authorâs note; based off of the idea i posted about like two nights ago. the girls are nicknamed after minnie and daisy from mickey mouse so they would have some kind of name.. minnie is 5 going on 6 and daisy is 3 going on 4, age gap is implied but you can decide how many years. didnât proofread!
michael waited patiently at the top of the driveway, standing with his hands behind his back, watching you pull up in your white 2003 lexus sc 430 convertible with the hardtop roof down. his two precious girls in the backseats, both wearing their private school uniform , both giving him a big wave and cheesy smile as you finally parked the car.
the two screamed in excitement to see their father, it was michaelâs week to have the kids which was perfect time for you. schedule was full with meetings and meetings back to back due to your clothing line coming out with another launch.
âhello michaelâ you said as you moved your sunglasses to act as a headband for your hair, removing the car key from the ignition. transferring the backpacks from the passenger floor to the seat so itâs easier to grab.
âno need to be formalâ michael responded, âi prefer hi daddyâ he added while walking up to the passenger side of the car, you rolled your eyes and waved him off out of annoyance. the oldest, minnie pops her seatbelt buckle out before attempting to help her younger sister daisy out of hers. she successfully got the chest clip but due to little strength in her thumbs, minnie was having trouble to unbuckle the buckle part of the car seat.
âi got itâ michael spoke, âthank you for helpingâ he praised minnie before placing his thumb on the red buckle and click, the metal prongs detached in a swift before picking up daisy from her five point harness car seat.
you snagged the backpacks off the passenger seats before exiting out of the vehicle, bending down to pull the lever for the driverâs seat to move forward, creating space for minnie to get out.
helping the oldest out of the car, you glanced up to see daisy already in michaelâs arms. head resting on his shoulder, her small hand placed on michaelâs chest with a little pout on her face.
âhow was school?â michael asked, bouncing daisy in her arms as she shook her head refusing to answer. letting out a chuckle before he turned his attention to minnie.
âschool was funâ minnie answered, âwe watched beauty and the beast since its fridayâ she contiuned, you shut the car door. standing behind minnie with a smile on your face as she was going on and on about her school day.
now heading to the front door, it was you and minnie hand in hand walking in front of michael.
your ex husband eyed you up and down from behind in the meantime, you wearing a matching green velour tracksuit with your khaki 2004 coach hampton demi bag on your shoulder, the pink straps from your thong poking out. when itâs time to go up the few steps, your jacket rises up a bit and since your track pants were low rise, the small yet noticeable âđâ tattoo on your lower back made its appearance.
michael smirked at the tattoo before he bit his bottom lip, thinking back on the time you got it.
âyou look goodâ
âmichael please shut upâ
authorâs note: this SUCKSSS for now, will definitely create some headcanons + maybe more blurbs. my homegirl is now harassing me to write more
authorâs note; the only warning is i wrote this at 3am so if its ass then i am so sorry okay. michaelâs cute three are included in this little collection of the concept! so technically the timelines i initially created isnt right but im disregarding the accurate timeline because yolo.
also like i said before, everything is not in orderâ its just random events. this one is really a filler, ive been working so i havenât had the chance to write certain blurbs or make the headcanons yet. didnât proofread!
âi actually accommodate all the kids, thank you very much!â you answered sarcastically as you and michael stand in his kitchen, michael leaning on the stainless fridge with his arms crossed and you standing by the island counter as your hands grip the edges.
the laughter and screams along with the stomping footsteps of the five children in the background, cartoons playing on the living room tv. you glanced over your shoulder to see paris and minnie running with prince chasing behind.
you and michael were bickering over the children, once again. you turned your head back at michael, âyou donât see me complaining about dealing with two kinds of educationâ you leaned slightly over, âi do the lesson plans with prince and paris at home, bigi learns from flashcards when the two do assignments, minnie and daisy goes to schoolââ
âyou put daisy in a private preschoolâ michael cut you off, âa preschool..â he repeated, scoffing right after. âwhy are you willing to pay thousands for a toddler?â
you defensively tossed your hands in the air, âdonât try to say that when you told me you were paying for her!â you exclaimed. a frustrating sigh leaves your lips, âand youâre paying.. so if you want me to take over the pay then speak upâ
all michael could do was stare at you, trying to fight back to smirk he was gonna display on his face. he loved (still do) when you would boss him around, or just be in charge of anything.
the custody schedules, the childrenâs schedules of who has appointments or who has certain lessons on what activities, even bossing him around on his own schedule, event planning, how you took over interviews that were being invasive to you and michaelâs private life, sex. he can name it all.
michael shook his head, âi donât want you to payâ he responded. your hands fell to your side, raising an eyebrow in confusion as you didnât know where this conversation is going.
âletâs be honestâ
âraising five kids by yourself for a week is hardâ michael confessed, the kitchen went silent. your lips were curving up into a smile that you were trying to hide.
but you couldnât contain yourself, letting out the laugh and covering your mouth while you do so.
once you finally held your composure, you waved him off as you were getting your last laugh in. âmichael, the only kids that have the most energy are minnie and prince. daisy has attitude problems and i donât know whereâ
âshe gets it from youâ michael interrupted, you rolled your eyes on him butting in again. âshe rolls her eyes the exact wayâ he finally let out that smirk.
