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Summary: Michael comes home after a long and stressful day. He knows who he needs to relieve his stress.
An: first time writing for mike as a sub and male!oral, ( I love challenging myself like this tho) sorry if this sucks💔
Warnings: i did my best, some fluff at the beginning, smut, sub!mike, cum eating, dom!reader, oral (male rec)
The knock came nearly an hour later than you’d expected.
You had almost convinced yourself he’d gotten caught up at the studio again. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
When you opened the door, your greeting died on your lips.
Michael stood on the porch with his hands tucked into the pockets of his red jacket, his curls slightly damp from the cool evening air. Normally, he’d be grinning before the door even opened—already talking about a new melody he’d thought of, a dance move he’d finally perfected, or some random joke that had made him laugh on the drive over.
But tonight, there was nothing.
His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something he hadn’t yet found the words for. His eyes stayed fixed on the porch instead of meeting hers.
You didn’t ask what happened.
You simply stepped aside.
“C’mon in.”
He hesitated for only a second before slipping past you. The familiar scent of cinnamon candles and fresh laundry wrapped around him, replacing the harsh chill outside. The quiet click of the front door closing behind him felt strangely comforting.
“You hungry?” You asked softly, hanging his jacket on the coat rack.
Michael gave the smallest shrug.
“I don’t know.”
You glanced back at him, your heart squeezing just a little. Usually, he filled every room he entered with laughter. Tonight he looked as though he wanted to disappear into the couch cushions.
“Then let’s not worry about dinner yet.”
Instead, you reached for his hand.
His fingers curled around yours almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for someone to ground him.
Without a word, you led him to the living room.
He sat beside you with a tired sigh, staring at the floor. Minutes passed in comfortable silence.
Eventually, he leaned sideways until his head rested against your shoulder.
You waited until the silence no longer felt heavy.
“What happened?” You asked gently.
Michael exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“You don’t have to tell me everything.”
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Rehearsal ran over… then there were meetings. Everyone wanted something.” He swallowed, finally meeting your eyes. “The photographers were waiting outside when I left. They kept shouting at me, following me to the car…” He shook his head. “I smiled anyway.”
“I smiled because that’s what they expect.”
You reached across the couch, taking his hand.
“You don’t have to do that here.”
Michael looked down at your intertwined fingers.
“I know.” His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knuckles. “That’s why I came.”
Your heart softened.
“You always make everything feel… quiet.” He searched for the right words. “Like I can finally breathe.”
You scooted a little closer.
“You’ve been carrying all of that by yourself today.”
“I didn’t want to bring it home to you.”
“You never have to hide from me.”
The room fell silent again, save for the ticking clock on the wall.
Michael’s shoulders remained stiff, his neck visibly tense from hours of rehearsing and holding himself together.
“…Can I ask you something?” he murmured.
“Anything.”
His cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
“Would you… help me with something..?”
You smiled softly.
“Of course.”
As the evening passed, Michael still on the couch, you’re on your knees. In front of him.
“That good?” You asked with a teasing smile.
His underwear and jeans are pooled to his ankles, your hand pumping his hard cock. You then move forward and lick his cock, from his base to his mushroom tip.
“Y-yes.” He moans out, his eyes closed.
You then put your mouth around his cock, bobbing you head up and down, your hands pumping what you can’t fit into your mouth.
“Oh my-” he cuts himself off with a moan.
He moaned again as he felt one of your hands play with his balls. His hands are trembling, doing his best to not force you down further to his cock.
“I-Im gonna come mama.” He whines out pathetically. You lift your head up briefly before saying “Then do it baby, cum for me” before going back down on him, hollowing your cheeks in.
As you continue with your actions, you feel Michael tense up, and his hips stutter, then you feel his semen release into your mouth, you swallow.
“You did so good baby.” You say, gently stroking him, letting him ride his orgasm out. “Do you feel better?”
All Michael can do is let his head fall back, his eyes closing. “You have no idea.” he admitted. “I think this is the first time today I’ve stopped thinking.”
Soon, you stopped pumping him, watching the sweat that formed on his forehead, the way his chest was still rising up and down rapidly.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his curls.
“You take care of everyone else, Michael. Let me take care of you tonight.”
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hii!! can you do mature! era michael tying reader to the bed and him not letting her release 🥹 PLEASE AND TY
(THIS IS SO FREAKY)
Why You Wanna Fight?
Mature!era x Fem!Reader
Mikes Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Summary: You and Michael are celebrating the release of Invincible which should’ve been a night to remember. Instead, your constant pouting and complaints push Michael’s patience to its limit. You expect him to comfort you like he always does. This time, all you receive is disappointment and a touch if public humiliation
A/N: not proofread
Warnings: NSFW, Dom!Mike, a lot of plot lwk, Smut, Reader highkey being a brat, bondage, aftercare, public humiliation, reader is black but it works for everyone, Michael having a lot of patience, edging, fingering, clit stimulation.
The room buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of champagne glasses. Industry executives, fellow artists, producers, journalists filled every corner of the venue, all eager to congratulate Michael on the release of Invincible.
Every few seconds, someone else approached him either a warm smile, a handshake, or a hug, praising the album before disappearing back into the crowd.
You, however, couldn’t have looked more out of place.
Stretched in your chair with your chin resting in your palm, you stared absentmindedly at the melting ice in your untouched drink.
Your foot bounced impatiently beneath the table as your eyes wondered around the room for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.
You’d already counted every chandelier, every floral arrangement, and every painting along the walls.
With an exaggerated sigh, you leaned closer to Michael as he finally reclaimed his seat beside you after another conversation.
“Are we almost done?” you mumbled. “I’m bored.”
Michael’s smile didn’t falter, though there was the slightest pause before he answered. He reached over, gently squeezing your knee beneath the table.
“Just a little longer,” he said softly. “Tonight’s important.”
You let out another dramatic groan, throwing your head back against the chair. “You’ve been saying ‘a little longer’ for the past two hours.”
His lips pressed into a thin line for only a moment before another guest approached the table with congratulations.
Michael greeted them warmly, slipping back into host mode effortlessly, while you sank deeper into your seat, already wondering how much longer you’d have to sit through a party you never wanted to attend in the first place.
Yes, you were really proud of Michael, more proud than words could ever express.
Watching him receive the recognition he deserved made your heart swell with pride.
But after hours of smiling politely, making small talk, and sitting through endless conversations, all you wanted was to curl up beside him at home and leave the crowded space behind.
Another twenty minutes passed.
Twenty minutes of introductions.
Twenty minutes of smiling until your cheeks hurt.
Twenty minutes of pretending to be interested in conversations about record sales, producers, and chart predictions.
You’ve had enough.
The moment the latest executive walked away after congratulating Michael, you turned toward him again.
“Can we leave now?”
Michael glanced at you before taking another sip from his drink. “Not yet.”
“But you’ve talked to everybody.”
“I haven’t.”
You sighed, crossing your arms. “You’ve practically have.”
He didn’t answer.
His attention shifted to another guest approaching the table. He stood, greeted them warmly, and slipped right back into conversation at though your complaint hadn’t existed.
You, on the other hand, slumped forward into your chair, rolling your eyes the second his back turned.
When he returned a few minutes later, you didn’t bother looking at him. “This party is so boring.”
“It’s almost over.”
“You’ve said that three times.”
“I know.”
“And every time, it’s another half hour.”
