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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✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
synopsis: michael’s been on his bad tour for about 2 weeks now. despite you being proud of the success of his first solo tour, you missed your baby. so—of course, you were taking a flight to go see him.
warnings: smut(18+), bad era, sub/sub-top mike, michael’s whipped for his lady, cowgirl, back-shots, he's pussy-whipped
authors note: some of readers mannerisms are inspired by @sugarcookiemj ‘s post . i know y'all, this isn't the fic that the majority chose but i'm still trying to get a good ending for that one, it'll be ready soon. sorry this one’s so short guys but i wanted to get something out!
"How much longer, Mikey?" You whined, your voice muffled by the silk case of your pillows as you sank deeper into the sheets. The bed felt massive without him, cold and way too empty.
Michael had only been gone for four days, but the distance was already getting to you. You had been ecstatic when he finally told you about his 'Bad' world tour—after years of hearing him talk about stepping out from being in a band with his brothers, seeing him finally take the lead he always wanted was everything. But the pride was currently battling with the desperate need to have him back in your arms. He’d been a saint about it though, calling every single morning and every night after the each show, needing to hear your voice just to help him get through the day and help him sleep.
"Baby, I literally jus' left!" His laugh was warm, vibrating through the phone. He loved how clingy you got; he thrived on it, knowing he was the center of your world. "You don't hear me complainin’ when you leave on your modeling gigs, do you?"
"Boy, what?" You let out a sharp laugh, a smirk playing on your lips. "You whine from the day I pack to the second I step back in the house. Don't even try it."
"Now, that's a lie..." he teased, his voice dropping an octave, sounding way too smug for someone thousands of miles away.
You both burst into a fit of soft giggles, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Once the laughter died down, you shifted, bringing the receiver closer to your lips, your grip tightening on the landline.
"I miss you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, sounding small and raw, like it was only meant for him to hear.
"I miss you too, baby," he murmured, his tone dropping into that low, honeyed warmth that always made your stomach flip. "I'll be with you before y’know it, okay?"
"Okay, I love you." You smiled, a small, private thing, even though you knew he couldn't see it.
“I love you, more.”
That was almost 2 weeks ago.
You tried, you really did. You tried to hold your ground and be the supportive girlfriend, but every night you climbed into bed after a warm shower, doing you face-care routine and lathering yourself in coco butter—the bed would feel emptier and colder than the previous night.
You were no longer able to feel his strong arms wrap around you and pull you against his chest when you got cold, or the weight of his head resting on your breasts, mumbling that they were "comfier than pillows" before drifting off to sleep. Just his side of the bed—perfectly made, untouched, and freezing.
The house was way too quiet. You didn't hear him humming as he walked down the halls or him drumming of melodies against the marble counter while you made breakfast. You’d been deprived of him for eleven days, and the ache had moved from your heart down into your skin.
You genuinely couldn't take it anymore.
The following night, you called up your agent and told them to schedule you the earliest flight to Japan, your boyfriends first stop of the tour. and the next thing you knew, you had packed your luggage into a jet, and were flying thirty-thousand feet in the air.
When you finally landed, that small, tight twist in your stomach had only grown stronger. It was a mixture of nerves and unadulterated need. You hadn't uttered a word to him about the trip. you wanted to see the look on his face when you finally appeared. You wanted to be the last thing he expected and the only thing he wanted—a beautiful reward for all the hard work he’d put into this tour. You wanted to see the exact second his expression shifted from exhaustion to shock. Just imagining him now—covered in sweat, curls sticking to his forehead and his adrenaline high—made your clit throb. You could almost feel the ghost of his hands feeling down your curves, and the anticipation was starting to almost become too much.
But you weren't flying blind. You'd already been in contact with Bill, already asking him when his next show was to make sure your timing was perfect.
By the time you actually made it to the stadium, Michael was already on his last song. The noise was damn near deafening. Over a hundred thousand people were screaming his name, a wall of sound that you could feel vibrating in your own chest as you stood in the wings.
Watching him from here, in his element, was something else. There was this effortless way he commanded the entire place—just a tilt of his head or a slide of his foot, and the crowd completely lost it. He didn't even have to try; he just owned the air around him. It made your heart swell, he deserved every single bit of the praise. He worked harder than anyone, and seeing him shine like that just made you want him more.
After he gave his love and thanks to the crowd, blowing kisses and doing his final bits with the band, Michael turned and started to jog backstage. He was still riding that high, the adrenaline practically radiating off him, the only thing on his mind now was to hurry, get back to his hotel room, so he could call his girl.
But he stopped dead in his tracks the second he saw you.
For a heartbeat, he just stared, his chest heaving from the performance, shock written all over his face. Then, that shock melted into pure glee. He didn't walk toward you, he practically sprinted, crashing into you with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of you.
You burst into giggles, the sound muffled against his shoulder, as he used his strength to hoist you high in the air. Your legs and arms instinctively locked around him, clinging to him like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. Around you, the crew and his team just stood there—some smiling at the raw affection, others quickly turning their heads to give you two a shred of privacy as you showered his face with kisses.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes gleaming with that playful spark you loved.
"Couldn't stay away from me for t'long, could ya’?," he teased, his voice a low, breathless rasp, a smug little grin pulling at the corner of his lips.
Before he could even fully finish the thought, you cut him off completely. You reached up and boldly clamped your hands around his jaw. You didn't do it gently, either, your fingers dug firmly into his skin, squishing his cheeks together until his lips puckered up. You used your grip to tilt his face exactly where you wanted it, forcing him to look straight at you.
Instead of pulling away or finding the sudden aggression startling, like most people would, Michael completely melted. A giant, toothy grin crawled across his lips beneath your fingers, his dark eyes instantly lighting up. He absolutely ate it up when you handled him like this.
You leaned forward, using your grip on his jaw to pull his face the remaining few inches, and aggressively stole a deep, wet kiss right from his mouth, tasting the lingering flavor of your cherry lipgloss on his tongue.
Michael let out a muffled, delighted giggle against your lips, his large hands immediately rubbing up gently on your hips as he sank entirely into the kiss, completely helpless under your touch.
The spell was abruptly broken by an amused sigh from just a few feet away.
Bill stepped up beside the two of you, offering a knowing, fondly exasperated shake of his head at the shameless display of affection. He checked his watch, then gestured with his chin toward the exit corridor where the security team was waiting.
“C’mon joker, car’s ready,” Bill said, a dry, fond smirk on his face.
When he finally set you down on your feet, you didn’t stray far from him, and he didn’t let you. Just trying to make it out to the waiting car was a challenge. Every ten seconds, someone was calling his name, shouting a question, or trying to snap a candid photo. Even now, he was doing a mini-interview on the move, walking hand in hand with you while Bill followed close behind.
