݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆bad!michael being so hopelessly gone for his personal assistant! that the smallest things completely throw him off.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 like he's in the studio, jacket half zipped, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, flipping through lyric sheets while sipping a glass of orange juice, he sets it down beside you without thinking. you're busy highlighting tomorrow's schedule.
"…can i?" he barely looks up. "mm-hm." so you take a sip. completely innocent. completely normal. Right...
until michael finally glances over. and realizes. you're drinking from his glass. the exact spot his lips were just on. his brain practically short circuits. he just...stares. you lower the glass. "..what?"
"...nothin'." except his ears are turning hot 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 the next day...he "accidentally" leaves his drink beside your notebook again. "...oops."
you raise an eyebrow. "...oops?" He slightly smiles. "...forgot." you know he didn't. you absolutely know he didn't. but you play along anyway. "mind if i steal some?"
he tries to sound casual. "…go ahead." you smile to yourself before taking another sip. this time...making eye contact with him over the rim of the bottle. completely on purpose. michael forgets what sentence he was reading.
".…you okay?" he blinks. "y-yeah." You play the game a little tooooo well. "we’ll…you've been on the same page for like...five minutes." You smirk. "...have i?" He says with full innocent.
"michael..." He looks at your lips then back at you. "...hm?"
"you were literally reading it upside down." he looks down.
...it is upside down. "Oh." after that it becomes your favorite little game. he orders a milkshake. takes exactly one sip. then slides it toward you. "It’s..too sweet." You look at the milkshake confused. "...really?"
"yeah." you know he's lying because it's his favorite flavor.
still...you take a sip anyway. "...it's good." he smiles. "Oh yeah?" You took another few sips while making eye contact "Yeah." He smiles even wider now "..Okay ma’am." WHY IS HE SO PLEASED 😭
one afternoon rehearsal finally wraps after six exhausting hours.
everyone is scattered around the studio. dancers are stretching. the band is packing equipment. michael is sitting cross legged on the stage, sweaty from rehearsal, quietly scribbling changes into his notebook.
without looking up, he reaches beside him. "Angel…could you please hand me my orange juice?" you're halfway through organizing tomorrow's call sheet. "...one second." you grab the bottle. except...you're a lil thirsty too. so without thinking...you take a sip first.
then hand it to him. still reading the schedule. "...wardrobe fitting moved to ten..interview at one…and Quincy called—" you stop talking. because michael...isn't listening. he's staring at the bottle. "Mr Jackson..what’s wrong?"
"nothin' angel." he takes it anyway. his thumb brushes the rim where your lipstick left the faintest mark. your eyes follow the movement. "...oh." you suddenly realize. "I apologise." You fake then you immediately reach for it. "I'll get you another one." before your fingers reach the bottle...michael pulls it back. "why?"
"...because i drank from it." He smirks. "i know angel…i don't mind." then—without breaking eye contact—he takes a sip from the exact same place.😭😭😭
and the worst part? he never tells you to stop why? he just likes it. TOO MUCH.
likes seeing your lipstick on the rim of his cup, likes that you're comfortable enough to share without asking twice, likes that it's such a tiny, ordinary thing that somehow feels weirdly intimate to him.
one day you catch him smiling down at the bottle after you've handed it back. "Is there a problem mr Jackson?" he looks up immediately. "Nah nothin'." Still smiling. "But…you're smiling."
"...am i?" He teases. "yes, you are." he ducks his head with the cutest, most embarrassed grin. "...sharing's nice." you grin back, pretending not to notice the faint blush creeping across his cheeks.
"sharing is caring." You tease back. "...yeah," he mumbles, taking another sip from the same spot you just drank from. "...it surely is Angel." ☹️🤍
and because you're his assistant...nobody questions it. to everyone else it's practical. you're constantly checking if his tea is still warm. making sure he's drinking enough water.
handing him bottles between rehearsals. sharing whatever's closest because neither of you has time to think about whose is whose. except...for michael...he thinks about it every single time.
mil talks ૮ • ﻌ - ა. i love personal assistant diaries….. he’s such a shy flirt fuck Michael come kiss me pls, I hope you liked it ily 👼🏽 again I did not proofread soooo.. if any mistakes u didn’t saw that.
Michael couldn't believe it. He had the prettiest girl he had ever seen sitting on his lap, with your slender fingers tracing circles on his sun-kissed, exposed chest, listening to him ramble on about one of his personal thoughts. That's what he liked most about you: you never made him feel like he was odd or bizarre for the things he adored. California was delightful this time of year, with cloudless, slow, hot days spent wrapped up in each other's arms.
“Tink, can I tell you something—never mind…It’s stupid.” Michael says, hiding his blushing face into your neck. You didn’t like it when he did that, made himself smaller like his thoughts didn’t matter. In reality, they meant the world to you. You tenderly lift his face from your neck. “No…,” you dragged out, curiosity lingering in your voice, “Let me know what’s on your mind, angel face.”
Michael presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, playing with the hem of your shorts, caressing the soft skin. “I have an idea. A great one, mama.”
“Let’s hear it.”
He adjusts you on his lap, clearing his throat. “I want to do a film, I think it’s going to be great. You’ll be there, of course. I jus’ want to get away from music for a bit and get more into acting.”
You smile at him, “That sounds great, Michael!” A light bulb sparks in your head. “I’m sure I know a few people who could help. I know they won't mind!”
Michael can remember the first day he met you. Waiting in the lobby, peeking up from the page of his magazine, eyes following your lace kitten heels clicking against the linoleum floors of Motown Records—everything about you drew him in. Michael yearned for an experience of a fulfilling, passionate connection.
Passing him by walking into your dad’s office, as if he had been blessed, his longings answered. You waved at him. A small, simple wave.
It was rare to see someone who didn't merely see him as a celebrity but as a person, which brought out an unfamiliar side of him.
Michael grinning at you virtually instantly, pressing a kiss upon your lips. “My girl, looking out for me.”
“Oh, I’m your girl now?” You smirked.
You feathered your fingers, tickling Michael’s ribs. “Stop, Tink! You know I'm ticklish!” he says, squirming away from your attack.
He really relished the days like this. “You’re so funny, y’know,” He says, adjusting you so you're sitting fully on his lap. “Why thank you, Mr. Jackson, my soon-to-be-million-dollar Hollywood man!”
It was the cutest thing—the sight of your incredibly beautiful, flustered boyfriend. The “M” engraved heart-shaped necklace, sat perched on your clavicle—a gift, a reminder of your love. You throw your arms around his shoulders, wildly peppering kisses on his face. “C'mon, angel, show me that Hollywood smile!”
His face heats up with every wavering moment, failing to repress his smile. Just him and his girl. Michael wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
Heyyy :) I absolutely adore your work and was wondering if you could do smth with Micheal based off of the lyrics of locked out of heaven by Bruno mars? Thankssss!
after the silence
synopsis — 𓍼ོ.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆ : after a difficult period in his life, michael throws himself into rehearsals to cope. when a new dancer, joins the studio, their partnership in practice slowly brings him out of isolation and helps him start reconnecting with people again.
rehearsals had always been michael’s favorite part of the day. once everyone else packed their bags and headed home, he’d still be there, sitting cross-legged on the studio floor with a notebook balanced against his knee, chasing melodies that only existed in fragments. he’d ask dancers if they wanted to run a section one more time, joke with the crew while they wrapped cables, thank every musician individually before finally leaving long after sunset.
now, the music stopped, and so did he. he was always the first one out the door. people whispered about it when they thought he couldn’t hear.