He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that shows that he was struggling to maintain his patience.
“I asked you to come tonight because this is important to me.”
“I know,” you replied, picking absentmindedly at the edge of a napkin. “But I’m tired.”
“So am I.”
“Then let’s go.”
Before he could answer, another fave approached with a grin. “Michael! Congratulations! Invincible is incredible.”
Michael stood once more, thanking them graciously. You didn’t.
Instead, loud enough for the small circle around your table to hear, you said,
“Maybe if people stopped talking to us, we could finally leave.”
The conversation stopped. Not completely, just enough to notice. The guests smile faltered.
Michael didn’t react immediately. Instead, he finished his conversation with the guests, and waited until they walked away.
Then, he slowly turned toward you. He wasn’t angry or raising his voice. If anything that made it worse.
“Stand up.”
You blinked. “What?”
“I said…” his tone remained even, almost gentle. “Stand up.” Confused, you obeyed. The nearby conversations carried on, but more than s few glances drifted your way.
Michael adjusted the sleeve of his jacket before meeting your eyes. “I have spent this entire evening trying to make sure you’re comfortable.”
You opened your mouth to speak. He held up one finger. “No.”
It wasn’t loud or sharp, but it stopped you anyway.
“I’ve listened every time you’ve told me you were bored. Every time you’ve asked me to leave. Every sigh, every complaint.”
His expression remained composed, though the disappointment in his eyes stung far more than anger could have.
“And despite all of that, I’ve asked for one thing.” Your gaze dropped. “To support me doe one evening.”
Silence.
“You don’t have to enjoy parties,” he continued. “You don’t have to like interviews, executives, or photographers. I know this isn’t your favorite place to be”
His voice softened, yet became firmer.
“But what you won’t do is disrespect people who cane here to celebrate with me simply because you’re ready to go home.”
Heat rushed to your face.
You suddenly became very aware of the people nearby pretending not to listen.
Michael glanced around the room briefly before looking back at you. “If you’re going to represent us in public, then do it with kindness.”
Another pause.
“Otherwise,” he said quietly. “we’ll excuse ourselves before you embarrass yourself any further.”
Without another word, Michael offered a polite smile to the guests nearby, placed a gentle hand against the middle of your back. “Let’s go home.”
For the first time all night, getting exactly what you wanted didn’t feel satisfying at all.
Throughout the ride home, it was awfully quiet.
You just prayed that the ride home would soon end.
And eventually, it finally did. Soon, you stepped into the house, Michael behind you.
As you both headed towards your shared bedroom, you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.
You stood in front of your bed, a mixture of relief and anxiety fueling inside of you.
“Take your clothes off.” He said, taking off his jacket.
Damn it.
You’re really in for it.
It’s mot like it’s your fault. You didn’t want to go to the party anyways. Michael was the one who insisted for you to come. Sure… maybe you’d complained a little too much.
Your thoughts came to a halt as Michael spoke once again. “Now.” His voice firm, leaving no room for you to talk back.
You do as he says, starting with your dress, your heels, then following with your bra and underwear. By then, Michael had rope in his hands.
“Michael. Why do you have that in your hands?” You say motioning to the rope.
“I wanna try something baby. You down for it?”
Not even 10 minutes later, you find yourself lying on your back in your bed, your wrists tied to the bedpost. (?)
Your legs are now spread open, two of Michaels fingers plunging into you, touching your soft spot relentlessly, your hips bucking up. “Stay” He says.
You whine out, “Mikey please.” You’re close for the third time tonight, only for him to pull his fingers back. It appears that Michael had the brilliant idea to tease you.
“I don’t want to hear it. All day you’ve been a brat. I gave you so many chances to correct your attitude, but this seems like the only way that you’ll learn.”
He then puts the same two fingers back inside of you, causing you to let a moan out. “What? Now, you’ve got nothin’ to say?” He chuckles.
He’s merciless from the start, his finger’s finding your spot once again without a problem. “You’re so wet f’me.”
By now, you’re already close. “Please, Michael, I’m sorry.” You moan, desperate for release, your hips bucking up once again, but he presses down, pinning you in place. “Oh, now you’re sorry?”
“You cum when I tell you to.” He grunts out, his thumb rubbing on your clit.
“Are you gonna be disrespectful again? Embarrass me again?”
You do your best to shake your head. “N-no!”
“Good girl. You gonna cum?”
“Yes!”
“Aw. That’s too bad.” He says before removing his hands from you completely. “What- Michael!” You whine out.
“You should have thought twice about actin’ like a brat.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before releasing your hands from the ropes.
He leaves the room briefly, leaving your legs shaking, chest moving up and down rapidly.
After, her comes back with a damp towel, gently picking your legs up and cleaning you.
“I’m sorry, Mikey. I know how important tonight was for you.” Your voice hoarse.
“It’s alright, just don’t do it again, hm?” He chuckles softly.
Manipulative!Michael teaches Innocent!reader how to pleasure herself and talks her through it
Difficult Love
Mikes masterlist
Main masterlist
Summary: Reader is hanging out with Thriller!Mike at Hayvenhurst walking around, feeding the animals, talking about their lives, their dating lives and it all goes from there.
A/N: love taking requests, wish I could get more👀👀
Warnings: NSFW, Michael being vulgar, fingering, clit stimulation, nipple stimulation
"What about you Michael? Is there someone in your life?" You ask, walking past some animals that have already been fed.
"Uh.. Yeah there's-there's someone." He chuckles a bit, feeling somewhat nervous. "Oh? Do I know her by chance?" You ask, jealousy bubbling in your chest. For the past few years you've known Michael, you found yourself wondering how life would be with him. Forever.
"Eh, you might." He laughs, teasing you. You nod, not sure how to proceed with this information.
There were many people that you both knew.
Now, you're deep in thought. Could it be Diana?
No, he knows how you feel about her. Brooke? No.
So who could it b-
"Tell you what," he says, pulling you out of your thoughts, causing you to look up at him. "I'll tell you, but, you have to do something for me, okay?"
You nod. "Alright, what's up Mikey?"
Next thing you know, you and Michael are walking into his room, you in front of him. He shuts the door behind you.
"So, you remember how we had that conversation? About your sex life?" He asks.
Your face fills with heat, embarrassment flooding your body. "Michael! You know I was drunk when I told you that!"
A few weeks ago, you and Michael were riding back home from a club after spending the day together, you riding home with him so he could keep his eye on you.
As you both are stepping out of the car, Michael thanks Bill for the ride home. As you both make your way to his room, for some reason, you decide to tell your best friend that you don't know how to masturbate before passing out on his bed, knocked out cold.
"Well, what if I teach you"
Your mind goes blank. Is he serious..? Theres no way. You must be dreaming.
"What?" You question "You're joking"
"No, Im serious. Come here, girl." He says, moving in front of the body-length mirror. "Michael are you sure about this?" You ask, a little uncertain.
He sits on the floor, legs spread "Just trust me." He pats the space in front of him, knowing you'll listen.
Something in his tone makes it hard to argue.
After a pause, you lower yourself to the floor in front of him, your back close to his chest.
“Alright baby, lift up for me.” He motions to your hips. You follow what he says, letting him pull off your pants and underwear.
Now, you only have your shirt on, your legs completely bare. “There we go.” He says to himself, looking at your bare pussy through the mirror, noticing the way it’s glistening.