You both had to pause for a moment when the crowd pressed up against the iron barrier on the interviewer's side. You took advantage of the brief standstill, letting your eyes trail over Michael’s outfit. He was wearing a silver zip-up shirt and his signature black slacks. It sounded simple, but he always added a flare that only he could rock. The heavy leather straps and metal buckles down his arms, tracing his thigh, and cinched tightly around his slim waist immediately caught your eye, and you had to catch yourself from biting your bottom lip.
You didn't really know what had gotten into you tonight. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was just the fact that you’d been deprived of his dick for nearly a month, but you were feeling ridiculously needy. Driven by pure impulse, you reached down and hooked your fingers around the heavy metal medallion on his belt, giving it a firm tug.
The sudden pull drew him back, breaking his focus. Michael paused mid-sentence, cutting off the interviewer as he looked down at you. The second he caught the lustful look in your eyes, he knew exactly what time it was. A knowing, dangerous smirk flickered across his face, and it was at this moment he knew what you needed and planned to give it to you the second you were behind closed doors.
"Fuck—baby!"
"You cursin'? It's that good?" you teased as you bounced on his dick with a slow and heavy rhythm, intentionally grinding against him. His fingers were buried deep in the plush of your ass cheeks, gripping the flesh so tight his knuckles were turning white, his head thrown back against the pillows in pure ecstasy.
"Yeah... shit, yeah, it's so good, mama," he breathed out, completely helpless beneath you. You had already milked him dry a few times earlier, now going on your 7th—or was it the 8th round? and at this point, his mind was totally gone. The superstar the whole world was just screaming for was currently a babbling, breathless mess right under you, completely at your mercy as you kept taking every single inch of him.
It all happened so fast. The second the door to his hotel room clicked shut, you pounced on him. You didn't even bother stripping him or yourself fully. You just pushed him back onto the mattress, tearing his shirt open and yanking his pants down past his thighs before climbing over him and impaling yourself on his dick in one fluid motion. What you didn't know was that Michael had been starving for you just as badly. He completely let you take the lead, finding it intoxicating and ridiculously sexy to just lie back and watch you ride him.
He just lay there, his mouth parted in absolute awe, watching the way your hips rolled as you took every single inch of him. A thick, frothy ring of white cream was seeping down his base, smearing against his skin every single time your sopping wet pussy gripped him tight and milked him on the way down. The wet, slapping sounds of your skin and the force of your hips hitting made him release a loud groan, a deep, broken sound escaping his throat as that familiar knot in his lower stomach started tightening all over again, about to snap for the eighth time tonight. His composure was entirely gone, his hips instinctively bucking up off the mattress to meet yours, desperate to feel his leaking tip repeatedly reach that soft spongy spot inside you that only he could reach.
"'M gonna cum soon, babygirl... hah—shit—..baby?," he gasped out, his eyes rolled back, his long fingers moving to dig bruises into your thighs just to hold onto something real.
"I heard you, angel, 'm right there with you," you whispered, the heat between your thighs slick and scorching as you kept up the brutal, heavy rhythm. You reached down, wrapping your fingers firmly around his jaw, forcing his head straight so he had no choice but to look up at you. You wanted to watch every single bit of it. You wanted to see his perfect face contort and break as he came for you again. "You gonna gimme' another one? Huh, baby? You gonna cum for y’girl?"
"Yeah—yeah 'm gonna' cum so hard for you, oh gosh," he cried out, his voice cracking on the last word as his whole body went rigid under you. The tight grip on his chin held him captive while his eyes locked onto yours, completely blown out and glazed over with pleasure. His toes curled against the sheets and his stomach muscles fluttered as he started shooting his load deep inside you, his hips twitching helplessly against your thighs as he gave you every single drop he had.
His release instantly triggered yours. A heavy wave of pleasure coursed through you, making your vision spotty as your walls clamped down around his huge length, milking him dry in tight, violent pulses. Your head fell backward , a ragged groan tearing from your throat as your nails dragged down the smooth skin of his chest, leaving faint red tracks in their wake.
"Ughh—oh my—" Michael shattered completely beneath you, his deep, rumbling groan vibrating right in his chest.
His arms gripped tight around your waist, pulling you down against him as his hips gave a few more weak and desperate bucks. He held you like a vice, pinning your slick bodies together as your orgasms crashed at the same time, the room suddenly going quiet except for the sound of your loud, heavy breathing.
Once you finally caught your breath, you shifted your face up slightly, kissing a slow, wet trail along his jawline before biting down gently on his skin. You leaned back just enough to look down at his spent, breathless face.
"Get up, boy," you smirked, your voice dripping with promise as you gave his hip a firm smack. "I'm not done with you yet."
Michael’s eyes fluttered open, still completely glazed over, a faint, disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. "Jeez girl..." he mumbled, though his hands immediately gripped your hips anyway, you knew he could never say no to you.
You were on your hands and knees now, your back bent in a deep, beautiful arch as you threw your ass back against his hips. A loud, wet, squelching sound echoed through the quiet suite every single time you fucked yourself backward onto his dick.
Michael just sat back on his knees and watched you, completely mesmerized. One of his hands was anchored firmly on your hip to catch the impact, while his other hand was pressed flat against his mouth, his fingers trembling slightly as if he couldn't even process what was happening. You were really here. In Japan. In his bed. Completely taking control as you backed it up on him. your loud, needy moans muffling straight into the pillows while your fingers traveled down your own stomach, reaching between your thighs to rub soft, slow circles over your swollen, wet clit.
He had to be dreaming—surely. No way this was real.
"Oh, baby... it’s so big," you groaned, sucking the air sharp through your teeth as your pace turned frantic, your hips slamming back harder and faster against his pelvis.
The wet, bruising impact of your skin hitting his completely shattered his thoughts. Nah, this was not a dream. No fantasy in his head could ever mimic the scorching heat of being buried this deep inside your tight, pulsing hole, or the way you knew exactly how to twist your hips to make him want to cry.
"You’re so pretty, mama... my gorgeous girl. Missed you s'much," he cooed, his voice a low, raspy rumble that went straight to your spine. His eyes were dark and completely fixated on the view in front of him, watching the way his dick was almost colored white by your combined fluids, glistening under the dim hotel lights every time he slid all the way out and buried himself right back inside you with a soft squelch.
The raw slaps of his skin hitting your ass cheeks was deafening in the quiet room. Michael reached forward, his large hands gripping your hips with a bruising hold, anchoring you in place so he could really dig into you. He was delivering heavy, merciless backshots now, his pace picking up until the bed frame was banging hard against the wall.
