptical. And entirely unconvinced. “You’re not.”
His statement wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t even challenging. Just super matter of fact like noticing rain through a window.
You laughed weakly and turned back toward the counter. “I am.”
“This spot is about sick of you wipin’ it..” Your hand froze and Michael’s mouth twitched. “You wiped it about five times.”
The laugh that escaped you sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Immediately, the hint of amusement vanished from his face. Without saying anything else, he gently took the rag from your hand and set it aside. And he reached for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest.
Michael rested his cheek against the top of your head, one hand slowly smoothing over your back as he held you there. Waiting. Patiently. The way he always did. Because Michael had never been the sort of person who demanded answers.
The problem was that once you finally opened your mouth, you weren’t entirely sure you could stop.
The first sound that escaped you wasn’t a sentence.
It was a wail.
A loud, ugly sob that seemed to surprise even you.
Michael immediately froze.
Because one second he was rubbing slow circles into your back and the next he was staring down at you with wide eyes, completely confused. “Hey..”
“I’ve been tryin’ to fix it!” You managed to get out through your cry.
“Fix what?”
“Whatever’s wrong with me!” You wiped your nose. “I changed my hair. I changed my nails. I bought all those dresses!”
Michael looked bewildered. “Why? Why would you think you need to fix somethin’? There’s nothing wrong with you, pretty girl..”
“Because!” You cry again. “You won’t fuck me!”
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Complete, suffocating silence.
You watched the realization arrive in stages. First confusion, as he tried to understand what you were actually saying. Then understanding. Then immediate, unmistakable embarrassment. His entire face went red so quickly it was almost impressive. The color climbed from his neck to his cheeks and straight into the tips of his ears. Michael looked away at once, suddenly finding the refrigerator, the cabinets, the floor, and quite possibly the structural integrity of the kitchen tiles more interesting than making eye contact.
“Oh.” The word emerged strained.
You sniffled miserably. “’s what I've been talking about this whole time..”
Another pause followed. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more flustered with every passing second. He looked like a man desperately searching for an emergency exit that didn’t exist.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“No, not okay,” He corrected immediately. “I mean..” His voice trailed off and the poor man looked completely mortified.
“That's what this is about?”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, Michael!”
Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.
Because he was embarrassed.
Utterly, completely embarrassed.
For months you’d apparently been carrying this hurt around by yourself, blaming your hair, your nails, your clothes, your body, your face, your existence. Meanwhile, he had been operating under an entirely different misunderstanding. Now he had to explain himself, which unfortunately required discussing a subject that already had him blushing so hard he looked overheated.
The heat spread further down his neck.
“Michael.”
“I’m trying..”
”You’re making me anxious!”
He groaned softly and covered part of his face with one hand. “’m trying to figure out how to say it..”
You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting back tears because the sight would’ve been funny under different circumstances. Here you were having the emotional breakdown while Michael looked seconds away from dissolving into the floorboards.
“Baby,” he said quietly.
“What is it, Michael?”
His gaze dropped again. “You really thought I didn’t want you.. like that anymore?” The sheer disbelief in his voice almost offended you.
“Well, what was I supposed to think!” The question seemed to connect the dots for him because from your perspective, the conclusion made perfect sense. And suddenly his embarrassment gave way to guilt.
Deep, genuine guilt.
Because now he understood what these past months had looked like through your eyes. You hadn’t been obsessing over your hair or your dresses because you were vain, not that he would even mind anyway. You’d been trying to solve a problem, trying to fix something you believed was wrong with you.
When in reality, it had never been about you at all.
Michael swallowed then looked down at the floor. “It’s spreading.”
Your brow furrowed. “Huh?”
There’s long pause. “The vitiligo.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “It’s spreading.” It seemed like he might stop there, he’d already said more than he wanted to but he forced himself to continue.
“On..” He swallowed. “Those parts.” The blush returned.
“Oh.” Your expression was unreadable.
Michael laughed softly, humorlessly. “It looks different now.” His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “I know it shouldn’t bother me.. but it does.” The words came out small as he continued. “I just..” He shook his head. “It’s ugly.”
You just stared at him and then stared some more. Blinked.
Because you were furious.
Absolutely, incandescently furious.
Months?
You had spent months without his dick, crying in bathroom, changing your hair, buying new clothes, and conducting increasingly deranged investigations into your own appearance while this man had been convincing himself that you would somehow stop loving him.
First of all, you didn’t even play like that.
“Ugly?” You repeated.
Michael visibly shrank. “Lovey, I—”
“Ugly?”
His eyes squeezed shut.
Before Michael could start apologizing, you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Hard. And the sound he made was mostly surprise as you felt it more than heard it.
When you finally pulled back, Michael looked thoroughly stunned, curls slightly disheveled, cheeks still hot.
“You are ridiculous.”
“Okay.” Its all he can say, really.