He shifts a bit, now growing a hard-on. “Alright, watch what I do, okay?” His voice soft. You nod. He then moves his right hand to your pussy, having his middle finger trace your slit to your lips, causing for you to moan softly.
“Aw, you’re so wet for me.” He chuckles softly. “First, if you’re wet enough, spread it through your pussy.” He then moves his middle and ring finger back to your slit, then to your clit.
“Then, you can rub your clit before you go inside…” he trails off, rubbing your clit. You moan, moving your hips a bit desperate for more friction.
“Michael, stop teasin’ me.” You whine out, almost pathetically. “Shhh baby. I’m teaching you, remember?” He’s still rubbing your clit. “Then, you can stimulate other places.” He says, now moving his left hand up underneath your shirt, past your bra to stimulate your nipples.
“And eventually, you give yourself more.” Then, he inserts his middle finger into your pussy, setting a slow pace.
You continue to let out more moans,but it’s not enough for Michael. “Now, what if I..” he mumbles to himself before finding a soft spot inside of you, causing you to moan louder.
Your hips jerk up, your hands move back to grip on Michaels thigh. “Ugh! Michael!”
“Oh, thats the spot, isn’t it? There you go baby.” He chuckles before adding another finger, now picking up his pace. “You’re doing so good for me.”
By now, the room is filled with your moans, the sound of Michaels fingers going in and out of you, as well as him praising you.
“Michael, please!” You moan out, eyes closed in bliss, he’s hitting your sweet spot repeatedly, his left hand moving back to your clit. “You gonna come f’me baby?” He asks unconsciously rolling his hips into your back.
“Y-Yes! I’m so close!” Your legs now shaking.
“You can cum baby. Don’t worry pretty girl, just let go.” He says, his voice low in your ear. And you do exactly that, your orgasm washing over you in waves, the feeling foreign to you which cause the feeling to become overwhelming very quickly, and Michael continuing his actions not helping you come over the feeling.
“Mikey, w-wait-“ you moan, trying to move his hands away from you, but you fail in your attempts.
“It’s alright baby, I’m just helping you learn remember? You can give me a few more can’t you?”
Stupidly, you nod your head, you can’t help but let out a small groan. All because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.
HEAR ME OUT GIRL 👄 michael’s daughter and she’s a pop star carrying in daddy’s legacy and she turns up to the michael film and her and jaafar get spicy? 😏🫦
i refuse to hear you out, what the fuck bro 😭
just you wait bro, when i die, wait until michael hears about this one
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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17 years ago, today, we lost you. It will forever amaze me how you survived as long as you did. How you survived all of the cruel and false accusations, the way people treated you, and the way the tabloids and media treated you. You always deserved better than that.
Despite everything thrown at you, you continued to share your talent, your kindness, and your passion with the world. Your strength was extraordinary.
Thank you for the music, the memories, and the impact you left on so many lives. Your artistry changed the world, and your legacy continues to inspire people across generations. You are missed, remembered, and celebrated by millions. Clearly, you may be gone, but never forgotten. Rest peacefully, Michael. 🕊️
That jermajesty smut was so damn good, it was so good I NEED ANOTHER ONE. Jealous maj would be sooo good, like him being mad about you being close to jaafar ouuuu 😛😛
Glad you enjoyed!!😛
Delusional!
Contains: explicit content, strong language, Jermajesty kinda mean, Jaafar feature, BLACK reader, hair pulling, a thumb in mouth, single use of the n word
Jaafar gave you a side hug when he saw you leaning against the kitchen counter. “How you been?” He asked you. You and Jaafar immediately began to catch up.
You being their childhood friend now turned Jermajesty’s girlfriend, you were used to being around Jaafar a lot but ever since he’s been filming for the Michael movie, you seen him a lot less. Jaafar explained that he missed his friends and siblings so he’s staying the weekend.
Jermajesty finally walked in while you and Jaafar were cackling at a joke you made. “What’s funny?”
“Oh nothing, just some old joke.” Jaafar said, his laughter slowly dying down.
Jermajesty did a quick side-eye but brushed it off knowing you and Jaafar were friends.
•••
He could only hold it in for so long, the rest of the weekend, Jaafar practically had you in a chokehold. Every time Jermajesty blinked you guys were having another inside joke.
The compliments you gave him for his acting were getting practically bizarre and for some reason Jaafar loves to bring up the fact you had a crush on him when you were younger.
Jermajesty was getting fed the hell up. He knows Jaafar is engaged but damn, he sure isn’t acting like it.
He loves Jaafar but he’s waiting for the day he goes home.
•••
The final straw was a day before Jaafar left. He walked into the kitchen just to see you and Jaafar—once again—chatting your gums away. He simply ignored it, dismissing the strike of jealousy as he walked to the fridge.
Jaafar then leaned over to whisper something in your ear making you laugh so hard tears pricked your eyes. Jermajesty didn’t even bother grabbing a drink at that point, walking over to you.
“I need to talk to you.” He muttered not sparing Jaafar a single glance. You just looked at him with your eyebrow raised, “um okay?”
You and Jermajesty went upstairs to the room, out of ear-shot from Jaafar. As soon as you made it inside, he slammed the door shut. “What the fuck is your problem?” He asked you.
“Nigga, are you good?”
“Y’all have been dick riding each other for the past few days and it’s getting irritating.”
“You’re so fucking delusional.” You rolled your eyes, it felt like the air got 10 times heavier as soon as those words left your mouth.
He rubbed one hand down his face along with an exhale from his nose. Before you could mutter another word, he grasped your forearm guiding you to lay on the bed.
He lifted your legs causing your dress glide down your thighs, showing your black panties which he removed. He spread your legs farther revealing your glistening folds to him. “So you enjoy pissing me off or was it for my fuckin’ brother?” He asked glaring at you.
“Not for your brother.” your voice was softer as you stared up at him. You didn’t know if your heart sped up because of how fine he looked or because you know what’s coming.
He just shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek while he took his belt off. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t absolutely excited but then your mind drifted to Jaafar downstairs.
You really hoped he can’t hear what’s about to go down.
“I don’t wanna hear a single noise from you.” Jermajesty said once his dick was fully out. You just nodded, knowing damn well you’re not about to listen.
He dragged his tip through your folds before entering, your fingers gripped the sheets with a loud moan.
“What the fuck I told you?” He said wrapping his hand around your neck. He tossed one of your legs on his shoulders before pounding into you.
The headboard didn’t waste any time to bang against the wall, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You bit your lip genuinely trying to be quiet but you could practically feel him in your stomach.
“You like to play in my face right?” Jermajesty asked you not slowing down even a little bit. “N-no.” your voice cracked as you answered.
“Lying ass.” He shook his head still pumping into you. He took the hand around your throat and placed his thumb into your mouth. “Suck.”
You wrapped your lips around his thumb, small whimpers leaving your mouth as he fucked into you. You sucked on his thumb trying to pacify your moans but it barely worked.
Your legs began to shake already feeling on the edge. “I’m not gonna let you cum.” He stated shaking his head. “Pleaseee.” You begged around his thumb.
You don’t think you’ll be able to hold it especially with him not letting up. He ignored your plead, taking his thumb out your mouth. He tossed your other leg onto his other shoulder, leaning down for a deeper impact.
Your eyes rolled back flashing nothing but white as your mind went blank. Before you knew it, you squirted around him, “You don’t fucking listen.”