“he’s different.”
“he hasn’t been himself.”
“give him time.”
time. everyone said it like it was something you could simply wait through, as though grief quietly packed its bags one morning and decided it had overstayed its welcome.
they didn’t see the nights.
they didn’t see him lying awake until five in the morning, staring at the ceiling because every time he closed his eyes, his mind wandered somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. they didn’t hear the silence that greeted him every time he walked through the front door of his house.
so he worked. work had always made sense. music never promised forever, music never changed its mind. if he poured enough of himself into rehearsals, maybe there wouldn’t be enough left over to miss someone who was already gone.
the warehouse buzzed with energy by the time he arrived. somewhere down the corridor, dancers stretched against mirrored walls while choreographers shouted counts over music.
it felt alive and he wished he did too.
“morning.” his choreographer fell into step beside him. michael offered a tired smile.
“morning.”
“sleep?” he let out a quiet laugh.
“something like it.” the older man studied him for a second before deciding not to push. instead, he clapped loudly enough for the room to settle.
“before we start, i’ve got someone new.”
a handful of conversations faded and dancers wandered toward the middle of the room.
michael barely looked up. new people joined productions all the time, some stayed, some disappeared after a week.
he’d learned years ago not to build opinions before the music even started.
“…everyone, this is y/n.” he looked anyway.
you stood near the front of the room with your dance bag resting against one leg, fingers nervously twisting the strap while thirty unfamiliar faces looked back at you.
you smiled. there was something honest about it. you didn’t carry yourself like someone trying to impress anybody. if anything, you looked slightly overwhelmed, your eyes quietly wandering around the studio as though you couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.
he recognized that look, he had worn it once years ago before stages became familiar, before cameras stopped making him nervous, before people expected him to know exactly what he was doing every second of every day.
“…she’ll be with us for rehearsals starting today.”
you introduced yourself quietly, earning a few welcoming smiles before everyone returned to warming up. the room immediately filled with movement again.
music flooded through the speakers and counts echoed against the mirrors.
rehearsals settled into their usual rhythm. michael had never struggled to focus before. he was the kind of performer who disappeared into choreography the second the music started. everything else faded until there was nothing left except movement.
today, his concentration kept slipping. it happened so subtly at first that he barely noticed. during water breaks, his eyes wandered across the room.
while waiting for music cues, he’d glance toward the mirrors, and every single time they landed on you. you learned choreography the way people solved puzzles. carefully and patiently. if a section gave you trouble, you repeated it quietly to yourself instead of asking someone else to slow down. your lips moved beneath your breath while you counted, feet marking steps against the floor long after everyone else had stopped.
he watched you celebrate tiny victories nobody else noticed such as finally landing a difficult turn or finding the timing on a complicated sequence. your smile every time something clicked into place wasn’t performative.
without realizing it, he smiled too.
“michael.” his head lifted.
the choreographer stood across the room with folded arms.
“you joining us?” a ripple of laughter moved through the studio.
only then did he realize everyone had already reset into formation and he hadn’t.
he rubbed the back of his neck.
“sorry.”
“that’s twice today.”
“i know.”
“you feeling alright?” he nodded automatically.
“yeah.”
it wasn’t entirely convincing. still, the rehearsal continued. you happened to glance over just as he stepped back into place. for a brief second, your eyes met. instead of looking away awkwardly, you smiled a small, friendly smile.
he found himself looking for you again ten minutes later.
by lunchtime, someone dramatically collapsed onto the floor, earning laughter from the rest of the dancers. the room emptied surprisingly fast, and within minutes, only a handful of people remained.
michael wandered toward the loading dock outside, carrying an unopened sandwich he wasn’t particularly interested in eating. first time all day it was quiet.
he welcomed it, or at least he thought he did. his thoughts returned almost immediately and he hated that.
he hated how quickly silence became memory. how every quiet moment somehow circled back to the same place, the same person, the same ending. he stared absentmindedly across the parking lot until footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
you.
you paused when you noticed him sitting there.
“oh.” your voice was softer than he’d expected.
“i’m so sorry.”
he frowned slightly.
“for what?”
“i didn’t know anyone was out here.”
you glanced back toward the hallway.
“i can go somewhere else.”
“you don’t have to.” the words came quicker than he intended. he then shifted slightly, making room beside him.
“there’s plenty of space.” you hesitated for only a second before walking over.
“thanks.”
a comfortable distance remained between the two of you as you sat down. for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence didn’t feel awkward.
a breeze drifted through the open lot, carrying the distant sound of traffic. you took a sip from your water before quietly laughing to yourself.
he looked over.
“what?”
you shook your head.
“nothing.”
“didn’t sound like nothing.” another small laugh escaped you.
“i was just thinking…”
you looked down at your shoes.
“…i’ve wanted to dance here for years.”
he stayed quiet.
“my teacher used to make us watch videos of your rehearsals.”
your smile turned almost sheepish.
“i never thought i’d actually end up in one.”
something softened in his expression.
“how’s your first day?” you let out a long breath.
“terrifying.”
he laughed, a real one this time.
“that obvious?”
“a little.”
“great.”
you covered your face for a second.
“i thought i was hiding it.”
“you were.”
he smiled.
“pretty well actually.” the nervousness eased from your shoulders.
“good.”
another silence settled between you, this one somehow lighter than the first.
he realized, with quiet surprise, that it was the longest conversation he’d had in weeks that wasn’t about schedules, choreography, or work. for the first time since his breakup, he hadn’t thought about the past once while you were talking.
that realization stayed with him long after lunch ended, because as everyone slowly filtered back into the rehearsal room, michael found himself doing something he hadn’t done in months, which was looking forward to the rest of the day.
the afternoon pasted faster than the morning ever had. once the music started again, the warehouse slipped back into its rhythm. counts echoed across the studio, sneakers skimmed against the polished floor.
you found yourself relaxing into it. the knot that had been sitting in your stomach since you walked through the doors that morning had slowly started to unravel. you still made mistakes, but they no longer felt like the end of the world. every correction was another chance to learn, and somehow that made the room feel smaller. friendlier.
across the studio, michael noticed. he wasn’t trying to watch you. he’d actually made a quiet promise to himself after lunch that he’d stop letting his attention drift your way every few minutes. the conversation outside had been nice, but that was all it had been. you were a dancer joining rehearsals, nothing more.
he had spent months trying to convince himself that letting people in only ended one way.
he wasn’t about to forget that now. yet somehow, every time the music stopped, his eyes found you before he even realized he was looking.
you practiced the same way you spoke, which was patiently.
if something didn’t feel right, you didn’t get frustrated. you simply tried again. and again. and again, until eventually your face lit up with that same quiet smile he’d already seen a dozen times that day. it wasn’t for anyone else’s benefit, you smiled because you’d finally gotten it.
he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone enjoy improving more than being impressive. it was… refreshing.