"Shit—oh my God, Mikey!" you cried out, your fingers clawing deep into the mattress sheets as he found that perfect spot over and over again, completely stretching you out.
"Yeah, take it all, baby," he whimpered, his chest pressed flat against your arched back now, his hot breath sticky against your neck as he drove himself deep inside you, completely losing his mind to the tight, wet heat of your pussy.
Him repeatedly hitting that deep, gushy spot made you practically melt into the sheets, your muscles going weak as the feeling of him sliding in and out of you turned your insides to liquid. Your body was shaking all over, completely overwhelmed by the sensation, and you shakily reached your hand behind you, tangling your fingers into Michael’s damp, sweaty curls just to anchor yourself.
“Baby...” you whimpered, the sound broken and needy.
He paused for just a second, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his chest heaving heavily against your back. “I gotchu’, mama... I’m right here. You close?” he murmured, his hot breath sticky against your skin as his hips gave another slow, deep roll that had you crying out.
“Yes... oh shit—you’re hittin’ my spot, Mikey...” you gasped, your head sinking lower into the pillows as your pussy started to clamp down tight around him, signaling that you were right on the edge of breaking.
“Cum f’me, babygirl, let it go,” he pleaded, his voice dropping into a whimpery, desperate register as he rolled his hips impossibly deeper into you, pinning you down with the sheer weight of his body.
You pushed your face further into the pillows, practically screaming into the fabric as his pelvis hit harder and faster against you. It only took a few more brutal, relentless strokes before your thighs started to shake uncontrollably, your back arching so deep it ached as that intense wave of heat finally split you wide open.
“I’m cumming—oh god, I’m cummin—” you moaned, the coil in your stomach finally snapping as your walls gripped on him tightly.
Michael let out a ragged, unhinged groan, burying his face deep in the crook of your neck as he felt your cum gush violently over his length. The sheer volume of it was mesmerizing, seeping out from your abused hole and pooling between your bodies on the sheets, making every single frantic slide of his hips sound incredibly loud and soaking wet as he chased his own release right behind yours, panting as he shot thick ropes of his cum into you.
He finally slowed to a stop, the heat of the moment slowly settling. The only thing that could be heard in the room was the ragged sound of you both trying to catch your breaths. The air was thick with the smell of sex and sweat, a scent you missed dearly.
Michael leaned down, pressing a series of soft, lingering kisses against the warm crook of your neck to ground you. His lips were gentle now, a complete contrast to the bruising pace he’d just been maintaining. He took his time, soothing your overstimulated skin until your trembling finally began to ease.
Slowly and carefully, he wrapped one long arm securely around your waist. Keeping your bodies pinned flush together, he shifted his weight, pulling you down with him to lay both of you down on your sides. He almost pulled out but stayed still when he heard you start to whine, wanting him to stay buried deep inside of you, relishing in how full he made you, how warm he was.
"You okay, pretty?" he asked softly, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety register he only used for you, knowing it soothed you.
His hand traveled down to your thigh, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin. He looked at you through his damp, messy curls, his eyes completely soft and full of an quiet adoration that made your stomach flip all over again.
You hummed in response, just barely mustering up enough strength to grab his hand and entwine your fingers with his, bringing your joined hands up to rest just under your chin. You squeezed his fingers tight, the warmth of him finally making the exhaustion from the long flight and the endless rounds wash over you.
Michael noticed, a soft, fond smile breaking across his face as he kissed the side of your head, pulling you even closer against his chest.
"You missed me, girl? Huh?" he cooed, his voice dropping into that high, playful tone as he started showering your face with tiny kisses. He kissed your temple, your ear, the apple of your cheek, pretty much anything he could reach, making you scrunch your face up. "You missed me that bad?"
"Mikey, stoppp," you whined weakly, but you didn't move an inch away from him, you wouldn’t even if you had the strength to move. "And yes, I missed you. The house was too freakin’ quiet. I couldn't even sleep. Every time I got in bed, it was cold, and I didn't have your big head resting on my chest to weigh me down."
Michael let out a soft chuckle, the vibration rumbling right against your back. He absolutely thrived on this. The fact that his girl loved him so much that she would literally pack up a jet and fly halfway across the world to Japan just because she couldn't stand the distance? It made his heart melt.
"Oh, so now my heads big?" he teased, poking your hip playfully. "A week ago on the phone you were cryin’ about how much you missed “your baby”. Now I'm just a big head?"
"A big ass head, actually," you smirked, rolling your eyes against the pillow. "And a whiner. Don't act like Bill ain’t tell me you've been pouting backstage every night ‘cause you wanted to call me."
"He talks t’much, 'm firing him tomorrow," Michael defended immediately, though the guilty, dimpled grin on his face gave him completely away. He squeezed your waist, shifting you so he could look directly into your eyes. "But for real... I really can't believe you're here, mama. You really flew all this way for me?"
"Of course I did, angel. I told you, I can't stand when you're not in the house. It don't feel right being in there without you." You lifted your chin slightly, looking up at him with all the genuine, raw affection you'd been holding onto for eleven days. "I just needed my boy."
Michael’s eyes went completely soft, melting into that disgustingly corny, head-over-heels look he always got when you turned up the sweetness. He leaned down, pressing your foreheads together, his nose brushing yours gently.
"You're bad for my ego, y'know that?" he murmured, a breathless laugh escaping him. "I love you s'much, girl. You're stuck with me now. I'm not lettin’ you leave until the tour is over."
"Oh, really? So who's gonna pay for all my shows you're makin’ me miss?"
"Me," he answered without a second of hesitation, kissing your lips softly, lingering there until you both were smiling into the kiss. "I'll buy out your whole agency if it means I get to keep my pretty girl right here."
"And my hair too?" you smiled, leaning back just enough to look at him, a playful brow raised.
Michael just let out a soft giggle, his eyes crinkling up as he buried his face back into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin once more.
"Anythin’ you want, mama," he murmured, his voice now thick with that deep, sleepy warmth. "I'll fly your stylist out here myself. Whatever keeps you right here in this bed."