He didn’t stop his movements watching as small jets continued to come out. Both of his hands reached down to play with your nipples, overstimulating you even more.
“M-Maj please.” You cried trying to grab on to him. “Stop touching me.” He gathered both of your wrists in one of his hands.
Contains: sexual content, strong language, porn with no plot, oral(both parties), spit,
A/N: Inspired by this nsfw twt vid.
“Lemme try somethin.” She stood up and turned her body parallel from him. He couldn’t fight the sharp inhale, seeing her glistening pussy in front of his face.
Michael felt his mouth salivate, swallowing before he seemed like an inexperienced grown man — which he was. She adjusted backwards a bit until her face was directly above his pulsing dick.
“You ready baby?” She asked him in a sultry tone, grasping him in her hand causing his stomach to contract from the new feeling. A small ‘mhm’ left his mouth, too focused on the need to shove his tongue between her wet folds.
As soon as her warm mouth captured his length, his tongue darted out to connect with her pussy. She knew he was an eater but she may have underestimated him a bit as he continued to suck and lick all over her clit.
She took a deep breath trying to calm herself down enough to return the favor. She took him deeper in her mouth, swirling her tongue around. He moaned into her pussy, tongue flicking rapidly, sending pleasurable vibrations through her body.
She couldn’t help the soft moans spilling out of her mouth, muffled from his dick practically in her throat. She felt spit foaming in her mouth as it dripped down his length, her head constantly in a bobbing motion.
He gripped her hips tightly, eyes rolling back at her tongue providing him the pleasure he wasn’t used to. He was always to himself, too scared to interact with girls for too long — believing they’ll get tired of him.
But this — her mouth, her pussy and her moans — he’s glad she’s the one to take him this far. His eyes closed relishing in the taste of her, he never knew he could enjoy this so much. He always thought his brothers were over exaggerating when they spoke about their sexual festivities with women but he may just truly be in heaven.
Her hand came down to gently grab his balls, massaging them between her fingers. They sat heavy and warm in her palm, just begging for a nut.
His grip tightened against her ass, holding on to anything to ground himself into the new sensations. His whimpers were muffled by her pussy in his mouth but they didn’t go unnoticed. He bucked his hips automatically, pushing him farther down her throat.
Her throat accommodated the farther intrusion, feeling him hit the back of it. He was pushing her mouth to the limit, Michael is just truly that big. As she continued working her magic on him enjoying the equal amount of pleasure, she felt movement behind her.
She glanced back noticing Michael scooting up a bit, leaving his original position where he was flat on his back. He began to prop himself up on to the cotton white pillows on her bed. “M-Michael?” She questioned.
His eyes were closed, hands kneading her ass like dough. Her breathing became uneven and rattled at his desperation to please her. She tried to focus back on her original task, taking his still hard dick in her mouth but that only encouraged him.
She felt him lean back a bit giving the smallest amount of air between his mouth and her pussy before spitting directly on it. She gasped in shock, not expecting that from him. Before she could protest, he went back in spreading the liquid around. She couldn’t deny the fact that it turned her on even more.
“Oh f-fuck, M-Mike wait.” She told him as her legs shook. Her eyes rolled back, as her hands gripped the sheets. Her hips grinded into his mouth, giving him more leeway to stick his tongue inside of her pussy.
“Oooo shit.” She cried out, her head fell onto the bed, while his dick stood stiffly beside her head. His tongue made constant circles on her pussy as he mindlessly ate her out. He couldn’t think about anything else but her taste on his tongue.
She came to the conclusion, he was absolutely pussy-drunk. The pleasure coursed through her veins, almost becoming too much as she inched forward. She felt his head slightly chase after her wetness, not wanting to disconnect his lips from her.
Before she could even get a few centimeters farther, his hands gripped her hips pulling her back to fully cover his mouth. “Mmm come back mama.” He mumbled holding her against his mouth.
She could’ve cried as his lips wrapped around her clit, giving it a firm suck causing her legs to shake. Her breathing sped up as he moved her hips up and down his face, tongue dragging all through her folds.
“You gon’ make me cum baby.” She whimpered out. Him hearing those words gave him a second wind, tongue flicking against her clit with the speed of lightning.
The room filled with her moans, and the wet sounds of his tongue swirling against her pussy which made her cry out. By the hard grasp she had onto his knee he can tell she was close. “Cum mama.” He mumbled.
Those two words made her body tense up before feeling that surge of pleasure release through her. Michael’s mouth stayed opened and ready, licking up her nectar coming out of her clenching hole.
He licked her through her orgasm, finally loosening his grip on her. She panted, turning to fall flat on her back on the bed. “Michael what the fuck?” She said still in utter disbelief.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, doe eyes staring innocently at her.
“I liked that, can we do it again?”
A/n: I’m working on my writing but I did want to try this idea. Hope it was a bit alright!
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Warnings: Nsfw, Perv Michael, lowk a lot of plot? (i got carried away👀), smut, reader lwk getting lectured, spanking, kinda dark? oral, reader calls Michael “mr. jackson” (he lwk got a thing for it), PinV, unprotected sex
“Crap, crap, crap,” you whispered to yourself, sprinting down the hallway.
The stack of papers pressed tightly against your chest threatened to slip from your grasp with every hurried step. You were already an hour late. An entire hour.
Your phone had been blowing up nonstop.
‘Mr. Jackson’
12 missed calls
27 unread texts
14 emails
Every notification made your stomach twist tighter.
I’m dead.
You rounded the corner too quickly, causing the papers to fly from your hands. Sheets scattered across the polished stone floor like fallen leaves.
“Damn it!” you hissed, dropping to your knees. You frantically gathered the pages, trying to put them back in order.
Then everything suddenly went quiet.
The office doors in front of you opened, causing you to freeze. Michael stepped out, dressed impeccably as always, one hand tucked into his pocket.
But, he didn’t look angry.
He didn’t look annoyed.
He looked… calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
His eyes dropped to the papers scattered across the floor before slowly lifting to meet yours.
The silence stretched. You suddenly wished he would just yell and just get it over with.
At least then you’d know what to expect.
“Pick those up.” He said, his voice soft.
You immediately scrambled to gather the papers.
“Mr. Jackson, I-I’m so sorry, I—”
“Office. Now.” His voice stern. He then turned around and walked back inside without waiting for a response.
He turned around and walked back inside without waiting for a response.
You swallowed hard. The employees nearby suddenly became very interested in their computers, yet nobody looked in your direction.
That was never a good sign. You hurried into the office behind him, the doors shut quietly.
Michael stood by the large windows overlooking the city, his back was to you.
“Close the folder.”
Your hands were shaking enough that you hadn’t noticed you were clutching the papers against your chest.
You quickly closed it.
“Stand there.”
You did.
The room fell silent.
One second. Five seconds. Ten. The longer he stayed quiet, the more your anxiety grew.
Finally, he turned around. “How late are you?”
You hesitated. “An hour.”
Michael nodded.
Just nodded.
“One hour.” Another pause. “Sixty minutes.” His voice remained level.
“Three thousand six hundred seconds.”
Your stomach twisted. “I know.”
“No.” He took a few slow steps forward. “I don’t think you do.”
The calmness never left his face, and that was the problem. There was no visible anger to prepare yourself for. There were no warning signs.
Just that steady gaze. “I called you fourteen times.”