“alright.” the choreographer’s voice cut through the music.
“we’re changing formations.”
a few dancers groaned dramatically.
“don’t complain,” he laughed. “you’re young. you’ll recover.”
the room shuffled around as everyone moved into new places. papers rustled in his hands while he glanced down the list before looking up again.
“michael.”
he lifted his head.
“you’re with y/n for this section.”
you looked just as surprised as he felt. your eyes met his for only a second before you made your way across the room, adjusting the strap of your dance bag where it rested against the wall before stepping into position beside him.
“hi again.” you said with an awkward little smile.
“hi.”
for a moment, neither of you said anything else. then the choreographer clapped his hands before the silence had time to grow.
“from the top.”
music filled the room again.
the combination wasn’t especially difficult, but it relied on trust.
every turn ended with the two of you crossing paths. every transition depended on perfect timing. if one person was even half a second too early, the entire sequence fell apart. the first attempt ended with your shoulder bumping lightly against his.
“sorry.”
you both spoke at exactly the same time.
you blinked, then laughed, and so did he. the sound escaped him before he even thought about it, quiet but genuine.
“again!” the choreographer called.
the second run went better, and by the fourth, the awkwardness had disappeared completely.
michael found himself explaining little things without thinking.
“wait half a beat longer.”
you nodded.
the next time, you did exactly that.
“better?”
he smiled.
“much.”
there wasn’t a trace of defensiveness in you, no embarrassment over needing help. you simply wanted to get it right, and he admired that.
another break was called not long after.
music faded into scattered conversations as dancers reached for water bottles, towels draped around tired shoulders while a few people collapsed dramatically onto the floor.
you wandered toward the mirrors and you stood in front of your reflection, quietly marking through the section the two of you had just finished. your lips moved beneath your breath as you counted each step, stopping every so often before shaking your head and starting over.
he stood across the room for a moment, watching without really meaning to.
it reminded him of another rehearsal years ago. he’d been younger then, still convinced perfection was only one more practice away.
everyone else had gone home while he’d stayed behind repeating the same spin until his feet hurt too much to continue.
he’d forgotten that version of himself somewhere along the way. watching you now felt strangely familiar, like finding an old photograph tucked inside a drawer you hadn’t opened in years.
he walked over before he could talk himself out of it. you caught his reflection in the mirror and turned.
“oh.”
you smiled.
“i thought everyone was taking a break.”
“they are.”
you glanced toward the movement you’d been practicing.
“i just wanted to get this one part.”
he nodded slowly.
“show me.”
you blinked.
“really?”
“yeah.”
without another word, you stepped back into position. he watched carefully as you danced through the combination.
when you finished, he waited a second before speaking.
“you’re rushing because you’re listening to the count.”
you frowned slightly.
“isn’t that what i’m supposed to do?”
“a little.”
he stepped beside you.
“but don’t chase the numbers.”
he demonstrated the movement once, slower than before.
“listen to where the music breathes.” you watched him carefully. he noticed how focused you became whenever someone explained something to you, like the rest of the room simply disappeared.
when he finished, you tried it again.
this time everything landed exactly where it was supposed to.
your face lit up almost instantly.
“…oh.”
a quiet laugh escaped you.
“that feels completely different.”
he couldn’t help smiling.
“because you stopped thinking.”
you looked over at him.
“i overthink.”
“a little.”
“a lot?” he laughed softly.
“a lot.”
you groaned, covering your face for a second.
“i knew it.”
“it’s not a bad thing.” you lowered your hands.
he shook his head.
“it just means you care.”
the words settled between you. for some reason, they meant more coming from him. you smiled to yourself before looking back at the mirror.
“thank you.”
he looked at your reflection instead of answering.
people thanked him all the time, for opportunities, for songs, for performances, but this, this felt different. you weren’t thanking michael jackson.
you were thanking the person standing beside you because he’d taken a few extra minutes to help. he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed something that simple.
outside, the sun had started to sink behind the buildings, casting warm streaks of gold through the studio windows.
for the first time in months when rehearsals ended, michael didn’t find himself thinking about leaving. instead, he found himself wondering if tomorrow’s rehearsal would put the two of you together again.
and that thought alone was enough to make him quietly shake his head at himself. this was exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do.
yet as he packed away his notebook, he couldn’t ignore the feeling settling somewhere deep inside his chest.
it wasn’t love, it wasn’t even a crush, it was smaller than that. quieter.
hope.
and after everything he’d spent the last few months trying to outrun, hope almost frightened him more than heartbreak ever had.
Content: in which every month of your pregnancy Michael records a new video
Video one, month one.
“Michael! I'm not even showing yet!” The camera panned out, your hand covering the lens, yet it still caught the smile on your face.
“I know, I know… I'm just so happy.” There was a slight shake in his voice, like he was on the verge of tears as he zoomed in, the camera shaking slightly as he let it fall to your stomach. The light from the morning sun sent a ray through the kitchen window that seemed like a sign from the heavens.
The soft sound of breathing filled the room. The camera caught every bit of the pure silence before cutting out.
Video two, month two.
“Baby, how are you feeling?” His voice was soft. The camera caught you laid out on the bed, your eyes softly fluttering closed from the nausea that ran through you.
“Like I just puked up dinner from last night.” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke, using your arm to cover your eyes in an attempt to stop the dizziness.
“You still look gorgeous, even if I just witnessed that.” He laughed behind the camera, turning it around so that he could be seen. The only thing that could be heard was a groan before you spoke again.
“Go away,” you mumbled, your face not shown, but the camera still picked it up as he waved, stopping the video.
Video three, month three.
The video opened with the two of you sitting on the couch, parenthood books and flyers scattered all around. The TV played softly in the background as the camera zoomed in on your small bump.
“Mikey, they say the baby is the size of a plum or a lime right now!” You held the pamphlet in your hand, a smile plastered on your face.
“Is that so?” He leaned closer, angling the camera so that the pamphlet could be shown, zooming in on the small letters.
Video four, month four.
“Share your pregnancy cravings with us.” The camera zoomed out, revealing you sitting at the table, your head in your hands as you laughed, looking up.
“Well, usually at night I eat a lot of ice, which is pretty normal,” you started, your face showing that gorgeous pregnancy glow. “But today I'm craving pickles and peanut butter! Oh, and lots of ice cream that Michael buys me nearly every day because I eat it so much.” You smiled, watching as Michael’s face turned into disgust behind the camera.
“Oh, come on, it's good, you should try it.”
“I love you, but no thank you.”
Video five, month five.
You held an envelope, the flap sealed shut in order to contain the surprise inside. “Are you ready?” Your voice shook with excitement as you slid your finger against the seal, the sound of the paper ripping filling the room.
The camera was shaky; Michael was unable to keep his hands still. “I'm nervous,” he laughed, the softness of his voice fitting the scene in front of you.
“Oh my god, Michael,” the camera caught your expression as your eyes scanned the page. It was almost like you could hear the sound of his heartbeat through the camera.