Another kiss. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”
Somewhere between your outrage and Michael’s flustered attempts to explain himself, the conversation dissolved completely. Every time he tried to apologize, you interrupted him with a kiss. Every time he attempted to look away, you guided his attention back. By the time you found yourselves stumbling toward the bedroom, Michael looked overwhelmed in the particular way he always did whenever he realized he was being loved much more aggressively than he’d anticipated.
Michael lingered at the edge of the bed, still looking uncertain with the traces of insecurity that had brought the two of you here in the first place. You could see it in the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the way he avoided your gaze.
You moved closer as you sat between his thighs on your knees. “Michael.”
He glanced up at you. “Show me.”
Michael blushed as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, hesitating before lifting his hips an inch to slide them down along with his boxers in the hooks of his thumbs. His initial reaction when he settled back down was to cover himself, for his big hands to hover protectively over his cock to shield your pretty eyes but he knew better. His hands trembled slightly as he revealed his semi hard cock, glancing up at you with eyes that look like he’s maybe expecting rejection or laughter. But he’s not met with any of that. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes because you’re staring at it and maybe if he closes his eyes, it would make him invisible. Michael knows it won’t but, it makes him feel a little better about exposing the dick he’s hid for months.
He hesitantly reached down, his beautiful fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped them loosely around his length. He gave it a gentle tug upward, his breath hitching at the soft sound that escaped him. The motion was tentative—careful he was unsure if he should even be doing this in the first place. Was this even a good idea? What was he thinking? What are you thinking?
Michael opens his eyes a little, to peek at you. Wait. Why were you looking at him like that? Like you.. like this or something? His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he kept his gaze lowered, unable to meet your gaze.
Because.
The look in your eyes was genuinely humiliating. Women had fought for your right to vote and own property only for you to sit there staring at Michael like you’d never had a coherent thought in your life. The look in your eye wasn’t remotely mysterious. There are novels worth of yearning written across your face.
You looked at him with shameless affection and a viseral need that would’ve embarrassed a lesser woman. Every thought seemed to be written plainly across your face. A very obvious: oh my God, it’s so fucking pretty. I need this in my throat.
Your hands slid slowly up his thighs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He let out a shaky breath as you gently pushed his hands away, replacing them with your own. His hips twitched instinctively at the contact and he squeezed his eyes shut again, face burning as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his length instead.
Fuck, its been so long since you had his dick in your hands.
You could see what he’d been referring to. What he’s been so insecure about enough to hide from you and lose sleep over.
It’s different than what it was the last time you saw it. Yeah.
But his vitiligo had created a beautiful, unique pattern across his cock. His shaft was like a piece of abstract work of art; creamy ivory petal shaped patches mixed with brown and pink sections in a way that reminded you of neapolitan ice cream. His balls sat beneath with the same splashes of paler pigment.
“It’s so pretty, Michael.. You were hiding this from me?” you murmured softly, leaning in close. Before he could stammer out a response, your tongue darted out to taste him, starting at the base of his beautiful marbled shaft. You dragged your tongue upward along one of the paler patches, earning a sharp, breathless gasp from him.
Michael’s thighs trembled under your hands as your tongue traced the intricate patterns across his sensitive flesh. “You—you think it’s still pretty?” he breathed, voice cracking with disbelief as he finally looked down at you through lidded eyes. His hips bucked forward instinctively as you swirled around his tip, his shyness melting into need. ”I always thought it was ugly..”
“So pretty, baby..” You murmured against his cock. “Can’t believe you were worried about me not liking it.. God, Michael, he’s gorgeous—can’t wait to feel him cum. Missed him so much, did he miss me?”
“Don’t—don’t talk like that about it..” He manages to say.
The pattern continued across his pelvic area, lighter patchwork breaking through some of his deeper skin tone like poured cream, soft patches drifted across his mons pubis into delicate maps of contrast. Further down, his thighs bore the same mesmerizing pattern, ivory splashes dancing along the inner and outer legs that stretched down toward his knees.
Michael had gotten very good at hiding it. The lower half of his body was easy enough. He rarely wore anything that revealed much skin anyway, so long pants, socks, loafers, and layers concealed most of the areas the public never saw. It was the visible places that required the real effort. His face. His hands. His arms. The parts constantly photographed, filmed, and scrutinized. Topical treatments and makeup helped even out some of the discoloration there, making it easier to step in front of cameras without drawing attention to every new change.
The areas hidden beneath clothing were different. There was no makeup artist touching them up before an appearance. No careful lighting or tricks to soften what he saw. They existed entirely in private, which somehow made them harder to ignore. Michael knew his body intimately and because he spent so much time looking for changes on his face and hands, he noticed every new patch everywhere else too. What most people never would have thought twice about became impossible for him to overlook, leaving him alone with insecurities nobody else even knew he carried.
Standing at its full size, Michael’s cock was a sight—thick and long but it wasn’t.. overly large. He had perfect boyfriend dick, a dick big enough to stretch you out but not so big it would hurt every time you attempted to just sit on it.