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ after you finally teach mature!michael how to facetime, you can call for special reasons! 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
description 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅: michael would be gone a lot these days, and before he left this time, you taught him how to facetime! he’d do it all the time, talking to you while he was alone in his hotel room, but this time, it was a bittt different :)
warnings 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅: phone sex, fingering, michael has a daddy kink :), use of dildo, masturbating, no use of y/n, use of names such as, ‘baby, princess, sweetheart, etc’ dirty talk, squirting, praise
pairing 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅: mature!michael x controversiallyyounggf!reader
michael was in tokyo, and he left you at home all alone. you were so upset, and you missed him so so much. it was about 12am, and you felt like you were the horniest girl ever..
you were thrusting your fingers into your puffy cunt, trying to imagine they were michael’s instead, but your fingers couldn’t curl and hit the spots that he did. you needed him so damn bad, and couldn’t have him!
you knew he was still awake, so you grab your ipad, and you facetime him. after letting it ring for a few times, he answers, his face close to the camera like he’s still tryna figure it out..
“hey princess, what’s the matter? you look like you’ve been crying..” he says, holding his phone in his hand.
you felt like you were gonna faint, he had his glasses on, and his hair was kinda messy.. he looked absolutely delectable.
“mikey, i know it’s late, b-but i n-need you.. i can’t cum, v’been trying for like thirty minutes..” you whined, propping your ipad up at the bottom of the bed ..
“baby, what d’ya mean you can’t—“ he starts, then his eyes widen behind the lenses..
“my fingers won’t work, can you j-just talk me t-through it? please, i needa release..” you softly beg, spreading your legs to show him.. once he gets a view of your puffy cunt, and swollen clit, his whole demeanor changes..
“ohmygod.. girl you better warn me before you do somethin like that..” he muttered, smirking.
“mike, seriously.. i need help..” you whine..
“okay okay baby.. it’s aching that bad?” he coos, his hand already traveling down to the bulge in his silk pajama pants.. you nod and lift your legs a little..
you start to thrust your fingers slowly in and out, softly panting..
“there you go, baby.. lemme see you..” he says, biting his lip afterwards
after about 10 minutes of you fingering your self, and michael watching and talking, it still wasn’t working..
“mikey it’s still not working!” you whine is frustration, tears welling up in your eyes..
“i know baby, i know.. it’s okay, how bout this? go in my bottom drawer, princess. nightstand.” he coos, still stroking his cock.. you crawl over and reach down, grabbing something..
it was one of the many birthday gifts he’d gotten you, extra special. it was an exact replica of his dick, a dildo made especially for you..
“mikey, you said we—“ you try
“i know what i said, sweetheart.. you can use it.. give daddy a nice show..” he says, his eyes darkening
you lay back, lifting your legs up and running the tip up and down your slit.. you push the first few inches in..
“oh my gosh.. yes..” you whimper, biting your lip..
“ all the way, baby. just like how daddy gives it to you, push it in all the w-way..” he growls, whimpering at the end, because he was stroking his tip just right .. his head tilts back..
“j-just like daddy…” you whimper, pushing the rest of the length into you.. your toes curl, and you moves it a little..
“unt unt, what’d i just say? do it how i would, stroke it just like daddy does..” he groans, grinning when he sees your cheeks flush..
you pull it out slow, then slam it back in, exactly how he’d fuck you if he was here right now.. “y-yesyes..” you sigh, finally getting the pleasure you needed..
“there you go, baby.. there’s my good girl.. legs wider, sweetheart, let me see..” he coos.. he spits on his hand, and brings it back to his tip, panting ..
you notice that he’s jacking off to you, and it makes you even hornier.. “i wanna see..” you whine, thrusting the toy deeper into you soaking cunt..
“you wanna watch me, baby? yeah?” he says, propping the phone up on the bedside table’s lamp.. you bites your lip, watching his hand slide up and down his cock, his wrist twisting everytime he brung it down..
“f-feels just like you..” you whine, the dildo moving faster once you see his cock.. “wish you were here, daddy..” you pout, rubbing your clit with two fingers..
“ fuck.. i know, pretty baby.. ‘m sorry i had to leave you, daddy’s so sorry..” he hisses, his hips starts to buck up, meeting his downwards strokes..
the dildo was bulging in your stomach, just like he would! you whined, thrusting it harder.. “ohmygod i feel it.. it’s hittin my spot..” you whimper, your eyes crossing for a quick second when the toy hits the sensitive spot against your walls..
you fingers smack your clit, and michael gasps.. “good girl.. y’fucking yourself so good with that toy, baby, i’m so proud of you.. “ he whined , his other hand gently rubbing down his body and going straight to his heavy balls.. he squeezes and massages them, and his toys start to curl..
“you look so good daddy.. don’t stop.. don’t stop..” you gasp, your legs trembling a little .. you feel yourself starting to get close, so you start thrusting it in the familiar rhythm that michael does when he knows you’re gonna cum.
you thrust it fast a few times, then hold it inside you, before repeating the cycle over and over.. michael recognizes the rhythm and smirks..
“y’gonna cum, princess? gonna cum for daddy? hm?” he coos, stroking his base and squeezing his balls.. he lets out a low whimper, his eyes rolling back for a small second..
“yesyes, ohmygosh… daddy i wanna cum all over your dick, i miss you.. m’gonna cum all over it!” you whine, fucking yourself dumb..
“let go, sweet girl, i’m gon cum with you, i’m right there with you, pretty baby..” he whined, his toes curling in his socks ..
“oh goddd! fuck!” you whimpered, your pussy clenching down tight around the toy as you squirt, all over the toy and your ipad..
“that’s it baby, i’m c-cumming.. oh god, squirt for daddy just like thattt..” he whimpers, squeezing his balls while his cum spurts out against his stomach..
you rub your clit to ride out your intense orgasm, then you slowly pull out the toy.. “shit.. i got the sheets all wet..” you murmur, softly panting..
michael giggles on the line.. “did that satisfy you, baby?” he says, his cheeks flushed ..
“ mhmm.. you sleepy?” you coo, you could already tell by his voice.. he’d always get sleepy after a good orgasm..
he nods a few times.. “ okay baby.. go to sleep, i love you, call me tomorrow..” you says , blowing a few kisses at the screen..
“i love you more, sweet girl, i promise i’ll be home soon.. bye bye..” he says, then he hangs up..
you stare at the soaked ipad screen and the soaked sheets.. “ohmygod..” you huff, before getting up and starting to clean your mess..
princess’s note!! > this is filthy… i know i write a lot of smut, but i got some fluff in my drafts, so do yall want it? okay i hope you guys like this one, i love you all! <3
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، summary𓈒 michael is often busy with rehearsals and you ain't have no pleasure in a good minute so you just politely ask him to just use his fingers.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 SMUT, 18+, masturbation, no use of y/n, kissing, fingering, crying, oversimulation, use of "baby".
، notes𓈒 I ain't write for michael in a minute (IM SORRY—i was feening for his brother), this was a bit rushed, but it literally based off this post- like wym his fingers was nearly five inches long??? bye; enjoy my strange ladies.