You looked down.
“Look at me.”
The words weren’t loud.
You immediately obeyed, failing to notice the way his eyes trailed down your body.
Michael folded his hands behind his back. “I sent emails.”
You nodded.
“I sent texts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And during all of that, what exactly was so important that you couldn’t answer me?”
You opened your mouth, nothing came out. Because suddenly every excuse sounded stupid.
Michael watched you struggle patiently.
Almost politely.
Which somehow felt crueler than shouting. “I don’t want excuses.” His head tilted slightly. “I want an explanation.”
“I lost track of time.” You said.
Silence. Then a small nod.
“I see.”
That was it.
Just I see.
The disappointment in those two words hit harder than any yelling could.
Michael walked back toward his desk. “You know what concerns me?”
You shook your head.
He picked up a framed photo from his desk and set it down again.
“People make mistakes.” His voice remained quiet. “I make mistakes.” He looked over at you.
“But mistakes are usually followed by accountability.”
Your throat tightened.
“You disappeared.” Every word was measured, controlled, precise. “Do you know what I thought after the tenth unanswered call?”
You shook your head.
“I thought maybe something had happened to you.”
That caught you off guard. Michael’s expression didn’t change.
“I had security looking for you.”
Your eyes widened.
“I had staff trying to reach you.”
The guilt then settled heavily in your chest.
“And then you walk through my doors carrying papers like we’re ten minutes behind schedule instead of an hour.”
The room felt impossibly small.
Michael sat down in his chair, leaning back calmly “Tell me something.”
You nodded nervously.
“Why should I trust that you won’t do this again?”
The question hit like a punch.
Because suddenly this wasn’t just about being late, It was also about trust.
And Michael just sat there waiting. Not yelling. Just watching. Waiting for an answer, which was somehow much, much scarier.
For some reason, you couldn’t form words.
He then sighed. “You know what? Come here” he said.
You made your way over to him, your heart pounding in your chest.
As you make your way towards him, he bends you over his lap. “I have half a mind to not fire you right now,” his hands pulling up your skirt, then rubbing against your backside.
‘What the hell is happening right now?’ You think to yourself, not that you’re complaining, there are many people that would kill to be in this position.
Before you could form another thought, you feel a rush of air against your ass.
SMACK!
You gasped, a wave of pain blooms over the left side of your cheek.
“When I say I need something by a certain time, I mean it.”
SMACK!
He spanked you again, causing you to moan out with a mix of pain and pleasure.
“For the past few weeks, you’ve been slacking off. Countless typos. So many times where you turned in work late.”
Another spank.
At this point, tears were flowing down your face.
“Please, Mr. Jackson! It won’t happen again, I swear!” You cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure floods through your body.
“Is that so?” He hummed.
You nodded your head rapidly, desperate to get out of the embarrassing and humiliating position that you were in.
“Alright. Sit up.”
Now, you were sitting on his lap, your chest moving up and down trying to catch your breath.
He then spread your legs with his, his fingers trailing down your stomach to your clothed clit, rubbing circles around it.
“Do you want me to stop?” His breath on your neck.
“No.” You moan out.
“Do you want more?”
You nod.
“What do you want? Hm?” His fingers were now becoming more fast-paced.
“You, I-I want you inside of me.” You moaned out once more.
“Look at you, using your words like a big girl.” He chuckled.
He then has you stand up once more, leading you over to the couch that stands next to the door. He the. Takes off your panties. He then follows suit with his clothes.
“Bend over, now”
You follow what he says, bending over the arm of the couch. You then felt the tip of his cock rub against your folds, your walls struggling to take him in.
“Relax f’me baby” his voice deep.
You do your best to follow instantly, before sinking in resulting you in moaning out in pleasure, Michael doing the same.
He then begins a steady pace, his hands moving to your hips.
Thrust
Thrust
Thrust
Thrust
Your warm slick is coming out of you in strings, sloppy sounds filling the room, moans, cries, whimpers, you and Michael completely forgetting about what setting you both are in.
“Are you gonna do better?” He starts, still thrusting into you.
“Mmh!” You nod your head, your mind full of pleasure, still a bit high off of the previous pleasure he gave you.
“Use your words baby” he groans, slapping your ass.
“Y-Yes, Mr. Jackson!” Your voice bouncing off the walls.
He groans at the way you moan his name “Am I gonna have to teach you again?”
“No!”
By now, you were embarrassing close to cumming again, the band in your stomach dangerously close to snapping, and Michael groaning and moaning in your ear isn’t helping.
“Mr. Jackson! Im gonna cum!” You moan out.
“I know baby, I can feel you squeezing me so tight,” he groans, looking down at the way you both are connected, you’re creating a ring of cream around him.
“Making a mess all on my dick, fuck” he moans, his pace becoming more sloppy, his orgasm just as close as yours.
“Michael!” Your moan out, turning him on, his dick still stroking inside of you.
“Come for me baby, do it.” His hand moving down to rub circles around your clit, that being your breaking point.
His jaw falls open, his cum coating your walls while your pussy spasms on his cock, your back arching.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson, it won’t happen again.” You mumble out, your body falling slump.
He smiles softly at you before pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling out of you slowly, watching both your cum and his slip out of you, causing him to groan.
He quickly looks away before he could get hard again, going to get you a warm towel to clean you up with.
He definitely wouldn’t mind you making more mistakes if it meant that you both would end up like this.
mature!michael x (controversially young) popstar!reader
👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
then everyone starts calling them queen and king of pop 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍
a/n: i really liked writing this so i hope you enjoy — also if any typos i’m sorry i swear i reread these like 5 times but always miss something
t/w: nsfw if you squint but 18+ mdni bc michael be grinding into the mattress as he dreams of you, age gap, pr/fake relationship, reader has an attitude problem but michael loves it, mature! era, jealousy, yearning, a lot of fluff, mentions of anxiety
wc: 5.3k
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“You want me to do what?” Michael asked, reading glasses perched on his nose as he read over the proposal for the third time.
“I know this is out of your comfort zone, but this could really work in your favor, Michael.”
He raised an eyebrow at his PR manager as he flicked through the documents, positive that this had to be some kind of joke. He hated PR— absolutely fucking loathed it. Though necessary given his line of work, something like this seemed so… arbitrary.
“You want me to pretend I’m dating this woman?” he waved the document around, a picture of you at a red carpet event paper-clipped to the front. “How old even is she? I thought this was supposed to help my image, not make me look like I’m hitting a midlife crisis.”
His manager winced and Bill laughed, hiding the sound poorly behind a cough.
“I understand your hesitancy, but the people and press absolutely adore her. She’s a lovely woman, just give her a chance. You don’t have to marry the girl, just… look happy. Be happy. You deserve that.”
“I’d prefer the real thing over whatever the hell this is.”
The man shrugged, “you never know. You two might hit it off.”
Michael’s eyes danced back down to the picture of you.
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You lit a cigarette, your anxiety pulsing harder than your heart as you sat in the waiting room of a random office building you’d been dropped off at.
This was absolutely insane.
When your manager first brought the idea to you, you thought it was prank.
Fake date Michael Jackson, it’ll boost your record sales.
Not that you were doing poorly, far beyond that.
But you were the next It Girl in the industry. Everyone wanted to be you or be with you but you had garnered a sort of untouchable reputation.