He looked down at himself, then at you and his cheeks flushed deeply as he realized how hard he was and just how good you were sucking his dick. He’s not going to last long.
Your mouth closed around him, taking him deep into your throat while your fingers gripped the sparse curls of his pubic hair. Michael let out a broken moan, head falling back and surrendering completely as your warm mouth overwhelmed his usual hesitance.
You pressed your tongue flat against the sensitive underside of his cock, dragging it slowly from base to tip. The broad and smooth surface of your tongue applied pressure against a particular throbbing vein, earning a deep and guttural moan from him. His hips jerked involuntarily, his knuckle in between his pearly whites as he watched you with furrowed brows.
It was filthy.
“M gonna—finish, gonna—’M gonna..” He whined, voice strained. ”Where do you want it? In your m-outh? On your face? Don’t know where to put it..” His hands gripped the sheets tightly, tugging just slightly as his body coiled with impending release.
You pulled back, wrapping your hand around his cock instead, jerking him off fast and tight just how he liked it. ”Cum on my face, baby.” You urged, looking up at him with lust glazed eyes. “Paint me so pretty, just like this fucking dick..”
It only took three more rough strokes before he was cumming, a strangled moan escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled across your face. It landed on your cheeks, dripped down your chin, splashed across your lips and even some hitting your forehead and hair. His hips stuttered against your fist as he emptied himself completely, trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. “Baby.. baby..”
As the last few drops dripped onto your face, Michael slumped forward slightly, breathing heavily as he looked down at you with gratitude. He gently moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing away some of the cum that coated your skin. “Thank you..”
A/N: Reader is also plus size in this. It’s briefly mentioned and you don’t have to imagine that if you don’t want to.
Also when I think of which era goes best, I think anything from Bad era and afterward would make sense? Also I didn’t proofread this so there might be mistakes lol
Tags: 18+, Smut in the second half, fluff, just Michael being cute.
- You would probably meet him during one of his short film productions. You being his hair stylist for the video.
- Fidgeting. Lots of fidgeting on his end. Whether it was talking to someone or simply moving his head around, it was still too much for you.
- “Sit down, Michael.”
- You had used your mom voice and that made him listen, actually sitting back for you now.
- Actually apologizes and sits still for the remainder of the time being. He would thank you afterwards too :)
- He would find some excuse to talk to you after that, even taking “drastic” measures to stay in your chair longer. Or maybe he just wanted you to play with his hair some more while you talked. He liked listening to your voice.
- Bobby pins? Gone. Braids? Ponytails? Undone. Curls? Soaking wet. Definitely not from your spray bottle that went missing ten minutes ago.
- You would scold him every time, but he’s just sit there with a big grin on his face, relishing in your quick but gentle movements. He would always pray for them to last just five minutes longer.
- You two actually grew kinda close during the film production. Giving each other nicknames, having inside jokes and even telling a bit about yourselves.
- Production was coming to a close, though, and he finally worked up the nerve to ask you out.
- You gave him a shy but also worried smile. You told him you had to tell him something first and foremost.
- His heart dropped to his ASS thinking you were going to say you were dating someone already.
- You have a kid.
- …
- Michael tilts his head, questioning why that would matter. Maybe it was secret code for she’s married? He would apologize immediately but you reassured him that there wasn’t a father.
- Oh boy does he spoil you and your kid after that.
- Constantly buying them new clothes, much to your protest. You didn’t want him to feel like he had to. He’s simply tell you he knows and that he wants to.
- The longer you date, the more attention you get though, not just from him but from the public eye.
- You and your son move in with Michael after a year together. You two already had to move once because of constant reporters and paparazzi.
- Your son loves Michael. It took a while, to be fair, for him to get used to the idea of Michael. But once he saw how happy you were and how genuinely kind Michael was, they came around.
- Calls him Michael.
- It makes Michael cringe but he understands that he doesn't need to call him dad, of course. It takes years for your son to call him dad, and when he does, Michael cries while hugging him. But currently, it's Michael.
- Dating him is genuinely a dream, with hiccups here and there of course. You have your arguments but you make sure it's not when your son is around. And you always make up afterwards.
- He proposes three years later, privately, after dinner while you two sat on the couch. Your son was in bed and you two were just talking about mindless things.
- Michael just couldn’t wait any longer, and just proposed right then and there. Of course you said yes!
- He laughs a little afterwards, saying he had planned a trip and everything to propose during. You three still went obviously.
⚠️Smut Warning Underneath!!!⚠️
- He would be so careful at first when you two started dating. Not wanting to scare you off.
- Truth was, he was always, incredibly, turned on by you. He just couldn’t get enough!
- Your smell, your touch, the taste of your chapstick, your curves. You would comment on working out more and losing weight, but he would always tell you how sexy your were, arms wrapping around your waist as he kissed your neck.
- Oh I just know he would love putting you in a mating press.