It was about 2:14 in the morning the last time you checked the green digital clock on your nightstand before going downstairs, and you done switched sides on the couch for what felt like the fifty thousandth time. You were curled up on said couch in the living room, the only light in the room coming from the warm, amber glow of the flickering television screen playing on mute. You had a satin robe tied loosely around your waist with your silk slip underneath, and your bare legs tucked under a thick throw blanket.
The house was too damn big when he wasn't there. You’d been trying to watch some late night sitcom reruns, but your eyes kept drifting to the heavy doors of the entrance.
You had the AC humming at a cool seventy degrees, but under this blanket, you were burning up. And it wasn't because of the weather outside. It was a deep, simmering heat right in your bones, settling heavy and tight right between your thighs.
Lord knew you loved your man. You loved his drive, his genius, the way his eyes lit up when a new idea clicked in his head. But this tour prep? It was running him ragged, and by default, it was leaving you high and dry; but shit, if you didn't miss your man.
And more than just missing his conversation, your body was aching for him.
You stared up at the ceiling. I ain't had no real lay down in...what? Three weeks? Four weeks? A whole fucking month.
It had been almost a full month since the two of you had really, truly connected. A month of quick, sleepy kisses in the mornings, brief phone calls during his fifteen minute lunch breaks, and falling asleep on opposite sides of a king sized bed because he was too physically exhausted to do anything but pass out the second his head hit the pillow.
Just yesterday, the desperation had gotten so bad you actually tried to take matters into your own hands. You’d dim the lights, pulled down your panties, and tried to get some relief. But it was a disaster. Every time you tried to find the right angle, your hand would cramp, or you’d lose the rhythm, or you just couldn't quite reach the spot that was aching deep inside your pussy. The frustration had built up so fast, hot and heavy behind your eyes, until you just ended up curling into a ball and crying actual tears of pure, unadulterated aggravation.
Imagine crying over some damn fingering. You’d felt so pathetic, sitting there with wet cheeks and a throbbing ache that wouldn't quit.
And now, here you were, twenty four hours later, and the ache was only worse.
Your skin was practically buzzing. Every little rub of the satin robe against your thighs felt like a tease. You’d spent the last hour just thinking about him- his hands, his voice, the way he breathed against your neck when he got worked up. You were needy, plain and simple. You wanted him, and you weren't planning on letting him just slip into sleep tonight without giving you a little piece of himself.
Just as you were about to give up and let sleep take you, the heavy thud of the front door finally echoed through the house.
You sat up, throwing the blanket off your legs. Your heart did a little flutter as you heard the familiar, exhausted sigh, followed by the soft rustle of his jacket being hung up in the closet.
A moment later, Michael walked into the room.
He looked absolutely beautiful, but incredibly worn down. He was wearing black pants, a loose, button down shirt over a white tee, and his black loafers. His curls were damp, clinging to the back of his neck and framing his face in sweaty spirals. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
When he noticed you sitting up on the couch, a soft, weary smile broke through his tired face.
"Hey, beautiful," he murmured, his voice incredibly deep, raspy, and quiet from a long day of singing. "What are you doing up? It's so late."
"Waiting on you," you said, your voice soft but carrying that smooth, slow drawl. You stood up from the sectional, stretching your legs, letting the silk robe part just enough to show a sliver of your thigh. "You look beat, baby."
Michael walked over to you, his movements slow. When he reached you, he just collapsed his forehead right onto your shoulder, letting his arms wrap loosely around your waist. He let out a long, shuddering breath, breathing in the scent of your cocoa butter lotion and the sweet perfume you’d lightly sprayed before he got home.
"I am," he whispered against your collarbone. "We did the choreography for 'Billie Jean' and 'Beat It' back to back today. Frank wanted to run the lighting cues over and over. My knees are aching, sweetheart. I feel like I could sleep for a whole week."
You gently stroked the back of his neck, your fingers slipping underneath the damp curls at his nape. You felt a wave of maternal warmth for him, but right beneath it was a burning, tight sensation in your lower belly.
"Mmh, I know you tired, Mike," you murmured, shifting your hips slightly so they brushed against his. "But I been missin' you. Like, really missin' you."
Michael pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes looking down into yours. He had that soft, gentle gaze he always got when he was looking at you, but there was a distinct fog of fatigue over his pupils. "I miss you too, girl. So much. Let's just go up to bed and cuddle, okay? I just want to hold you."
He reached down to take your hand, intending to lead you toward the grand staircase, but you didn't budge. You held his hand, but you anchored yourself, stepping closer into his space.
"Michael," you whispered, looking up at him with wide, glossy eyes. The desperation in your face must have shocked him, because his gaze instantly sharpened as you continued. "I don't just want to cuddle. I'm bout to go crazy. I swear to God I am. I ain't had none of you in a whole month."
"Have you been crying?"
You bit your lip, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You didn't want to admit it, but you were too far gone to care about your pride.
"Yeah," you confessed, your voice cracking slightly. "I was. Yesterday. And tonight."
Michael’s brow furrowed, his thumbs soothingly rubbing circles into your hips through the thin silk of your slip. "Why, baby? Tell me. What happened?"
"I just did! Because of this," you burst out, gesturing vaguely down between your bodies.
Michael let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached up, gently tapping his fingertips against your chin. "Sweetheart, I love you, and you know I want nothing more than to lay you down right now. But my back is so stiff, and my body is literally aching. I don't think I have the strength to give you what you need tonight. Let me get some rest, and I promise you, tomorrow morning I'll make it up to you."
"Tomorrow morning you gotta be back at the arena by eight, and you know it," you pointed out, stepping even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. You looked up at him through your lashes, letting your lips part slightly. "And I can't wait that long. I'm practically dying over here."
"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, kissing your forehead gently. "I just don't have the energy for a whole session."
"I ain't asking for all that," you murmured, your hand sliding down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his shirt. You let your fingers trail down, stopping right at his waistline. "I know you tired. I know your knees hurting. So you don't gotta do all that..."
Michael raised an eyebrow, a slight, intrigued smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really? And what are you suggesting?"
"Just use your fingers, baby," you whispered, your voice a smooth, seductive purr against his ear. You nipped gently at his earlobe, making him shiver. "Just sit back, relax, and use your pretty hands on me. That's all I need. Just a little taste."
Michael groaned softly, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. You could tell he was fighting his own exhaustion, but the temptation of your touch, combined with the desperate tone in your voice, was starting to wear down his defenses. He loved how much you wanted him. He loved that even when he was completely drained, you still craved his touch above everything else. His eyes searched your face, taking in the dilated pupils, and the absolute raw hunger written in every line of your expression. He let out a long, shaky sigh, his head tilting back to look at the ceiling before closing his eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, bringing his head back down to look down at you. "You really know how to play with fire, don't you?"