“It's a girl!” You shouted, the camera becoming blurry with all the movement Michael was making as he hugged you, the two of your laughs filling the air even if the camera couldn't catch it all.
Video six, month six.
This video was shorter than the others. The only thing that could be seen was the movement from your stomach, a small kick gently stretching the skin, but not painfully.
“Look at our angel,” Michael whispered, as if he spoke too loudly she'd stop making herself known before he pressed his lips to your belly, tracing his free hand along your stomach.
Video seven, month seven.
At this point your feet were sore and swollen, and the only thing you could do was waddle around the house. The camera caught you in action, moving slowly to the living room as you sat down. Your eyes focused on the TV.
“Michael, I see you,” you crossed your arms above your expanded belly, gently placing them on top. Your eyes made contact with the lens of the camera.
“How'd you see me?”
“I always do,” you rolled your eyes playfully.
Video eight, month eight.
“How do you feel, baby?” He whispered as if he was afraid to wake up the baby in your stomach, as he zoomed out, catching the faint smile on your face.
“Like I want this baby out,” you giggled, rubbing another lazy circle around the stretched skin.
“I'm tired,” you yawned, covering your mouth with your hand.
“Let's get you to bed.”
Video nine, month nine.
The video already started off hectically. Well, mostly on Michael's part as he tried his best not to panic, but his heart was damn near falling out of his chest; his heavy breathing could be heard faintly through the mic.
“Mike, grab the hospital bag!” You yelled from the front door, the camera catching a faint glance of you and your round belly as you rubbed it gently.
It was honestly too blurry to see what was going on, but considering the pure stress that Michael was causing himself, you couldn't have expected anything better.
The camera caught him grabbing the bag before it cut short. The next clip showed you in the hospital taking deep breaths in order to ease some of the pain before cutting again.
what if bad michael wanted to feel your presence through the camera before he goes away on tour? 18+
“there y’go mama jus’ like that.” michael mutters, letting his lip tug between his teeth in total mesmerization of your body twisting and turning over the bed. the camera in his hand zooming over your frame, making sure to catch your essence through the film.
your faint whimpers and soft cries leaving your mouth as you let your fingers do what michael had pleaded you to do. the camera still recording as michael leans back, legs wide, and watches you hungrily. “one more finger.” four fingers deep and you are now a sweaty and moaning mess. “show me how good you use yourself f’me ma.”
“michael you’re so so good to me.” as you pant heavily, feeling your knees continue to glide over the mattress while lowering your body down to raise your ass up. your pussy glistening in full display, making michael’s eyes shine with much desire. and oh did the camera love to catch into the scene too.
“you were so sexy mama. did so good.” he cooes placing his palm under your cheek as you smile at him and soon lower your head a bit to kiss the pad of his thumb. “treat yourself on tour for me.” he grins, immediately knowing that his plan worked.
he didn’t care about day one of the tour nor did he care about day two. because michael only cared about stuffing himself alone in his room and jacking himself off to your beautiful self on his video tape, ignoring the tiredness from each performance.
michael’s hips going upwards towards the air as he continues to fuck his hand desperately to feel a release. his eyes shut for a moment before snapping open to not miss a single second of you fucking yourself with your fingers while crying out his name softly—like a perfect melody to his ears.
“please-please mama i.. fuck” michael cried feeling his cock throb at the immense sensation consuming his entire body while watching you murmur praises under your breath.
the sight of your tits close to the camera zooming and catching a sight of your nipples, hard and needy, drove michael absolutely insane. “need that pussy baby please gimme please.”
it was so late in the night it didn’t cross his mind that he had to go to practice early in the morning because all he cared about was you.
your gorgeous body, your voice, your hair now sticking to your sweaty flushed face, and the way your bottom spreads to show the camera the wet deliciousness between your legs—waiting for him when he comes back home.
10 / 3 / 1988 - Michael is honored by the United Negro College Fund as being one of their highest contributors at the 44th annual anniversary dinner. He receives their highest honor, the Frederick D. Patterson Award for his continued humanitarian efforts.
the sun is hitting the green just right, and you’re leaning against the side of the golf cart, wiping down the steering wheel when you hear the familiar rumble of laughter. you look up, and there he is.
jaafar.
he’s walking down from the clubhouse with three of his friends, a set of clubs slung over his shoulder, looking effortlessly fine in a crisp white polo and khaki shorts. the moment his eyes scan the course and land on you, a slow smile spreads across his face.
"look who it is," jaafar calls out, adjusting his baseball cap as he walks over ahead of his boys. "i was hoping you'd be working today."
"oh, really?" you tease, as he stops right in front of your cart. "and here i thought you just came out here to ruin your golf score."
his friends chuckle behind him, and jaafar lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "nah, my swing is perfect, but seeing you definitely makes the game better."
you can feel your cheeks getting warm, but you keep your cool, reaching into the cooler to grab his usual drink before he even has to ask. "sure, jaafar. whatever you say. you want the regular?"
"you already know," he says, his voice smooth as he takes the cold drink from your hand. his fingers brush against yours for a second longer than necessary, sending a tiny jolt through your chest. he leans an arm on the roof of the cart, tilting his head with that playful look in his eyes. "so, when are you gonna let me drive you around instead of you driving this little thing?"
"when you actually hit a hole-in-one," you counter with a smirk, crossing your arms.
"bet. watch me on the ninth hole. i’m feeling lucky today," he winks, stepping back as his friends start calling him over to the tee box.
before he walks away, he pulls a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and drops it right into your tip jar.
"jaafar, the drink is only five dollars," you say, laughing a little at the massive tip.
"i know," he smiles, looking back over his shoulder with that warm, charming gaze that always melts you. "but you're my favorite cart girl. see you at the next hole, gorgeous."
you watch him walk off toward his friends, who are already teasing him and shoving his shoulder. you can't help the huge smile on your face as you start up the cart, already looking forward to when they reach the next green.
syn : he is insecure of his cute glasses library ;)
michael had never thought in his years of living that he would ever need glasses. that was until he fell down the stairs, missing a step from his blurry vision. you practically yelled at him to go to the optometrist and get a pair of glasses. and that’s what he did. one of michaels security took him to the car, and drove him there. leaving you sitting in the couch. hands running over your face. frustrated at a hard headed michael.
meanwhile, michael was contemplating even giving in to go to the optometrist. I mean, yea. he did need the glasses. but it was embarrassing. he had been avoiding this issue for a few weeks. now it had just caught up to him. he hated the fact that he had a pretty girl next to him. and he would be wearing glasses. looking dumb, and old. his overthinking was put to the side at the feeling of the car stopping.
“okay mr. jackson let’s go.” one of his security mumbled. helping him out of the car, and into the building.
michael walked out of his appointment feeling humiliated. not because someone in there said something. but because in his hands he had a chunky pair of glasses. he knew for a fact that when he walked into your shared home. you would surely be ashamed of him, disgusted by him. those thoughts ran through his mind the entire drive back home. god what was he gonna tell you.
you heard the car pull up in the driveway. immediately going on your feet. you wanted to know what happened at the appointment, and if any serious treatment was needed. the door opened, and you were met with a sad, puppy dog michael. his eyes were avoiding yours, his lips slightly downturned, and his forehead slightly moist. sweating out of nervousness.