- Anything breeding related, he loved it. The idea of you being so full of his cum after fucking you into the mattress, god it would just start him up again.
- Dirty talk is something he can’t stop himself from doing either.
- Begging, teasing, praising, he’d do it constantly during sex. Didn’t matter the position you were in, either.
- “Fuuuck— Gonna fill you up so much baby! Wanna see my cum— shit— drip out of that tight pussy—!”
- And dear lord, if YOU start dirty talking?? He’s busting right then and there, filling you to the hilt and then starting up again right after, barely letting you catch your breath.
- The stamina on this man would be insane, but I imagine over time he wouldn’t go as long as he used to.
- But he has other ways of pleasing you of course!
- This man loves to eat you out.
- I mean bury his face in it and absolutely devour your heart. Flattening his tongue to drag across your heat from hole to clit, spreading your lips wide open for him. You tasted so good to him, easily making him pussy drunk anytime he was down there.
- He loved to lick and suck your clit while fingering you, pulling off of it with a small ‘pop!’. Would kiss your thighs and just watch you from below as you came undone around his fingers, especially every time he’d that good spot.
- After you get married?? Oh it gets so much more intense.
- Can’t wait to get you pregnant again. Of course, with your consent, duh. You both had been wanting to have a kid together for some time.
- He would make that night all about you, being so gentle and loving in the first hour. But so rough and desperate in the second, third, and fourth.
- The thought of finally filling you up as many times as he wanted kept pushing him further and further into desperation. Whines and whimpers with guttural groans sprinkled in, begging for you to let him keep filling you over and over and over—
- “Yeah? You gonna come in this pussy, Michael?? Gonna—ah— gonna make me a mommy again??”
- Oh that would SEND him over the edge for the final time, shooting his hot cum deep into your cervix. He would pull out and just watch as some of his delicious cream would try to leak out, only for him to collect it with his fingers and stuff it back in you again, holding them there while you cried out.
- King of Aftercare more like—
- Loves to clean you up and help you cool down while he cleans the mess, including himself. Water? Already handing you a cold bottle from his mini fridge. Sweaty and sticky? He’s got a damp cloth coming right up.
- A week after that night, when you tell him and your son that you’re pregnant, Michael is jumping for joy. He’s pulling you into a hug and the hugging his son, excited to have a new addition to the family.
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: You've only been dating Michael for 6 months now and you couldn't be happier. When an old boxing rival from your school days finds out about your relationship, she starts to publicly trash talk you. You don't care at first until she starts to go for your boyfriend.
Tags: 18+, Mentions of s3x, Cursing, Michael getting mad at you, friends to lovers sprinkled in, reader is a fashion designer, depictions of blood, minor bodily injuries, trash talk, the old rival does make fun of Michael and you in this, mentions of su!c!de, not super accurate depictions of boxing.
A/N: Haven’t written in a long time so be aware this might not be the best writing ♥️
1992
God you loved him. The way he smiles, the way he laughs, how kind he is to people around him. You have been dating Michael Jackson for the past 6 months, already having talks about moving in with him, the future, and what you both want in life.
You were a popular fashion designer, climbing your way to the top with collaborations of other celebrities and hosting some off the wall shows. Your designs leaned towards the futuristic-fantasy style that you loved seeing in movies, leaning more towards women clothing for the aesthetic.
It wasn’t easy getting recognized for your talent. People didn't exactly like women of your size, you realized that over the years.
From kids to adults, you had heard it all. Names, pig noises, lectures and the occasional pinching. You had tried to diet, even went into boxing at one point (thanks to your dad). But you learned to embrace your size over time, coming to terms that you weren’t going to change and that’s fine. You actually loved your body at this point in your life, making fun and beautiful clothing fit for other girls your size. You knew how it felt and wanted to make sure other girls didn’t grow up in those same insecurities.
And that’s what caught Michael’s eye. He had invited you on a collaboration for one of his short films, having seen your designs and wanted to test if you could bring his vision to life. He watched in awe, seeing how you could command a room, direct people around for assistance. You even shut down an idea he had, bringing up a reasonable explanation as why this fabric wouldn’t work with what he wants or how that fabric wouldn’t gleam like he wanted.
Your suggestions were well thought out and you had an explanation for whatever he asked, making sure he understood your point of view and that you understood what he was envisioning. It was amazing really, what the two of you were able to come up together.
A month after the the film had been finished, you got a call from Michael himself. He had asked if you want to go for dinner, and obviously you weren’t gonna say no to the guy. You had found him interesting as well, loving how direct he was with his vision.
When you gave suggestions, he listened.
When you explained something to him, he always seemed interested at the topic. Always looking intently and soaking up every information you gave him,
And so that’s where you’re at now; 6 months of pure bliss with a man who actually loves you for you. Of course, the people loved to make a spectacle out of you two. How vastly different you seemed from each other. How it was crazy that he would ever get with someone of your size. Or why you would ever be with someone like him. They always made you out to be some whale of a gold digger and Michael to be some creature.