You had trust issues even before your name started to pop up in tabloids and you had completely taken dating off the table.
You just didn’t have the time or headspace for it.
And now here you were because how on earth were you supposed to say no to something like that?
Even if it didn’t end up working out, you were admittedly excited to just meet the man.
Michael fucking Jackson.
You felt like headed as you inhaled another wave of tabacco.
A door then opened, a woman in formal attire smiling warmly at you. “Mr. Jackson is ready for you.”
Christ.
You snubbed the cigarette out into the ashtray and stood on shaking legs, suddenly regretting your decision to wear heels as you followed the woman down a hallway to what you assumed was a conference room.
This was all… very formal. You supposed it was, this was technically a business transaction despite how outlandish it all seemed.
PR relationships weren’t anything new by any means. Celebrities did it all the time for promotions but still, this was Michael Jackson.
Part of you wondered if he even knew who you were, likely so far off his radar of people who actually caught his attention in the industry.
The door opened and you met his eyes immediately, or at least you thought so, given he had aviators perched on his nose as he sat in a chair, lounging in it as if it were a throne.
You faltered for only a moment, not being able to help the starstruck feeling that hit you in the chest.
You sat down across from him, acutely aware of the way he was watching you. His expression skirting along the lines of clinical and your mouth felt painfully dry as you managed a small smile.
He was intimidating. Not in any way that felt threatening, but his presence was a lot.
Like his soul was too big for his body and fighting its way into the room, greedily taking all the oxygen and leaving you a little breathless.
A beat of silence passed and your eyes flicked down to the papers spread out on the table. An array of contracts to amend and sign and you took note of the carafe of orange juice off to his side.
Michael then lowered his sunglasses down his nose, looking at you over the edge of them and they were such a dark brown it felt like you were looking into two pools of ink.
He assessed you, at least that’s what it felt like. His expression flickering faintly, appearing to reach some sort of conclusion as he then set his sunglasses on the table and switching to a pair of reading ones.
It struck you then how attractive he truly was. Something you’d always been aware of, but to be this close to him in person felt surreal.
“I’m Michael.” He said plainly, voice even but it had that gentleness to it that he was known for as he reached a hand across the table.
You nearly laughed at the formality of it but bit your tongue, reaching your own hand across the table and trying not to stumble over your name as his warm skin met yours.
His hand was large, fingers enveloping your own easily.
The next hour was a drone of legal speak. Discussing boundaries and limitations. How many events each of you would attend. A projected end date for this whole endeavor. You tried and failed not to blush when the topic of PDA came up, but it morphed more so into embarrassment as Michael was adamant he barely even wanted to hold your hand.
It was evident he didn’t want to do this and you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that.
On one hand, yes this was just a business deal. But would it really be that bad? He made it seem like you were a child he was having to babysit.
So you rolled your jaw and echoed an agreement— “I’d rather just hold hands.”
“That’s going to make it hard to sell the whole relationship thing, especially given Michael’s track record of women he’s been with—“
“Meaning?” Michael raised a brow.
Both your managers looked at each other, realizing the poor wording.
Your manager cleared their throat. “It’s just, well, Mr. Jackson, the women you have been public with, you’re known for being a very affectionate man. And you know how the press are, they’re likely going to sniff out insincerity.”
Michael sighed, the sound low and barely carrying across the room as he tapped a rhythm into the table. His eyes slated towards you briefly, and it had to have been a trick of the light because you could’ve sworn he fleetingly looked at your lips.
“Fine,” he muttered, scratching his signature across the page in dark ink. “A kiss every now and then.”
“Don’t sound too thrilled,” you said quietly, the words slipping out without warrant as you signed your own name.
He laughed lightly, the sound caught between an exhale as he shook his head.
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It was your first event together, the official debut of your… your relationship.
The word tasted sour on his tongue as he adjusted his cuff links.
“I feel like I’m dropping you off at prom,” Bill said, tone laced with amusement as he looked at Michael through the rear view mirror.
“Way to make me feel old.”
His friend shook his head at that as the car pulled up to a large, albeit ordinary house.
Michael wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting, but he supposed he was used to more lavish properties.
Yours looked… warm. Like a proper home.
It was nice.
Bill then cleared his throat.
“What?”
“What do you mean what? Go knock on that young lady’s door.”
Michael nearly rolled his eyes, in disbelief he was being told to do this at his grown age. “It’s not like I’m actually dating her—“
“Get your ass out of the car and go be a gentleman.”
Michael bit the inside of his cheek and obliged despite the stubbornness that was stirring in his chest. He was a gentleman, something he was rather proud of, but in all honesty he had been expecting Bill to be the one to go get you.
With an annoyed huff he didn’t quite mean, he stepped out of the car and made his way up the steps, eyes trailing along all the different flowers you had in what was clearly a well maintained garden. A loving touch evident in each section and he spotted a bucket next to your front door with gardening gloves draped off the side of it, your initials stitched into the hem.
The image of you gardening was rather endearing but he knew better than to dwell on it.
His eyes turned to your door, staring at the red painted wood for a moment before he bit the bullet and knocked. Suddenly feeling like he was going to prom, even though that had never actually been something he had gotten the opportunity to experience.
He knocked sharply twice before folding his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels as he waited.
Only a few beats passed before he heard the lock turn and the door opened, meeting your slightly surprised gaze— you clearly weren’t expecting him to be to the one to get you either.
⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹
It was odd.
That’s the only way you could think to describe it. Your fingers laced with his as you made your way down the red carpet of the charity event you two were attending that night.
Your ears were still ringing a bit, given how loud people had gotten when Michael stepped out of the car— only to double when he reached a hand down to help you out of the car.
It had thankfully been rather easy, letting photos do the talking as his arm gently rested around your waist as you posed for photos. His smile easy and well trained with decades more experience than you.
It felt comical that the main thing your mind kept trailing back to was how good he smelled. His cologne felt grounding as your heart finally began to calm down.
You could do this.
But then the questions came.
“Are you two working on a new song together?” A reporter asked.
“Oh, no we…” Christ, speak.
“We’re together.” You felt Michael tug you a bit closer, making you briefly lose balance and to catch yourself, you rested your hand against his chest.
You almost let a laugh slip at the speechless expression of one reporters face. “Together?”
You hummed, because you didn’t know what else to do and thankfully Michael seemed to get the hint and he moved the two of you down the line.
The next morning, it was all over the news.
Your eyes squinted tiredly at the newspaper as you sipped on a cup of coffee, taking in the large headline— THE KING AND QUEEN OF POP, and just below were an array of photos. Michael helping you out of the car. His arm around your waist. A photo of when he had leaned down to whisper that you were doing a good job.
And then your hand paused as you lifted your mug, eyes finally landing on the photo of where his lips were pressed to your temple as you smiled at the camera.
You ignored the fluttering in your stomach, deciding then and there you were absolutely not about to be that reckless and stupidly fall for him knowing damn well that this entire thing was a ruse. You could find him charming and attractive all you liked, but actually falling for him? You were smarter than that.
The butterflies simply had to be a side effect of loneliness.
You kept telling yourself that as the weeks went on.
Told yourself it didn’t mean a damn thing every time his arm tightened around your waist as he guided you through a crowd. That it was nothing when he’d brush hair out of your eyes when it got messed up by the wind. That he was simply a gentleman when he would help fix your dress, fingers gliding lightly against your skin. When he’d light your cigarette even though it was painfully obvious he hated the fact that you smoked.