“love? what happened?” your voiced was laced with worries. confused why your own husband won’t look you in the eyes. a million thoughts formed in your head.
“mikey, did someone in there say- or do something to you?”
his head finally lifted to meet your eyes. they were not the usual bright and happy ones you were so used to seeing. now they were hollow, and filled with insecurity. confused, you stepped closer to him. putting a hand one his cheek.
“talk to me angel”
your voice was smooth. leaving no room for argument. that’s when everything fell out. all the thoughts he had been feeling about these stupid glasses. the idea of him wearing them and looking a complete fool next to you. you were taken aback. how could he say these things. you hadn’t even seen the pair of glasses and you knew he would pull them off effortlessly. you’ve had enough hearing him talk down on himself.
“michael- stop, honey stop. let’s get one thing straight, I would never- and I mean never. stop loving you over a stupid pair of glasses. nothing could come between what I feel for you and I need you to know that. second, in all honesty I haven’t even seen the pair of glasses and I just know you can pull them off so effortlessly. give them a try mikey”
your words left his cheeks red. his head hanging low. and soft giggles leaving his mouth.
“gosh (name) you truly are my hype woman”
you smiled, taking the box of glasses out of his hands. you gently took opened the box, taking the out of the box. and handing it to michael.
“can I see em’ on?”
he nodded. accepting the glasses. leaning his head towards the ground, so you wouldn’t see them on immediately. that’s when you grabbed his chin, guiding his head to be alined with yours. your eyes widened. you almost melted on the spot. the sliver framed hugged his temples perfectly. the prescription on the glasses was pretty high you assumed. considering the fact it made his bambi eyes even bigger. he looks so cute hot in them. there were no other words to put it. michael on the other hand, shifted under your gaze. his eyes roaming around the house. he was honestly so confused by your reaction.
“baby- do ya’ like em’?” he questioned, smiling.
“do i like them? angel- i love them! you look so hot baby oh my goodness.”
michael mouth formed an “O” shape. smiling. out of all the reactions he was prepared for you to have. this was the least expected one. especially calling him hot? I mean hot wasn’t one of the thought he had for himself trying them on. but that’ll work for him. suddenly he stumbled backwards by you slamming your lips together. leading into a somewhat steamy makeout sesh.
headcanons with mature era michael and ditzy!reader. love ur writinggggg
love love love this
summary: reader is a little ditsy but michael loves her even though he is sometimes gobsmacked by your accidental actions
⁀➴ both you and michael were about to leave the house, going to a restaurant for a dinner date that you had been planning and had been delayed multiple times.
just as your kitten heeled foot exited the door with michael infront of you, you gasped.
michael turned quickly, thinking you were hurt.
“what, baby? are you okay?”
you rummaged through the small bag that was pulled off of your shoulder, moving the things around in your bag as you looked for something.
“my lipgloss! i need my lipgloss”
michael rolled his eyes, eyebrows knitting together in confusion,
“why do you need your lipgloss? we are going to dinner and your lips look sparkly enough..”
you looked up, deadpan at his confused face,
“michael.. lipgloss isn’t permanent! i’ll reapply in the car and then after dinner, i can’t have a plain lip on our date!”
he giggled, already walking towards you to guide you back into the house.
“let’s go look for it then”
inside the house, the sofa cushions were flipped, drawers left slightly ajar and both of your hearts beating quickly as you rushed around the house.
“oh my gosh, where is it!!”
michael stood in the kitchen, looking through a basket of letters to see if it had accidentally fallen in, even though you had just used it upstairs.
“i don’t know, baby… where did you have it last?”
you let out an exasperated sigh, looking around the living room.
“i don’t know, i literally just had it.”
putting your hands on your hips before setting your eyes on somewhere you hadn’t looked, hands slightly down the back of your thighs as you walked over.
your hand brushed over something in your back jeans pocket, sliding your hand in and pulling the pink lipgloss tube out.
“oh.”
you stared at it, michael turning towards you at the noise.
“wha-…, oh where did you find it?”
you stared at the lipgloss dumbly, blinking at it comically.
“in my… back pocket.”
you looked up at him, face scrunched up in confusion. a loud belly laugh emitted from michael, his head tipping back.
“oh my- you are so silly”
he placed his hand on your back, pushing you gently towards the door to the car that was waiting outside.
you stared at the tube before looking up at michael.
“i swear i don’t know how that got in there… how didn’t i feel it?!?”
he shook his head, looking at you fondly,
“i don’t know how you do it”
⁀➴ it had been a super hot summer in california, the heat been relentless on not only both you and michael but also the innocent flowers outside.
as you were getting a nice cold glass of water from the jug in the fridge, you began to refresh yourself whilst looking out of the kitchen window.
you laid your eyes upon the beautiful flowers the gardener had planted a few months ago and how dehydrated they must be due to the harsh sun.
you had been watering the flowers outside of the backdoor for a week now, and they seem to not be growing much.
using the glass you were drinking out of, you refilled it from the tap and walked outside, beginning to pour water onto the soil before turning your attention to the hanging plants beside the patio doors.
michael walked into the kitchen, obviously having the same idea to get a drink in order to escape the high humidity.
as he walked past the open patio doors, movement caught his eye, turning and seeing you squinting in the sun as you poured water onto the baskets.
“baby…”
“oh, hi!”
you waved at him, a sweet smile growing across your face at the sight of him,
“i’m just watering the plants, they must have been thirsty”
he brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, tilting his head in amusement.
“how long have you been watering the plants beside the door?”
you looked at the pink flowers in the hanging basket before turning back to michael.
“ermmm… like maybe a week?”
he laughed, eyes lighting up. taking a step out the door to grab your hand, he said,
“pretty, those ones are plastic..”
your jaw dropped, looking at michael in disbelief.
he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest and rocking you side to side as he giggled.
“what! i’ve been watering those all week”, you whined, head dropping to his shoulder.
“it’s the thought that counts, sweet girl”
you both walked away, placing the glass onto the counter and walking deeper into the house.
“i was wondering why they weren’t growing…”
a loud laugh echoed through the house, michael being throughly amused by your silliness.
⁀➴ walking through the streets late at night was like a breathe of fresh air.
why? number one, nobody could recognise michael in the darkness, especially with the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. number two, there was nobody around, no cars honking their horns or speeding down the road, just pure silence.
the air smelt faintly of rain, both of you unaware of the looming storm that was about to release above you.
a thick drop of water landed on your forehead, head tilting back towards the dark clouds.
“i think it’s raining”
“huh… bill didn’t mention that it was gonna rain today, he’s usually on top of the weather”
you shrugged, making your way to the large gazebo in the park with the bench under it so you could enjoy the silence with your man.
all of a sudden, the sky unleashed all of the water it held , michael yelping as he let go of your hand and ran under the shelter.
you took your time however, enjoying the feeling of the rain hitting your warm body from the humidity.
“baby! hurry up and get under here!”