But you never let it get to you. Because why would you? Life was good, you were thriving in your career and had the most amazing guy as a boyfriend.
That is… until she came along.
Her name was Ramona-something. You never had the mental energy to remember her full name, having already little care for the beginning of this drama. Ramona was a girl from your boxing days, having been put in by her uncle. You two would fight a lot and were somewhat rivals at one point. But after you left that chapter behind you, you also forgot about her.
In a recent interview, you were asked about Ramona and gave the interviewer a confused look.
“Who?”
And that is what pissed Ramona off. She was now popping up everywhere, lines from interviews drizzled all over magazines about what she thought of you. You weren’t angry tho. You couldn’t care any lesser than you already did.
You weren’t angry even when she called you names. Or when she made fun of your style. Or when she made fun of your weight. Or your clothes, your hair, your face, etc, etc.
Michael, of course, was more irritated at the situation, not fully understanding how you weren’t as mad as him.
“I just have thicker skin nowadays, Michael.” You reassured him, cupping his face as you gave him a peck on his nose.
“She’s just trying to get a reaction out of me. I’m not gonna lose my cool over something I’ve heard, I don’t know, a million times before?” It broke his heart a little to hear you say that, but he at least understood a little more about your reaction.
A whole week of this went by, and you were doing nothing but chilling and working on projects. The TV was on as background noise; you were humming away, tuning in every now and then. An interview on some random channel you had on was just starting out, but you weren't paying too much mind, more focused on the drawing in front of you.
"So, Ramona, is it?" Oh great. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore it but decide to tune in just a little bit. You couldn't lie that you were, at least, a little intrigued.
"We've heard you mention (Y/N) (L/N) a few times over the week. And I'm just wondering, why is that? Do you have any specific reason?"
"Do I need one?" " Well I would hope so? You have been saying some very harsh things about her lately." Exactly, you thought. "No reason really. J'saw her in an ad recently and it brought back memories of when we were kids, y'know?" She went on a small rant about how you never seemed actually interested in boxing and blah, blah, blah. You were zoning out again, the interview being more boring than you anticipated. At some point, the Ramona slips a name out that catches your ear.
Michael.
You whip your head towards the tv, your eyes wide. She better not be.
"And that boy toy of hers? He looks like an alien with that nose!" I mean, you knew she was petty, but this was too far for you to not take offense.
"And he's not fooling anyone with that patchy makeup, we can all tell 'bout his bleaching problem. I'd k!ll myself if I had to be with him!" Ramona laughs after that, swinging her head back as she does so.
The grip on your pencil tightens, the sound of wood cracking beneath your fingers being drowned out by her laugh. How dare she. She has no idea what she's talking about, none at all. Your vision slightly blurs as you turn the TV off, the silence being so loud it thumps in your ears; tears brimming your eyes as you try to contain yourself. You couldn't give her a reaction, not one single twitch.
And as if the universe was trying to torture you, the phone rang.
You swiftly grab the phone, taking a deep breath before putting the receiver to your ear. "Hello, who is this?"
One Month Later
You had agreed.
You had agreed and do not regret it.
What did you agree to exactly?
A fight. A fight with Ramona. In the ring. People have been talking about it for the past few weeks, buzzing in excitement about Michael Jackson's girlfriend fighting some random woman from her childhood.
Speaking of Michael, he was not exactly happy about the whole situation. He had called you later that day after finding out through Bill, practically begging you to reconsider. The next day wasn't good either, you went over to his place to talk. But that talk turned into a yelling match. "You could get seriously injured or worse!"
"I couldn't stand the way she was talking about you!"
"That's why you agreed to that?! I hear shit like that all the time! You don't think I want to do something about it??"
"So what, I'm just supposed to just let them do that to you??"
"Yes!! Ignore it!! Something!! Not get yourself into a fight!! How long has it been since you boxed, huh?!"
"A while, but I'm gonna start training—" "Oh you're gonna?? In three months?? That's insane (Y/N)! I can't believe you.."
That was a month ago, the two of you had barely spoken since. You had been training with a coach you found through a good friend of yours, warming back up to how you used to be in the ring.
You wanted to invite Michael but assumed it would just cause more damage to the relationship. Why couldn't he just see that you were doing this for him? You loved him so much, and you couldn't stand to hear those nasty rumors about him.
Your heart ached remembering the argument you both had, guilt creeping up your spine as you leaned against the ropes. You wish you could call him, maybe apologize and explain why you’re doing this again, but you knew that it would fall on deaf ears.
He was stubborn, at times. Especially when it came to you. You shook those distracting thoughts out of your head. He’s going to have to deal with it, whether he likes it or not. You thought to yourself, fiddling with the fingerless boxing gloves on your hands.
You continue to practice, swinging into the punching mitts that your coach held. He was giving you pointers and more advice in between, encouraging you as you swing. During your session, you swore you could hear the door opening; which was weird because you had made sure to rent out the space for two hours. You decided to keep going, thinking nothing of it.