"I'm burning up, Michael. Put it out."
He looked down at you with hooded eyes, a slow, dangerous smile creeping onto his lips. It wasn't his usual sweet, boyish grin. This was the smile of a man who knew exactly what kind of power he held over you, a man who was about to take his sweet, precious time.
"You're a bad girl," he muttered, a slow, wicked little grin spreading across his face. "So needy. Using my weakness against me when I'm too tired to fight back. Can't even let a man rest."
"I ain't hear you say no," you teased, your heart racing. "Please, Michael? Just touch me. I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me dry tonight."
Michael closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling deeply, before opening them again. The exhaustion was still there, but now it was mixed with a heavy, simmering heat. He looked down at your lips, his gaze darkening.
"Alright," he whispered, his voice incredibly thick. "Alright, sweetheart. But we're doing this my way. And you have to promise to do exactly what I tell you."
"Always, baby," you breathed, a thrill running down your spine.
Michael took your hand and led you slowly up the stairs. The house was dead silent, the only sound being the soft pad of your bare feet and his loafers on the carpeted steps. When you reached the master bedroom, the massive space was cool and dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the large doors that led to the balcony.
Michael didn't turn on any lights. He preferred the darkness, the intimacy of the shadows.
He walked over to the massive king sized bed, kicking off his loafers before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He leaned back against the headboard, his long legs stretching out in front of him. He looked up at you, standing at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes locked onto yours.
"Come here," he commanded softly.
You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, really trying not to smile at how happy you were to be getting someee. You stopped right between his outstretched legs, looking down at him.
Michael reached up, his long, slender fingers catching the tie of your satin robe. With a slow pull, he undone the knot. The silk parted, pooling around your elbows and revealing the lace slip you were wearing underneath.
Michael’s eyes swept down your body, taking in every single curve, the rich warmth of your skin, the way your chest rose and fell with your shallow breathing. He let out a soft, appreciative hum, his hands sliding up your thighs, his palms warm and slightly calloused from years of dancing.
"You look so beautiful," he whispered, his hands smoothing over your hips, resting on your waist. "So beautiful. My sweet girl."
"Michael, please," you whimpered, the heat between your legs blooming instantly at his touch. "I'm already so wet for you."
"Shh," he murmured, his fingers gently digging into your hips, anchoring you. "Don't rush me. I told you, we're going slow. If I'm doing this, I'm taking my time."
He pulled you closer, guiding you to climb onto the bed. "Sit on my lap, facing away from me," he instructed, his voice all low and steady.
You did as you were told, turning around and straddling his thighs, your back pressing against his chest. The feeling of his broad chest against your back, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck, made you shiver.
Michael wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, kissing the soft spot right beneath your ear.
"You feel so good," he murmured. "So soft. So warm," he whispered, moving his head up, his lips brushing against your temple. "And you smell so good. What is that?"
"Cocoa butter. The one you like," you mumbled, your hands finding his thigh, tracing down to his knee. "Now stop stallin', Michael."
He let out a tired but rich laugh that vibrated against your chest. "Alright, alright. Impatient little thing."
His hands slowly slid down from your waist, moving over the smooth fabric of your slip, down to where your thighs met. You parted your legs slightly, giving him access, but Michael wasn't in a hurry. He kept his palms flat against your outer thighs, gently rubbing them in slow, circular motions.
"Michael..." you groaned, shifting your weight, trying to press your pussy against his hand.
"Stop moving," he whispered against your ear, his voice firm but gentle. "Just relax. Let me handle it."
You let out a breathy sigh, forcing your muscles to relax, leaning your head back against his shoulder.
Slowly, agonizingly so, Michael’s right hand slipped inward. His long fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, light as a feather. You trembled, your fingers gripping the bedsheets beside you. He trailed his fingers up, closer and closer to the lace of your underwear, but just when you thought he was going to touch you, he retreated, sliding his hand back down to your knee.
"Michael, stop teasing me," you whined. "You playin' too much. Just touch it."
Michael let out a soft chuckle against your neck. "You've been waiting a month, a few more minutes isn't going to kill you."
He repeated the motion, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs, slowly acclimating your body to his touch, building the anticipation until you were literally panting, your hips involuntarily twitching.
Finally, his hand slipped underneath the lace material.
When his bare fingertips made contact with your swollen, soaking wet center, you let out a loud gasp, your back arching off his chest.
"Oh, fuck..." you breathed, your eyes closing tight. "Michael..."
"Mmh, look at that. Look at you," his voice incredibly soft, almost reverent. He felt how warm and slick you were, his fingertips instantly becoming coated in your juices. "You're soaking wet for me, girl. You really were needy, weren't you?"
"Yes," you confessed, your fingers gripping his bicep, your voice cracking. "Yes, baby. I been wanting you so bad."
Michael didn't immediately start stroking you. Instead, he just rested his palm against your mound, letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of his hand. He began to apply a slow, steady pressure, moving his palm up and down, grinding your sensitive flesh against himself. Michael might have been too tired to move his body, but his hands had a mind of their own.
And though friction was intense, it wasn't enough. You wanted his fingers in you.
"Please, Mike. Put 'em in. Just a little bit," you begged, turning your head slightly to try and catch his lips.
Michael turned his head to meet yours, pressing a deep, slow, open mouthed kiss to your lips. He tasted like sweet mint. He kissed you thoroughly, his tongue lazy and heavy, mirroring the slow rhythm of his hand down below.
While he kissed you, his middle finger slowly slipped inside of your pussy.
You let out a muffled moan into his mouth, your walls clenching tightly around his finger. They were so long, and the intrusion felt incredibly deep and full.
Michael pulled back from the kiss, his eyes heavy, watching your face in the dim moonlight. He saw the pleasure written across your features, your lips parted, your brow slightly furrowed as you tried to cope with the sensation.
"You're so tight," he whispered, his finger remaining completely still inside you. "So warm."
"Move it, baby," you pleaded, your hips giving a desperate little twitch. "Please, move it."
"Shh, easy," he murmured. "Let me stretch you out first."
He slowly curled his finger inside you, hooking it slightly against your front wall. The sudden friction against your g-spot made your eyes roll back, a loud broken moan escaping your throat. "Oh, shit- ! Michael...Michael!"
"I got you," he whispered, his voice incredibly deep and steady.
He slowly slid a second finger, his index finger, inside alongside the first. The fit was incredibly snug, making you stretch around him. He began a slow, rhythmic in and out motion. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't rough.