Because it meant absolutely nothing.
You hadn’t even kissed yet.
Something neither of your managers were thrilled about given they wanted it to be convincing. But Michael reserved himself to pressing chaste kisses to the side of your head or running his lips along your knuckles. Keeping the press at bay for the time being.
The fake dates you two had were both your favorite and something you also loathed. Because he seemed to hate them and that always, always immediately soured your mood the moment you sat down across from him.
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Michael eyed your irritated expression over his glasses as he briefly read the menu of the restaurant Bill had suggested. Not missing the paparazzi who were littered like ants outside, trying to get a decent photo through the windows from across the street.
He wasn’t all that hungry, simply wanting the night to be done with so he could put an end to the charade.
Admittedly, you were easy to be around. Something he was trying not to let himself find comfort in. Maybe it’s because you never asked him for anything. There were no expectations, just contractual agreements and a means to an end. Simple. After each disastrous relationship he’s had, he needed simple.
These fake date nights weren’t entirely opposable at first but every time you two went on one, you seemed absolutely miserable.
He wasn’t used to people acting like they despised his presence, it was usually the opposite.
“You okay?” He eventually asked, finding himself to be a little lost for words which was also entirely new for him.
“Fine,” your tone was clipped as you sipped on your wine.
His eyes flicked down to the bracelet you were wearing— the silver and diamonds glinting in the low light and he faintly traced out the letter M that was engraved into it. A custom Vivienne Westwood piece.
Telling himself for what felt like the hundredth time that he didn’t like the sight of it all that much. Perhaps just a little bit. Trying to not seem too pleased every time someone made a comment about it.
It didn’t mean anything.
Michael pulled his gaze back down to the menu, “you look like you’re trying to shoot my head off my shoulders with your eyes.”
“I’m just looking at you.”
“With an attitude.”
You scoffed. “I do not have an attitude.”
He raised a brow at you, eyes catching on the stain of red wine on your lips. “The way you just said that, says otherwise.”
Your jaw rolled. “Maybe I wouldn’t have an attitude if you didn’t sit there brooding all the goddamn time.”
“I—“ his exhale was caught around a laugh. “I am not brooding.”
“And I don’t have an attitude.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Alright, I’ll bite,” he set down the menu and leaned back in his chair, looking at you pointedly. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem—“
“Honey, you look like you’re about to crawl over this table and slap me.”
You laughed into your wine glass. “Tempting, but this dress is too tight for that.”
“Tempting? Why on earth would you want to slap me if there’s no problem?”
You clicked your tongue, eyes meeting his and your pupils were so blown he nearly forgot what you two were even talking about.
“Am I really that difficult to be around?”
Michael blinked at you. “What?”
“You act like you can’t fucking stand me.”
His brows furrowed as he leaned forward, looking at you like you had two heads. “What on earth gave you that impression?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you said with a sarcastic lilt that was coated in a little too much alcohol. “Maybe all the brooding?”
“If I am brooding, it’s because you’re the one acting like you can’t wait to go home and do literally anything else.”
“Yeah, because of you—“
“How is this because of me?”
“More wine?”
Michael turned to the waiter who had approached the table, completely forgetting he was even in a restaurant as his eyes slid back to you. Both of you had leaned in over the table and he had failed to realize how close he’d gotten, just a few more inches and his nose would’ve brushed against yours.
You leaned away first and held up your wine glass, smile tight but polite. “Yes, please.”
The air was definitely different around you from that point on, most of your conversations slipping into arguments that never found an end and would leave Michael frustrated to the point where he was tempted to just… he didn’t know. The thought of grabbing you and kissing you just to shut you up crossed his mind, but he shoved it away.
Shoved it into the dark corner of his mind where he kept all of his improper thoughts of you.
Dreams he had woken up from, telling himself he had most definitely not been grinding into his mattress in his sleep as he dreamt of you. Telling himself he didn’t look at your ass every time you walked by him. That he didn’t think about bending you over his knee every time you got an attitude, which was always, and slapping your ass raw until you cried. Told himself he didn’t love the way you smiled every time a fan told you how much your music meant to them. That he didn’t find dirt under your nails from gardening the most endearing thing in the world.
And Michael told himself he wasn’t about to smack the absolute shit out of his brother as he watched him stand there and shamelessly flirt with you— because Michael wasn’t a jealous man. There wasn’t even anything to be jealous of. You weren’t even his.
Yet his jaw ticked as he watched Marlon make you laugh. A real laugh. Not the pretend one you used during interviews when you tried to act like you were in love with him.
He wanted to hear it again and bottle it away.
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Your feet padded across your room as the phone rang, the hour late and you were freshly showered, the air cool on your damp skin.
You pressed the phone to your ear, wondering who the hell would be calling at this time.
“Hello—“
“It’s Michael.”
You froze, feeling as if the world momentarily stopped before violently hurtling forward again through space, your mind short circuiting a little.
He had never called you before.
“What do you want?” You winced the moment the words left your mouth, realizing how rude you sounded even though you were genuinely just taken off guard.
There was a brief pause and you half expected him to hang up.
“Are you free?”
You blinked, eyeing yourself in the mirror and looking like a drowned poodle. “Tonight?”
“That was in fact the implication of my question.”
Your eyes narrowed at the empty space in front of you. “You’re not really selling me, who’s to say I don’t have better plans?”
He laughed, “do you?”
“I’m hanging up—“
“Wait.” He rushed, “wait. Sorry, forgive me but I’m used to us arguing all the time and this is me trying to amend that.”
You sat down on the edge of your bed, already eyeing your closet because you knew you were going to say yes. You always said yes to him, even though it annoyed you.
“I’m listening.”
Two hours later you were standing on the front steps of his house. If it could even be called a house.
You adjusted your skirt, telling yourself you definitely didn’t pick it out for him and you definitely didn’t almost cry out of frustration when you couldn’t get your hair to cooperate.
Before you even had the chance to knock on the door, it swung open and you were greeted by the sight of Michael in a simple button up and slacks. Probably the most casual attire he was capable of.
You had no idea what the night held in store for you, no idea what he had planned. And when he guided you through the labyrinth that was his home and your eyes adjusted to the low lighting of the kitchen, your heels came to a sharp halt against the marble flooring.
“What…” your eyes slowly pulled away from the table to him. He looked shy all the sudden, something you weren’t used to seeing on him and it made your stomach do an odd flip. “Michael, what is this?”
He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “A truce, I suppose.”
Spread out on the table was an assortment of your favorite foods. Things you had mentioned in passing and not even directly to him, so the knowledge that he had actually been paying attention to you the entire time made blood pool into your cheeks. There was also a bottle of your favorite wine and in the middle of the table was a vase full of Peace Lilies, Hyacinths, and you nearly laughed at the avant-garde arrangement of Olive branches.
You bit your cheek as you tried not smile. “Subtle.”
Michael tsk-d, “you know I’m incapable of subtlety.”
You hummed, hesitantly stepping further into the room, testing the new waters of whatever this was that he was offering.
Michael followed in after you, watching you carefully, intent to read each change in your expression to make sure you liked it.
“I don’t want to spend all of our time arguing anymore and I’d like to clarify that I don’t hate you.”
“I never said—“
“And I would also like for you to hate me a little less.”
You paused at that, finally looking at him. How nervous he seemed, which was outlandish to you.