Michael on the other hand, was leaning against the wall, watching intently at the way you moved. He didn’t know you had done this before, guessing that maybe it was a time you didn’t want to think or care about. He was still annoyed at the fact you were doing this. He just doesn’t understand why you would put yourself in harms way like that. He’s seen what Ramona looks like, that girl is big. She’s gotta be at least 6 foot; Next to her you were probably a foot below that height.
It scared him. Like genuinely scared him. He always thought the worst of things when it came to you. If you didn’t call him once a day, he’d assume you got kidnapped, which he would then start to call over and over again. Of course, you reassure him, setting his worries aside, but this was different! You were going to be fighting in a boxing match, and your opponent was a fucking giant.
As Michael watched you, he starts to notice how you’ve changed a bit. After a month of training, you’ve lost a little bit of weight. Not anything crazy, you were still the same you, but he never noticed how strong you looked. Sweat glistened against your skin as you moved, your hair sticking to your forehead and nape of your neck. A focused and determined look on your face, but also anger laid beneath your expression. He couldn’t lie, Michael thought you looked insanely hot, biting his lip with his arms crossed over his chest.
Deep down, a small part of him found all of this unimaginably hot. The fact that you’re willing to fight for him to this degree and get so riled up just for his sake, god he couldn’t imagine anything more sexy. Just imagining you on top, arms pressed against either side of his head as you—
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a high five, echoing throughout the building. That’s right he’s in the boxing gym watching you train. You look around as you drink from your water bottle, your eyes finally landing on Michael. He was in a funny little disguise, a bushy mustache and a scruffy beard accessorized with a big puffy jacket, some sweats and a baseball cap, all topped off with a pair of sunglasses. You chuckled a little, clearing your throat as ducked under the ropes.
“Hey…” You quietly spoke. You were a little nervous of how this interaction would go.
“…hey..” He hesitates, neither of you knowing who should speak next. “I’m sorry..” Michael says, letting out a deep sigh.
“No, I’m sorry, Michael I—” He cuts you off.
“No.. Let me apologize first. I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.. I understand you’re just trying to stand up for me…. Even if the way you’re doing it scares me.” You bit your lip, hesitant to look him in the eyes. “But that’s not to say I’m not thankful. A small part of me is flattered that you would go to such lengths for me.” He smiles a little at you, giving you his famous lip bite.
You took his hand, rubbing your thumb in circles against a vein between his knuckles. “I’m glad you understand it a bit. I will admit.. it was reckless of me to agree so quickly to a fight. Especially since it’s been a good while since I’ve boxed….” You shuffled your feet a bit. “I just love you.. so so much, and…hearing her say those things about you just rubbed me the wrong way.”
Michael chuckles a bit, leaning down to kiss your temple. “I love you, too (Y/N)…”
“Hey if you two lovebirds are done making up over there, me and my fighter have some more training to do.”
You giggled in embarrassment, heat creeping up to your cheeks as you smiled. Michael cleared his throat, kissing your hand before letting it go.
“I’ll see you soon?”
“Of course…”
Two Months Later
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! WHO’S READY TO RUMBLLLLLLE!!
You were nervous. Oh so fucking nervous. But you were also ready, determined to put that bitch into the ground. You had heard more shit talk coming from her over the past few months, most of it was towards you and you would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you. Just what the fuck was her deal??
IN THIS CORNER!! SHE’S FAMOUS FOR HER OUT OF THIS WORLD DESIGNS AND DATING MICHAEL JACKSON!
ITS (Y/N)(L/B)!!
You stepped in the ring, fans and patrons erupting in either cheer or just yelling, you couldn’t tell. Cameras were going off near the stage but the blinding lights from above seemed to shield them from hurting your eyes.
AND IN THIS CORNER, SHES A TWO-TIME CHAMPION OF THE LIGHT HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIPS
RAMONA BURKE!!
An equal amount of the crowd also goes insane, cheers and whoops and hollers galore.
Ramona enters the ring, staring you down with an intensity that deeply unsettled you. It was almost as if she had been waiting this her entire career, which would be insane to you because who stays that obsessed?? You remember her being just as intense about your sparring sessions, throwing the same insults at you as she did now. A memory of her calling you a quitter and a coward briefly resurfaced in your mind; you had just quit boxing that day, and she didn’t take it too kindly.
The referee motions you both to come forward, explaining the rules and what’s not allowed. “I want a clean and fair fight, understood?” You both nod, shaking hands before stepping back a bit. You instinctively put your hands up in a block position, almost as if you knew—
Ramona swings at your face, trying to perform a jab but because you remembered how she fought as kids, you were able to dodge it. She was always a hot-headed bully, eager to finish the fights she started.
Michael watched from the first row, eyebrows furrowed in worry. He wished he could've talked you out of this sooner, but he knew how stubborn you can be, determined to see something through.