He began to move his fingers, but it was agonizingly slow. He would slide it almost all the way out, letting you feel the slick friction of his exit, only to push it back in with a slow thrust that was incredibly deep. With every stroke, his fingers coated themselves in your slickness, the wet, squelching sound filling the quiet bedroom, making your face burn with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.
Over and over, he kept the pace tortuously slow. He was making sure you felt every millimeter of his fingers sliding inside you.
You were losing your mind. Your body wanted him to move fast, wanted to ride his hand to get that quick, explosive release, but every time you tried to speed up the pace, tried to really buck your hips and fuck yourself on this man's hand like bitch in heat, Michael’s hand on your hip would tighten, holding you firmly in place.
"No, no," he cautioned, his deep voice vibrating against your back. "Don't rush, baby. Just feel how good it is."
"It's too slow, Michael," you cried out, a tear of frustration and pleasure escaping the corner of your eye. "You torturing me."
"I'm loving you," he corrected softly, his finger finally finding your highly sensitive clit.
He didn't rub it. He was just pressed down gently, holding his finger there while his fingers on his other hand continued its slow, deep curls inside of you.
The combination of the deep, slow penetration and the steady, heavy pressure on your bud sent a massive wave of electricity straight to your core. Your legs began to shake, your inner muscles contracting violently around his finger.
"That's it," Michael murmured, feeling the pre orgasmic ripples of your body. "You like that, don't you?"
"Yes, yes, right there, Mike," you gasped, your voice completely wrecked. "Right there."
He kept his movements steady, his long fingers working inside you with a masterful, lazy rhythm that was driving you over the edge. He didn't have to strain himself; he just lay there, watching your face in the dim light, enjoying the way he could make you unravel with just a fraction of his effort.
"I'm not going to let you come yet," he whispered, his voice dripping with a playful, dominant malice.
And just like that, he eased up. He pulled his fingers almost completely out, his fingers lightly brushing away from your sweet spot, leaving you hovering right on the edge of a cliff, completely suspended.
You let out a frustrated, heartbroken groan, turning around in his lap to face him fully. You grabbed his thighs, turning to look up at his handsome, smug face. He looked so incredibly handsome, his features all soft and full of love.
"Michael, why you doing me like this?" you whined, completely exasperated. "You know I'm right there. Don't play with me like this, baby, I'm begging you."
Michael down at you, his eyes incredibly soft but holding a deep, intense hunger. He reached over, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping away the stray tear of frustration.
"Because I want it to last," he whispered honestly. "If I let you come right now, you're going to fall asleep, and I won't get to feel you like this for another long time. I want to enjoy you, sweetheart. I want to see how much you can take."
You looked into his eyes, seeing the genuine, deep affection mixed with the primal desire to possess you, to dominate your pleasure. The frustration faded instantly, replaced by a deep submission.
"Okay," you whispered. "Okay. Do what you want. Just don't stop."
Michael smiled, a beautiful smile. "I won't stop."
He reached down, his hands catching your thighs and spreading them wider, draping your legs over his own. He adjusted himself slightly, leaning back a bit more so he had a clear view of your pussy.
He dipped two fingers into your slick pool of moisture, coating them completely. He down up at you, his gaze locked onto your face again, before he slowly pushed both fingers deep inside you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.
"Ohhh- hnnmm," you whimpered, your hands moving down to grip the sheets for dear life.
Michael began to pump his fingers inside you, but he kept the pace slow, steady, and incredibly deep. He was curling his fingers upward, hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again with a wet, rhythmic squelch that echoed in the quiet bedroom.
His other hand reached up, his thumb gently circling your clit, match the slow rhythm of his fingers. Every slide of his fingers made you lose your breath. You closed your eyes, your head rolling back against his shoulder, your hips rolling against his hand as you let out low, guttural groans.
You were completely at his mercy. Every touch was calculated, designed to build the tension in your lower belly until it was almost unbearable.
"Michael...please...I can't..." you cried out softly, your hands clutching the satin sheets, your toes curling. The pleasure was rolling through you in waves, so overwhelming because you had waited so damn long for it.
"Yes you can," he whispered, his voice a soothing, hypnotic tone. "Just ride the wave, baby. Let it build. I've got you."
He kept you on that agonizing edge for what felt like hours, but was likely only fifteen minutes of sensory torture. He would build you up until your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, asking you to "Look at me, baby," with a hypnotic tone, his finger applying a perfect, steady pressure to your clit while his other fingers stroked deep inside you, and then he would slow down, whispering sweet, encouraging words into your ear, kissing your neck, your ear, your lips, until your body settled just enough for him to start the build up all over again.
By the time he finally decided to let you go, you were completely spent, your body vibrating with a tension so tight it felt like a coiled spring. "You love it when I touch you like this?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding purr.
"I love it...I love you, Mike...I'm about to..." you sobbed softly, not even able to finish your sentences, your fingers digging into his thighs, likely leaving light red marks that you couldn't see because of his pants. "I need to come. Please, baby. Let me come."
Michael down up at you, his own breathing heavy now, his face flushed with heat. He saw how completely undone you were, how entirely devoted you were to his touch in this moment.
"Alright, baby," he whispered, his voice incredibly tender. "Come for me. Right now."
He suddenly sped up his movements, his fingers thrusting deeply and rapidly inside of you, while his thumb rubbed your clit in fast, intense circles.
The sudden shift in pace was too much. Your body instantly locked up.
A loud, soul shattering cry tore from your throat as your vision went completely white. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in tight, rhythmic spasms, squeezing him with incredible force. You arched your back, before your entire body began shaking violently as the intense, delayed orgasm crashed over you in waves, going on and on, seemingly never ending because of how long he had held you back. Your hips bucked against his hand, your chest heaving as you rode it out.
Michael held you tightly against him, his fingers staying deep inside you, feeling every single contraction of your climax. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a low, satisfied groan of his own as though he were the one nutting, completely intoxicated by your pleasure. He let you shake, kissing away the happy tears that gathered at the corners of your eyes.
"Yes, baby," he whispered against your skin, his voice all thick and warm. "That's it. Let it out. Give it all to me."
You collapsed against his chest, your muscles completely jelly, your heart pounding like a drum. You were panting heavily, sweat lightly shining your forehead, letting the contractions gently squeeze him until the worst of the tremors faded into a lazy, warm afterglow.
Slowly, carefully, Michael slipped his fingers out of you. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a soft hand towel to clean himself and you, his movements incredibly tender and caring.
Once you were both cleaned up, he pulled you back into his arms. You collapsed against his chest, completely spent, your forehead resting right over his heart. You could hear it beating- a steady, comforting thump thump, thump thump.