“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly.
The way your heart thudded when you were around him meant you probably felt the exact opposite.
He pulled out a chair for you, gesturing for you to sit down and you obliged only after a moments delay.
“I’d like for us to be friends,” Michael said as he sat down next you, uncorking the wine and pouring you a glass.
Friends.
You rolled the word around on your tongue as you debated on whether or not you liked the taste of it.
Friends had a finality to it. A boundary. Limits. Lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Thoughts that shouldn’t be had. Words that should never be spoken and promises that were made to be broken.
You didn’t want to be friends at all.
The realization hit you violently, making your chest tight and head spin with nausea but you swallowed it down with wine and smiled at him.
You could pretend. After all, that’s all you had been doing.
“Friends?” You asked, the word tasted bitter.
Michael nodded, fingers drumming a beat into the table as he looked at you. Appearing to have an internal debate of his own for a minute before he offered up his own smile. Soft at the edges and not quite meeting his eyes, but maybe that was just the lighting.
“Friends.”
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He had to have messed up, because how was this worse?
Somehow, he was more miserable.
The fake public dates for press coverage morphed into quiet evenings where you showed him how to take care of plants or late evenings when he’d show you a favorite movie of his. Being more distracted by your head lolling off to the side and slumping against his shoulder, your eyes heavy as you fought to stay awake and watch. The plot of the film long lost in his mind even though he had probably seen it a hundred times.
When you did eventually doze off, he lost against his better judgment as his fingers would twirl some of your hair around his digits. Trying not to take too much comfort in the weight of you against him and the warmth.
His heart leapt to his throat when he carefully stood up, gently laying you down so you’d be more comfortable. About to step away and grab a blanket when your hand suddenly caught his, muttering a stay before you were back to dreaming.
Michael felt like he couldn’t even fully appreciate these moments with you because there was a ticking in the back of his head. The end date of the contract looming behind his eyes and counting down like the doomsday clock. Worried even though he shouldn’t have been that the moment the day came about on his calendar, you’d disappear out of his life. Gone in a moment like breath on a mirror, because why would you stay? What could he possibly offer?
You were in your golden years and he was just—
Michael shook his head at himself.
He had definitely dug himself into a deeper hole.
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Each day you looked at the calendar you felt sick.
Time seeming to pass quicker the one time you wish it didn’t.
But it was tangible. A thing, a creature between the two of you begging to be addressed and growing agitated at being ignored.
You briefly considered scribbling out the date. Maybe ripping the entire month out. Anything to not acknowledge what was approaching.
The shift in energy between the two of you lately had been sweet. The kind that leaves a sticky after taste on the tongue, but you didn’t mind. You cherished them, the small moments you got with him that you knew no one else got.
Your heart swelling in your chest as you watched him kneel down in your garden, dirt staining his expensive boots and pants but not appearing to care as he listened to your instructions.
He was always so careful. In everything he did, there was an art of precision one only had with years of practice. Years of trying to be gentle because he knew he would be rough if otherwise.
You adored him.
Truly you did.
He’d catch you on multiple occasions just watching him. Your eyes intent and open, admiring him just being when his gaze would land on yours and he’d smile. That shyness slipping out and he’d mutter a what? and you always said nothing, before turning away.
The thought of moments like those slipping through your fingers made you panic, a kind of anxiety that made your bones itch and make walls look like their breathing.
When the day arrived, you had completely holed yourself up in your house. Mind spinning and not wanting to deal with it at all, an array of insecurities swirling in your head— because why in the world would Michael actually want to be your friend, your anything, so in a panic you went around the entire house and unplugged every single phone.
If your manager didn’t call you, it didn’t happen.
A completely irrational thought, but knowing the phones wouldn’t ring provided you a little solace.
You even taped over the clocks.
God, you laughed at nothing as you burrowed underneath blankets as a thunderstorm rolled in, you were going insane.
You had no idea how much time passed but you flinched when there was a knock on the door, the sound nearly hidden underneath a boom of thunder.
You wondered if you just didn’t answer, whoever it was would go away. You didn’t want to be perceived. You wanted the entire world to go away because today was not happening.
Another knock followed by the doorbell.
You groaned into your pillow.
More knocking, now sounding urgent.
With a heavy heart, you dragged yourself out of bed, feet making your way through the house and when you opened the door you felt like the lightning streaking across the sky had just struck you.
Because Michael was standing right there. Completely soaked from the rain, dark hair sticking to his forehead and the look on his face.
He looked livid.
“Did you block me?”
You pulled your tongue from the roof of your mouth, still stunned at the sight of him.
“What?”
“I’ve been trying to call you.”
You then blushed, embarrassed as the dramatics of your actions started to dawn on you.
“I unplugged all my phones.”
Michael blinked, his lashes heavy and clumped together with water and stars, his eyes were so beautiful.
“Why the hell did you do that?”
Your fingers gripped the handle of your front door, treating it like a lifeline. “I didn’t want to deal with today.”
“So your bright idea was radio silence?”
“Even if I did have them plugged in, I wouldn’t have answered.”
Michael took a step closer, “that’s not—“
“I didn’t want to deal with today, Michael. And you being here isn’t helping, so please leave.” You went to shut the door but his hand came up and easily stopped you.
“Michael.”
“No.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m not leaving.”
“But I told you to.”
“And I’m not listening, do keep up.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
You’d hardly realized how close he had gotten, his shoes now scuffing along your own feet and his chest nearly pressed to yours as he looked down at you, your mission to slam the door on his face long forgotten.
“I don’t want to deal with today.”
“You said that.”
“Then why are you here?”
His jaw tightened as he looked at you, eyes flicking between yours and you felt like your heart was rotting out of your chest.
You couldn’t do this.
Not now or ten years down the line. It was torture.
“Listen, I know we said we’d be friends but—“
“I don’t want to be your fucking friend.”
The words left him in a way that nearly sounded painful, his eyes never leaving yours as you stood there and stared at him with your lips parted, whatever you were gonna say dying then and there on your tongue.
Your eyes searched his, how dark they were and the intent behind the ferocity in them.
The moment you looked at his mouth, it was over.
His hands found the sides of your face, fingers sinking into your hair as he pulled you to him and then his mouth was on yours. A lighter thrown into a gasoline soaked fire pit because finally— the snap of months of self restraint engulfed you immediately in flames as your own arms wrapped around him, fingers twisting in his wet clothes and desperate to pull him closer as his tongue slipped past yours and you moaned.
Fucking finally.
The sound that left you seemed to set off some trigger in him because not a moment later Michael dipped down and picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you back into your house. Mouth never leaving yours as he stumbled his way through the front entry and into the living room. Lowering you onto the couch but following suit, hips settled against yours and grinding.
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Your next public appearance together, the contrast was frankly jarring.
Michael couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off of you.
His arm tighter around your waist, hand sitting lower on your hip and nearly possessive anytime you started to lean away from him.
And good lord, he was practically eye fucking you the entire night, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watched you talk.
Even the reporter looked embarrassed as if they were interrupting something.
“Michael, stop it.” You muttered, not meaning it all as he kissed you, one of his hands resting against the side of your throat, not giving a damn that you were in public.
He didn’t care at all as you two walked into the venue and his hand lightly slapped your ass as you walked through the door first. Smiling to himself as you blushed, his eyes catching on the M bracelet you now never took off.