“it’s so nice though!! this is the coolest i’ve felt in days!”
he dropped his head and shut his eyes at your answer, shaking his head before looking at you with worry.
“you’re gonna get sick if you don’t get your butt under here!”
you giggled at his response, spinning around, feeling the rain soak your thin jacket.
“no i’m not! im gonna be fine.”
the next day, when you woke up, you felt as though you had been hit by a train.
head pounding at any movement whatsoever, your nose completely blocked and your throat feeling as though it had been scraped raw.
michael turned over in bed feeling the sunlight hit his face, nuzzling his nose into your neck.
“good morning, sweet girl”, kissing your cheek.
you groaned, head slowly moving so your face wasn’t hitting the sun.
“ouchhh”, you whined, not even having the energy to lift your arms up to cover your face.
michael brought his head up, eyes scanning your face in concern.
“what’s the matter?”
“i feel… so sick…”
after a brief silence, michael let out a heavy sigh.
“i told you you were going to get sick and you didn’t listen to me.”
“ugh.. gosh it’s too late to lecture now, my head feels like it’s going to explode.”
he brought his hand up to rest on your forehead in order to feel your temperature.
“gosh, you’re so hot.”
even though you felt like death, you cracked an eye open, smirking at michael.
“i know honey, that’s why you fell for me”
michael giggled, head dropping to your shoulder before getting out of bed.
“shush, you need rest today. i’ll get you some medicine and then you can go back to sleep”
you pouted at him, not wanting him to leave the bed before grabbing his pillow and burying your head deep into it, smelling his cologne.
“hurry up and come back, i need cuddles to feel better.”
as he left the room, he stopped and turned towards your curled up form in bed.
“make sure you listen to me next time, silly girl, okay? don’t need you getting sick again”
summary: you catch michael jerking off to one of your sexy little polaroid pics that he stole from your boyfriend's wallet. The sweet girl that you are, you decide to put him out his misery.
warnings: heavy smut with little plot, cheating, dom!reader, sub!michael, virgin!michael, creampie (sorry not sorry), f! oral receiving, m! oral receiving, michael is heavily inexperienced,
a/n: I’ve lowk been wanting to write something virgin michael based & this is what I came up with!! & also I’ve been in heat this week for some reason so fuck all that cute shit here’s sumthin dirty xoxo
𑣲masterlist/taglist
Michael plops himself on the edge of his bed, the sunlight pooling through the window behind him & on the polariod he’s holding, a polaroid of you. In the picture, you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap in an oversized tee, probably his. Your bare ass is jutted out as you look back, smiling cutely at the camera lens, your boyfriend’s hand gripping the fat of your cheek. As much as Michael loves it, it doesn’t belong to him.
The Polaroid he’s holding actually belongs to your boyfriend, your loyal & loving boyfriend. He found it poking out his wallet that was laying on the couch while you, Janet, his brothers & of course your boyfriend, were in the occupied in the back garden drinking & chatting, completely unaware of his sly acts.
Michael’s always been a bit nosey, especially when it comes to you & your boyfriend. He can’t help but despise him, hates the way he looks at you, hates the way he touches you. He’d always feel a way when you brought him over almost every-time you visited. He was still such a boy even in his 20’s, so lustful & envious yet so shy & enclosed.
He’d always ogle at you from across the room anytime you weren’t looking. The natural pout of your ripe pink lips, or the way your tits would bounce a little any time you giggled or moved, practically threatening to fall out of your skimpy camisole.
He lays back on the bed, placing the sultry Polaroid next to him so he’s able to pull of his shorts & his boxers, his eyes never leaving the picture beside him. He leaves them pooled at his ankles, too excited & frantic to take them off completely.
His cock is already rock hard, standing upright, just begging to be milked after multiple painful hours of weeping pre-cum in his pants from the way your ass looked in those denim shorts today. Thank god it was summer, he thought to himself.
His cheeks flush hot & pink as he picks up the picture again, trembling from adrenaline. He knows it’s wrong, you’re taken, someone else’s property. But Michael’s a traditional man, a boyfriend ain’t a husband is it?
He wraps a shaky hand around his meaty shaft, long n’ full veins already making an appearance under the skin from his intense arousal.
Shallow pathetic whimpers fall from his lips as he gently strokes his cock, staring at your slutty little picture, his mouth agape. He’s never been so erect in his life, he can barely wrap it around his hand from how big it’s gotten.
"God help me." He whispers, his voice box cracking.
He was obsessed with you, he’s had a crush on you ever since Janet brought you over, he’s just never acted on it as he’s doing now.
His attempts to keep his eyes out the back of his head start to fail as he gets closer to his climax, his hips bucking sloppily into his fist as he shuts his eyes, falling deeper into his imagination & less in reality with each stroke. Your name fell out of his mouth instinctively like a mantra, his cock a ticking time bomb in his grasp.
All of a sudden, his selfish trance was broken with a creak with what sounded like a door. He looks to the sound briefly, thinking it was something else. But it wasn't, it was you. You'd been standing in the doorway for at least 2 minutes, leaning against it with your mouth pried open in a teasing, judgmental manner. Secretly, you liked watching him touch himself when he knew no one was watching, you found it primal & dirty.
It was you who'd pushed the door open a little so it would creak, making yourself known to Michael.
As soon as he saw you, he shot up & grabbed his boxers to pull them up in a scurried motion. He looked like a deer in headlights, his eyes all blown out & scattered. You watch him slide the Polaroid under his pillow, thinking you wouldn't notice, but of course you did.
Before he could open his mouth to talk, you butt in.
"I was just walkin' past, & I heard my name?" you coo, your sweet Indiana accent making him even more shy.
You step into the room, closing & locking the door behind you with a small click as he sits up. His shorts are still pooled at his ankles as you move closer, taking a seat next to him.
He plants his face in his hands, stiff as anything. He genuinely looked as if he could cry. The last thing he expected to see was you, that's the last person he'd want to see him in that state.
"m' so sorry—" Is all he could manage, his voice shaky & eyes glossy as he looks at you, "please don't tell Janet, I'll do anything for you not to tell her, Im so sorry—"
You place a hand on his cheek, caressing him softly as you tilt your head with a small pout of your lips.
"I ain't gonna tell anyone, okay baby?" You mewl at him like a kid as you nod.
He nods along like he has no mind of his own, totally dumbfounded by anything you tell him. Now that you think of it, he kind of reminds you of a puppy.
"I wasn't thinkin' about you though, I promise, it was just to some Playboy magazines." He protests.
You let out a little giggle as you pull out the Polaroid sticking out from under his pillow like a sore thumb. You hold it up in front of his face with an amused expression.
“What’s this then huh?”
You watch the colour literally drain out of Michael's face as he goes silent. His pulse booms in his ears as he feels his hands grow clammy. He stammers as he tries to explain himself to no avail.
"That's not mine—" He says.
"I know it's not yours silly, it's my boyfriend's." You reply, your bottom lip drawing in from how horny he must've been to take this.
"N-no, but I dont know how it got here."
You tut, putting the polaroid on the bedside table.
“I’m not dumb, I mean look—“ you lift his hand off his crotch, revealing his hard poking under his boxers. He hisses through his teeth from the mere sensation of you touching his hand.