Ramona throws another punch, and another, and another; your arms taking every hit, bruises already starting to form. You manage to dodge from one, giving you the ability to put some space between you. As she lunges for you, you manage to land a hit on her, performing a cross. It lands on her jaw, but it barely fazes your opponent.
This goes on through round 1,2, and even 3! You block her moves, and she aggressively continues her jabs. The bell rings and you are both sat in your respective corners, rehydrating as needed. Michael is standing as close as he can from behind the rope, dabbing your forehead with a towel as your coach gives you water and advice. You don’t know how much longer you could keep it up, all you did was block these past few rounds, Ramona making sure to not leave room for you to strike. She was trying to tire you out, you knew that. You just have to figure out when to get her off you for just enough time.
The bell dings once more, signaling you both for round 4. You stand up, back in your stance and already she’s swinging at you. Before you can react her fist collides with your face, hitting both the side of your nose and your cheek all in one. You stagger back, holding your face with one hand.
Blood trickles slowly from your nose, down your lips and drips off your chin, your hand shaking slightly. Ramona laughs loudly, the cheers and yells from the crowd nearly drowning her out.
“Oh my bad, sweetheart!! Seems I got your nose pretty good!!” She gestures to Michael with her chin. “Maybe you can get the same surgery as your boy-toy over there! -Gasp- Awww! You guys can match!!”
Your blood suddenly boils at her words, fists clenching as you stare up at her. You remembered why you were doing this in the first place. She just smirks at you and continues on.
“You can be two freaks together, won’t that be cute?? I can see it now, one—” You cut her off, moving swiftly in front of her before performing a right hook to her side. Her cocky demeanor falters for a second before regaining it, wincing at the jab.
“Fucking finally!! I thought you were never going to hit—” BAM! A jab at her face, same one she got you with. The crowd around you cheers, whooping and hollering at the two hits you managed to land so quick; Michael and your coach cheering along with them. Ramona stumbles back, eyes widening, quickly getting back in her stance.
She gives you a wide-eyed stare, her expression changing to one of uncertainty. She can see how your demeanor has changed, your face still and unnerving, like you’re staring down prey. Like you’re staring her down.
Watching…
Waiting…
You closed the space again, throwing a left hook this time. Ramona dodges, barely, the knuckles of your fist sliding past her side. You throw a jab, she dodges. You throw a hook, she dodged again. This goes on for a bit, you’re throwing and she barely manages to dodge, sweat dripping onto the rings floor.
Ramona miscalculates a punch though, thinking you were gonna throw another jab or a hook. Instead you perform an uppercut, and she moves straight into it after trying to duck, your first colliding with her lips.
You back off a bit, letting her stumble against the ropes again. You felt high, exhilarated even; Like you were on a rollercoaster pumped full of adrenaline, anticipating the drop. A smile tugs at your lips, blood spreading across your teeth.
Michael was staring up at your from below the ropes, in awe at how you looked from this angle. The way the light hit from above you made you almost look angelic in a way, sweat glistening in the light. Your smile was radiant in his eyes, no matter the blood that stained your lips and teeth or how bat-shit insane you looked in the moment.
You were beautiful to him.
Ramona tries to gain her composure again, not wanting you to sense her nerves. But the second she looked at you, her blood ran cold. You looked happy, euphoric even, like you were actually enjoying this fight. You’re supposed to be scared and crying right about now, why are you happy??
Ramona licked her lips, the taste of copper and sweat running across her tongue.
“The fuck are you smiling for?! You were always such a whale growing up!! Three months and you still couldn’t lose the weight??”
You didn’t answer, your eyes focused on her and your smile unwavering.
“Hello?? I’m talking to you Fat Bitch!!”
Ramona tries to run at you, attempting a left hook, but you dodge in time, your eyes and mind hyper focused in the moment. You quickly parry her move with a jab and an uppercut, sending her stumbling back.
The crowd goes crazy, some yelling profanities and some praising you. Lights flashing all around you and Ramona as she tries to get up. She’s on her stomach, trying to push herself up, her arms wobbling. Her vision foggy as she tries to find sight of you. She, much to your dismay, gets back up, her breathing ragged.
You come at her again, giving her another jab to the ribs, and another right hook to the face. And with that she fell down, looking as if she’ll pass out. The referee gets to the ground, counting up from 1-10, smacking the mat as he did. But she didn’t get up, Ramona lifted her head and as much as she tried, she just couldn’t muster the strength. The bell rings once more and for the last time. The yelling and cheers elevate all around you two. Michael jumps for joy, shaking Bill who had been standing next to him as he yelled out your name.
You looked around.
Holy shit.
You did it!
Holy shit!!
You look back at Michael, a big smile on your face. You looked wrecked but he didn’t care. All he saw was how magnificent you were. He hops up on the stage, holding on tight to the ropes as he leaned forward. You immediately follow his lead, leaning in and giving him a big ol’ kiss on the lips as blood smeared slightly on his face. You pull away, smiling as big as ever.