"You alright now, needy girl?" he teased softly, his chest rumbling against your cheek.
You released a soft, satisfied hum, wrapping one leg over his thigh, tangling your bodies together. "I'm perfect. Thank you, baby."
"Anytime," he murmured, his voice incredibly heavy now, his eyes already fluttering shut. "Now...let your man get some sleep."
"Go to sleep, Mike," you whispered, kissing his warm chest.
Within minutes, his breathing slowed into a deep, even rhythm. You lay there in the quiet of the bedroom, warm, fully satisfied, and completely loved, listening to the soft sound of his breathing as the neon green clock ticked away into the morning.
I’m going to say this once and never again. If you don’t agree with me, you’re more than welcome to unfollow and block me. I’m also not a chicken and will be tagging exactly who I’m talking about because this is honestly ridiculous.
I’m going to preface this by saying this isn’t to cause drama or get likes. My account is garnering plenty of engagement from my writing and my personal posts already. This is merely for educational purposes and to shed light on an issue that’s infested the internet for years. This is also NOT just about the MJ fandom but I’m using it as an example because it’s happened here. Again, if you don’t agree with me, unfollow or block me!
I recently followed an account under the impression that they were a black owned blog. Their layout, use of AAVE and black oriented reaction pictures made me believe that I found another black writer to support. But I learned that the owner is a white women.
I want to follow more black writers here to uplift them in a space that is heavily biased against black fans. Situations surrounding belittling black writers in the MJ community have been rampant for a while now so I take it upon myself to support and follow fellow black writers who represent me and many black MJ fans who have felt underrepresented in the fandom.
Back to the issue. Finding out that this account is a white woman behind the scenes upset me quite a bit. I genuinely believed she was one of us and was combating the racial problem within the fandom. That being said, I’d like to point out why this is more than just a ‘I feel scammed’ situation and more about digital dishonesty.
Digital blackface is a massive issues in online communities across the internet. It’s a conversation that has been ongoing for years now, even before I was on the internet. Many people outside of the black diaspora have downplayed it as a problem, stating that free speech shouldn’t be considered black fishing or harmful towards black communities. However, I would like to point out that Digital Blackface is more than just using ‘black media’ to express yourself, it directly impacts how the world views black peoples as a whole.
Accounts on Tumblr and other platforms have popped up pretending to be black people since conception of social media. They use Ebonics and black reaction pictures/gifs as a means of communication which often time leads to real black-owned accounts believing that they are interacting with black people. In hindsight, one would merely say “well it’s not their fault you thought they were black,” and that is exactly the problem.
As I said before, I follow black blogs to uplift my people. The internet is riddled with racism directly impacting black communities. We get called the hard r, monkeys, ghetto, nasty, undesirable etc and platforms don’t bat an eye. Racism towards us is so normalised that it’s bled into every internet fandom. So you see why black people online gravitate towards each other? Because we want a safe space for ourselves. We want to appreciate each other, dote on each other, love, respect and support each other’s art.
How do black folk know that an account is black owned? We use Ebonics, black media and black phrases that only we would know. So you can imagine how disheartening it is to find out that an account using such media would be a white woman behind it.
Nonblack POC or white person reading this might not understand the gravity of this situation but I implore you to read up on it and take time to fully understand why it’s upsetting.
Terms like ‘the saxophones are getting louder” “goofy ahh” “I’m crine” “unc” “Deadass” are AAVE/Ebonics. Finding them on TikTok and incorporating them into your online vocabulary when you’re not apart of that community is a form of digital blackface and cultural appropriation. It’s not Gen Z slang or TikTok slang and it’s not a funny audio just for vibes. It’s BLSCK AMERICAN language.
I’m not BA and I do use Ebonics here and there but I avoid incorporating it into my speech when I don’t understand how to use it properly. And I don’t use much of it because, again, I’m NOT black American. Black Americans have been kind enough to even let black people outside of the United States use their language and I don’t even want them to think that I’m being irresponsible with that privilege.
Now in regards to this situation. I don’t want to hear things like “Michael was for everyone.” Although that was true, you would be really stupid to believe that Michael didn’t understand that black people were/are the most marginalised and racially abused people on the planet. This man grew up in undoubtedly the most racially divided time in USA history. He even spoke out about the industry steals from “especially black artists”. He was aware that black art is abused for white financial and political gain. Black media (whether it be music or simply reaction photos) is art.
So why position yourself in a way that make you appear to us as a black woman @michaelmuse ? Your entire aesthetic is based in a way that draws in a black audience. You use black faces as reaction pics and Ebonics but you draw the line at reblogging black fanfics when you know that this site favours reblogs over comments and likes.
Your previous username (ebonymuse) in itself is indicative of the issue I’m discussing here. ‘Ebony’ is a term primarily used to describe black people. Urban dictionary defines it as “the essence of dark skin that is enriched and plentiful with melanin. greatness. beauty”. It’s even a common term used to define a porn category for to black people. Now the term itself is constantly being critiqued for bordering on being a fetish term, however, you see how it’s for black people? Dark skin people to be exact?
So why is a white woman with white ass skin using that term in their username? I’m a black woman with albinism and even I wouldn’t use that term. Why? Because it isn’t not for my pasty self.
I’ve read some of your fics and this has nothing to do with me wanting diversity or inclusion from you, nor is it to hate on your work. You do use Ebonics in your work so I’m sure you knew that your fics would attract black readers to your blog. Your behaviour (whether you did it intentionally or not) was deceptive and potentially harmful to my community. You need to educate yourself on the contents of this conversation to fully understand how bad this situation actually is. There’s no way you’ve been on the internet and didn’t know that black Americans have been begging nonblack (especially white) folk to stop using their media as your own or as ‘a silly tend’ or to be relatable.
I’ve seen a few black British blogs come to your defence and I’m bewildered to see them pandering for a white woman about something that affects black people as a whole. I myself am not Black American but I will stand by them when their culture and language is diluted and turned into a ‘trend’ for everyone else to steal and appropriate. It’s wrong and it impacts us all. White people (even other POC) don’t separate us. They see one fake black account say stupid things and assume that’s how all of us feel/act. I understand that the UK is differently set up but your low racial self esteem is affecting us all. You let white Brits walk all over you and your culture and you just laugh along like it’s funny. This is why racism there will never end. You let white footballer wear braids, let white folk use AAVE and flat out call your Afros messy and you think it’s not that serious. Stand up. Immediately.
You guys really need to do better. Stop misconstruing Michael’s words to get away with disrespecting black people. You’re becoming just as bad as those who racially attacked him.
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