“You’re still hard, I know you were touching yourself to me. You’re such a little perv.”
“No I promise it wasn’t like that.” He presses, shaking his head.
You start to pull his shorts off from his ankles, startling him.
“What are you doing?” He says frantically, his eyes darting back & fourth from your face to where you’re pulling his shorts off.
“Shh, just relax.” You whisper, throwing his shorts to the floor, “I’m just trying to help you, but you can’t tell my boyfriend, you hearing me?”
Selfishly, you wanted his dick after seeing the size of it. & plus, you’ve always found him cute, Janet’s shy older brother who doesn’t talk much always appealed to you.
Michael watches you as if you’ll disappear if he blinks or moves an inch. He nods slowly in regard to your statement, understanding what’s going on. To him everything feels like a hazy dream, like he hasn’t accepted its reality yet.
You throw his shorts on the ground, leaving him in his boxers as you situate yourself in-between his legs. Your mouth salivates at the sight of him under the fabric like an incubus, ready to feed of him.
You caress his slim thighs, the stubble of hair making your palms tingle.
“Wait, this is wrong. This is really wrong.” Michael whines, dragging a hand across his face as he watches you tug at the hem of his boxers.
“I’ve always had a little thing for you Mikey, y’know that?” You say, pulling down his boxers & off his feet.
“—Always found you so cute.” You continue.
His cock sprung free the second you pulled down his boxers, hitting his lower abdomen. His tip was a deep mauve, glistening pre-cum still gathered at the top. His chest rises & falls as he stares at you, waiting for you to make another move.
You take his shaft in your hand & you can barely get it around. He bites his bottom lip at the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him. You bring your hand up to his mouth, laying your palm out.
“Spit,” you tell him.
He does as you say, gathering as much salvia as he can to put on your hand. You rub the fluids onto the head of his cock as you begin stroking slowly.
Michael’s eyes pinch shut tightly as he battles with something deep inside him. He’s tried to be holy his entire life, as unlustful as possible, following the ways of God. Not only that, but he was also thinking about how angry his brothers would be if they found out he betrayed their close friend. So many things were circling in his mind.
That thinking was soon brought to a stop as he feels something warm & wet touch him down there. He opens his eyes, seeing you bent slightly with your plumpy lips wrapped perfectly around his swollen tip.
“Oh my god,” he groans.
You swirl your tongue around his tip as you watch him squirm & struggle. His knuckles turning white as he tugs at the sheets beside him. You loved how in control you felt. You wrap a hand around the bottom of his base, not being able to take him all.
You begin bobbing your head up & down his shaft enthusiastically, squeezing him tighter with your wrapped hand as little gags rip from your throat, making him swell larger in your mouth. You love your boyfriend, but you didn’t expect Janet’s brother’s to be bigger than him. You release him from your mouth with a wet pop, stroking him absentmindedly.
“Anyone ever done this to you before?” You question with a twinkle in your eye.
Michael shakes his head frantically, his breath now completely erratic.
“No never, I’ve never done something like this before.” He admits, his cheeks flushed a light pink.
You hum in satisfaction, “you’re so innocent, that’s what I loved about you. You ain’t like everyone else, you’re pure.”
Michael’s unable to respond as he watches you remove your t-shirt, leaving you in your black laced bra. You lean down, giving his cock one last lick from bottom to top, making him wince & contract.
You stand on your feet as you push him back so he’s laying flat on his back, helpless. You reach behind you, unclasping your bra. Your perky tits fall free, sitting politely infront of him as you let the useless material fall to the ground.
“You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” Michael says barely above a whisper. His mouth falls agape as he gawks at them like a moth to a flame.
You giggle as you bend down, pushing your capris down your legs & off your feet. You follow along with your panties, throwing them onto his chest. He wastes no time in grabbing & touching them as if they’re gold. He brings them to his face, inhaling the natural scent of you he’d been dreaming of.
Never would you think you’d be standing in front of Michael stark naked. He relishes in the sight of you, his cock visually twitching as he furrows his brows. He comes back to reality for a second.
“What if someone comes? My brothers or Janet—“
“They won’t, just be quiet & they won’t okay?” You say, walking over to him as you situate yourself on his lap.
You were just about to grab & position him to your entrance when he stops you, grabbing your waist.
“Wait, can I?” He whispers nervously, pointing to your pussy.
You get off him, looking a little confused. You think you know what he’s asking for, yet you love to play games.
“Can you what baby? Use the right words.”
He hesitates before finally saying, “Can I lick it? Just wanna taste it so bad.”
“C’mere then.”
You nod with little giggle as you lean your back on his headboard spreading your legs in-front of him. You play with yourself with one hand, the other reaching out to place on his head as he lays down on his stomach. He looks up at you momentarily as you thread his curls between your fingers tediously.
He latches his mouth on your pussy instantly, lapping up your juices from bottom to top. The hums of satisfaction from him send a vibration to your clit, making you tense up & whimper. For someone who’s never eaten pussy before, he does it pretty well. Your boyfriend never made you feel this way, not enough desire as Michael has.
He continues suckling gently, moving to random places that wouldn’t usually bring pleasure, completely messy & inexperienced but so damn desperate.
“Feels real good Mikey, just like that don’t stop m’kay?” You breathe out, your thighs starting to clench as your eyes become teary.
You pinch your eyes shut, the muffled sounds of him slurping up your arousal adding to your pleasure. His hand comes up to gently grab one of your breasts.
“Right there, gonna come, y-yeah—“
Before you can process anything else, an orgasm rips through you with searing force. You arch your back into a sharp C as Michael makes an attempt to keep riding you through it with his mouth. Deep guttural moans erupt from your throat as you cover it with your hand, trying to stay quiet.
Michael sits up, wiping his chin with his wrist as he smiles in pleasure.
“You taste,” he pauses, “so good.”
You push him back down again to his original position, crawling on top of him as you hover yourself above his erect cock. You grab his face gently, pulling him in closer for a messy kiss. He’s probably been dreaming of simply kissing you for a while.
He moans into the kiss as your tongues battle for dominance, both of you extremely horny & greedy for eachother.
You reach down & grab his base, angling him perfectly with your weeping slit. Once it’s in the perfect position, you sit up & place both your hands on his chest.
“Remember, not a soul.” You remind him, placing a finger over his damp lips.
Michael blinks at you with his big brown adoring eyes, humming in submission as he waits impatiently to be inside of you. He’s excitement is tripled due to him never having sex, always having to wonder how it felt.
Finally, you start to sink down onto his length slowly. Each inch fills you up to the brim more & more, causing your eyes to roll back automatically. You reach the bottom, wiggling your ass you try to squeeze the last inch inside.
“It's so much bigger than his, fuck.” You whimper as you start to create little bounces.
Michael’s head falls back as low strangled groans rip from his throat. He’s not touching you yet, as if he’s afraid to overstep a boundary.
“You can touch me, Michael.” You say in between moans.
You bring his hands up to grab your hips, looking at you dumbfounded. He grabs you so gently you can barely even feel it. He slides his hands down towards your ass with a squeeze, a little wave of confidence washing over him.