“I’m so proud of you, (Y/N)!!” He yelled towards your ear, the noise making it incredibly hard to hear each other.
“Me too, honey..” You giggled, thanking him as well.
After a few seconds you walk back over to Ramona, her tall frame leaned against the ropes as she kept her eyes closed for rest. You held your hand out, offering her at least a little kindness. You didn’t want to keep her as a “rival”, even though it was pretty much one sided. Ramona looks at your hand, a look of disgust on her face. But she obliged, grabbing your hand as you helped her to her feet.
You held each other’s arm up, the announcer letting the crowd know you won.
1 Hour Later
You sat in the same limousine you came in, curled against Michael while Bill drove the car.
Michael was playing with your hair, occasionally fixing the ice pack on your cheek. Your eyes felt heavy, exhaustion finally taking over body once the adrenaline wore off.
“You were beautiful up there, baby…”
Michael whispered lovingly, moving some hair out of your face. “It was like looking at an angel…” You giggled tiredly, shaking your head. “Sure I did.”
“I’m serious! You were magnificent! I mean I was terrified for you, but… ugh, I shouldn’t say that..” That peaked your interest. You sat up to face him, quirking a eyebrow up.
“Say what?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh come on! You can’t just say something like that and then not finish!! Pleeeeaaaasee?”
“…no…”
You pouted at him, giving him your best sad puppy look as you clasped your hands together in a plea. “Please, baby?”
Michael’s eye twitched trying to ignore you but ultimately failed, letting out a deep sigh.
“I thought… this whole thing… was kind of.. hot of you…..”
Your eyes went wide like saucers, and then you started giggling, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Michael huffed and crossed his arms, blushing as well while he looked out the window.
“See now that’s why I didn’t want to say something.”
“Aw but it’s cute!” You giggled. “Don’t be upset baby..”
You softly put your hand on his inner thigh, slowly trailing it dangerously close to a certain area.
“Maybe…when we get home… you can show me?”
Michael snorts, and pushes you lightly, giggling with you. “Not in your state, mama. I don’t want you to hurt more than you already do..”
You roll your eyes, leaning back against him. His hand fell gently back on to your hair, like it was second nature to him. A few minutes go by before he gently brings your hand to his lips, giving them a gentle kiss.
“I love you, (Y/N)…”
“I love you, too, Michael..”
A/N: sorry if it feels rushed, I got really excited to finish this near the end :’)
Imagine trying to crack ur man and Diana wants to call him. But then he chooses to answer to you jst cut the power
quick blurb before bed— xf! fiancée reader, nsfw if you squint, sub!michael kinda idk, diana can get fucked (by bad karma)
the phone rattled as it rang for the third time that night in the span of an hour. the sound immensely irritating considering it was just supposed to be an alone night. just you and michael, his lips dancing along the inside of your thigh as you two were on the couch, the movie playing long forgotten. a moment of calm in his busy schedule and he finally had time to scratch that itch of yours.
“who the hell keeps calling? i thought you told them you were unavailable tonight.”
“i did,” michael sighed. the sound torn somewhere between exasperation and borderline malice. “let me answer it—“
“michael, you said no work.”
“i’m not,” he promised. standing up but leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead before he walked over to the kitchen, adjusting his hard on in his pants as he did so. “i’m gonna tell them to stop and call back in the morning.”
you huffed and laid back down as he picked up the call on the final ring, messing with your engagement ring.
“hey, this isn’t a good— diana?”
you froze, eyes dragging slowly from the glittering diamond on your finger to where michael stood with the phone pressed to his ear.
his jaw was clenched and you tried desperately to not only hear what that cow was saying on the other end of the receiver but also summoning any shred of willpower you could to not get up and yank the phone away.
you tried desperately to be pragmatic and not fantasize about hitting her with your car.
“diana, i’m engaged. and i know you know that.”
you suddenly felt very, very cold.
michael’s eyes flicked briefly to yours. “what? no i’m not gonna… are you insane?”
you took a gentle breath. in. out.
stood up on legs that felt surprisingly steady and michael watched you carefully as you walked past him and into the kitchen. opening a drawer and shuffling around before your fingers landed on— oh yes, there they were.
then you turned and walked up to him, smile soft.
“diana, you gotta stop calling here—“
snip.
the chord connecting the phone to the wall fell limply at michael’s side and there was a brief moment of sparks.
your hand then wound in the fabric of his shirt and pulled him close, michael’s eyes meeting yours but his pupils were so blown they looked like spilled ink.
“get down on your knees.” your tone was low and left no room for argument.
not that he would, given not a moment later he was doing as told and his mouth was back where it belonged between your thighs.
Been a fan of the MJ fanfics I’ve been reading and also maybe thought of an au that I wanted to write. I’m tempted to do it as a character x MJ type thing. Mostly bc I kinda suck at reader x person fics. But what do y’all think?