"Like this?" he asks.
"Yes, exactly like that."
You continue bouncing on his length, a sweet ring of white elixir forming between the base of his cock & your pussy. Even if you two weren’t making noise, the obvious sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room — almost ratting out your little secret to the rest of the house.
“So tight,“ he manages to push out.
The room begins to feel humid, the unique aroma of your scents melting together to create an addictive combination that fills your nose with each breath.
Michael’s hips rut into you desperately from beneath, the thrusts becoming sloppy & erratic as he chases his release. He sits up slightly, wrapping his arms around your lower waist as he latches his mouth onto one of your nipples. He sucks with a warm gentle pull, catching the breath from throat. He pulls you in tighter with each second, murmuring gibberish around your areola.
You hold the back of his head, running your manicured nails through his hair as you continue bouncing on him, occasionally grinding back & fourth.
“Think I’m gonna come, can’t stop.” He moans around your breast.
You pant furiously as you feel your own release crest in your lower belly, “f-fuck, me too. Come with me honey.”
Before you could move any more, the cord in your belly snaps. Your second orgasm riding through you blissfully. You throw your head onto Michael’s shoulder, your heartbeat booming in your ears as blind spots cover your vision temporarily.
Michael tried to last in hopes of staying inside you longer, yet the way your pussy tightened around him during your orgasm brought him to a sudden halt. His body stiffens up as he releases himself with one last thrust beneath you. You feel his warm seed paint your walls as he twitches, flopping onto his back as he tries to steady his breathing.
You lean forward, allowing him to slowly fall out of you. His flaccid length drops down on his abdomen as soon as it leaves you, his release dripping from you & onto his thighs.
All that was left was you & michael's bodies spent & glued together, a secret that only you two will have to hold from now on.
You look down at him, all fucked out & mesmerised by you. His eyes search you as if you're not supposed to be real. You pepper a kiss on his cheek,
"You're going to make this real difficult aren't you?"
If you had one wish, it wouldn’t be a grammy, or to be famous. It wouldn’t even be to have a million dollars.
You’d wish for another fan.
But the summer of 2004 was officially personal enemies with you.
Being seven months pregnant in the dead of a California heatwave was a special kind of purgatory. Your ankles were swollen, your skin felt two sizes too small, and the air inside the house was so thick you could practically chew on it. To make matters worse, the HVAC system at the ranch had chosen today—a blistering, triple-digit Saturday—to completely give up the ghost.
You were currently sprawled on the living room rug, a cold, damp washcloth draped over your forehead, only wearing underwear and a t-shirt that barely covered your round tummy, feeling like a stranded whale.
"Daddy! Prince won't let the fan turn this way!" Paris’s indignant six-year-old voice echoed across the room.
"I’m just trying to keep the baby warm!" seven-year-old Prince fired back with absolute, unflinching older-brother authority, pointing to the plastic box fan sitting on the coffee table. "Blanket is small, he needs it more!"
Right on cue, two-year-old Blanket was sitting a foot away from the fan, blissfully clutching his favorite toy, entirely oblivious to the sibling warfare raging above his head.
"Nobody needs to be warm today, Prince, I promise you" Michael sighed, his voice laced with that familiar, gentle exhaustion.
You cracked one eye open from under your washcloth. Michael was sitting on the floor a few feet away from you, looking equally defeated by the elements. He had his signature black curls pulled back into a messy, loose bun, a few damp tendrils sticking to his neck. He was wearing a loose, unbuttoned red short-sleeve shirt over a white tank top, the fabric clinging to his chest. Even in a crisis, the man looked effortlessly beautiful, which you found deeply unfair given that you felt and looked like a melted popsicle.
"Michael," you groaned, your voice a pathetic whimper. "Michael, I’m upset. Officially. With every last bit of energy I have left."
Michael immediately shifted, shuffling over on his knees until he was hovering over you. His dark eyes were full of soft, worried affection as he looked down at your swollen belly. "What’s wrong, beautiful? Is the baby kicking? Do you need water?"
"I need an industrial-grade wind tunnel," you muttered, pulling the washcloth off your face to glare at him. "You are a multi-millionaire. A global icon. Why do we only own one functioning box fan? Why are we surviving like we're in a frontier cabin?"
Michael let out a soft, breathless laugh, his shoulders shaking. "Because the central air has never broken down before, my love! I didn't plan for the apocalypse."
"Well, plan for it now," you wheezed, placing a hand over your bump. "Because your unborn child is currently baking like a loaf of sourdough bread. Buy ten fans. Buy fifty. Go to Sears and buy the whole store, Michael, I’m not joking."
"Okay, okay, I’ll have someone run out and get more," he promised soothingly. He reached out, his long, slender fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your sweaty forehead. His hand felt incredibly cool against your burning skin, and you instinctively leaned into his touch.
Seeing an opportunity, Paris grabbed the box fan and aggressively angled it directly toward you. "There! It goes to Mama and the baby!"
"Hey!" Prince protested.
"Thank you, Paris," you sighed as the stream of lukewarm air hit your face. It wasn't freezing, but it was heaven.
Michael smiled, his heart melting at how protective the kids were being. He carefully crawled closer, settling his frame onto the floor right next to you. Despite the unbearable heat, he couldn't help himself—he slid an arm under your waist and pulled your back against his chest.
"Baby, no," you whined, though you didn't actually pull away. "It’s too hot. We might fuse together."
"Just for a second," he whispered into your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck. He wrapped his other hand completely over your pregnant belly, his palm resting against the fabric of your maternity shirt. "Let me feel my baby."
As if on cue, the baby gave a sharp, hard kick right against Michael’s palm.
Michael gasped, a bright, radiant smile breaking across his face. "Oh! Did you feel that? He’s mad at the heat too."
"Or she is telling her daddy to go buy an air conditioner," you grumbled, but the tension left your body as you melted back into him. Even though his skin was warm, his presence was instantly grounding. He began tracing slow, lazy circles over your bump, his touch light and comforting.
"Group hug!" Paris cheered.
Before you could warn them about the thermal mass of five human bodies in a closed room, Paris scrambled over, plop-ping down right by your legs and resting her head against your knee. Prince dragged Blanket over by his hands, sitting down right in front of you and Michael, effectively creating a human fortress around the box fan. Blanket immediately leaned his little head against your stomach, murmuring a quiet, sleepy sound.
"See?" Michael murmured, his chin resting gently on your shoulder as he looked at the beautiful, chaotic family you had built together. He tightened his arms around you and the baby, his voice dropping into that sweet, private register meant only for you. "We have the fan blasting right at us, the kids are happy, and we're altogether. It’s not so bad."
You looked at Prince and Paris bickering in whispers over who got to hold Blanket’s hand, felt the steady, loving heartbeat of the man holding you, and felt the little kick of life inside you.
You let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes as the fan blew over the five—soon to be six—of you.
"It’s fine," you whispered, reaching back to tangle your fingers in Michael's. "But you're still buying those fans tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Michael agreed, kissing your cheek softly. "I promise."
thank you dolle for complaining about your city’s weather SO much it inspired me to write this <3
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