âjust because you let the kids run you crazy doesnât mean the kids are doing the same to me!â
speaking of children, little footsteps can be heard stomping towards the kitchen. you and michael both look towards the kitchen doorway, trying to figure out which child would make their appearance.
minnie and bigi walk in holding hands, they stop at the door frame. bigi using his free hand to play with his lips while minnie was swinging their hands back and forth.
âi think blanket needs a napâ minnie spoke, âhe just lays on the couch while we playâ
your lips turn into a small pout as you make your way to the youngest, minnie lets go of his hand when she sees you come closer.
bigi understood when you approached him, raising his arms up, waiting to be held. your hands grasped his body under his armpits and straightened your body as you put him on your hip. after minnie soon realized you got her younger brother, she took off to play again, hearing her giggles and stomps towards the other room.
âweâll take nap soonâ you whispered as bigi rested his head on your shoulders, his fingers still playing with his mouth. you slightly bounce him up and down.
you let out a sigh, âanywaysâ you muttered. âare you trying to tell me youâre interested in getting a nanny?â you questioned.
michael pushed himself off the fridge, âiâm not interested in getting a nannyâ he answered, âi want us to be in one house again, hereâ michael continued.
you chuckled, now starting to pace around the kitchen. bouncing blanket in the meantime while he was now in nap mode. âyeah that wonât happenâ
âiâm willing to go halfway with you on something.. just not moving back inâ you told him, âif you want to unenroll daisy from the preschool then thatâs fineâ if you want both girls to be homeschooled as well then just say the wordâ
âbut i am handling this whole private school and homeschool process very wellâ you shrugged your shoulders as you didnât know what else to say. âbesides, the three love to come with me when we need to pick up the girls because they know everyoneâs getting ice cream afterâ
âyeah but when you have to go to work then whatâ michael crossed his arms, it was like he was starting to get somewhat irritated.
âi literally call all the shots and you know this. my work schedule is whatever i want it to be⊠why are you acting brand new? how desperate are you to get me back here?â
âdesperate enoughâ
âthen prove it.â
authorâs note: TO BE FAIR, i did have a certain moment in mind and yet it created this so idk. IM SORRY, I PROMISE ITâLL GET GOOD!! just wanna build things up rn
anywho, iâve made a tag for this series so itâll be easier to navigate once i make my masterlist so all the blurbs/drabbles/fics/whatever will be under one thing ;)
Loser!König who lets you make a silicone mold of his cock. heâs embarrassed and red in the face throughout the whole ordeal, but you asked him so nicely, how could he say no? itâs worse knowing you use the replica dildo while heâs away, ugly jealousy blooming in his chest over something inanimate, something that resembles him so closely. while heâs flattered you miss him so much he wishes it was him. curiosity gets the better of him eventually though, how good can it actually be? surely it doesnât feel that good. you get a nice surprise coming home one day, finding the poor man sniffling and sobbing as he rides it. youâll tell him heâs doing well, wonât you? praise him the same way he does for you when you take him fully?
SYNOPSIS: Michael decides itâs time for him and reader to go half on a baby. Neverland needs some little Jackson's roaming around.
CONTENT: fluff, needy!Michael, dangerous era!Michael, era 1993, deciding marriage, established relationship, emotional intimacy, discussion of pregnancy, no use of y/n, slightly suggestive at the very end
PART TWO
Now when you thought about it, the signs had been everywhere. You just hadn't recognized them.
The first clue should have been the jewelry store. A month earlier, Michael convinced you to accompany him on what he described as a "quick errand".
Any time Michael went shopping, it was never quick. That should've been your second clue.
He claimed that he needed to get one of his watches sized.
But, 45 minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from a jeweler while an older woman measured your ring finger.
You'd stared at her. Then stared at Michael who had suddenly become fascinated by a display case of necklaces. He really was a terrible actor. And an even worse liar.
"Michael, what are we doing?" you'd asked. Michael hadn't looked up.
The man was studying a diamond bracelet like it contained state secrets.
"Just looking."
"Michael."
"Mm?"
The jeweler smiled.
Michael refused to make eye contact.
He had a terrible poker face, and his emotions were often written all over his expression.
You noticed, immediately. You always did.
Nothing further came of it, at least not then.
Three weeks later came the third clue. And somehow it was stranger.
Looking back, the signs had been everywhere. The baby store should have tipped you off.
You just hadn't recognized then.
The two of you had spent the afternoon wandering through Los Angeles.
A rare luxury these days.
Between recording schedules, appearances, interviews, rehearsals, and whatever else came with being two people trying to maintain a relationship while Michael Jackson belonged to half the planet, uninterrupted time together had become surprisingly difficult to come by.
Which was exactly why Michael had spent most of the afternoon attached to you. Not figuratively, literally.
At one point he'd hooked a finger through one of your belt loops and followed you through an entire department store like an affectionate shadow.
When you'd asked what he was doing, he'd simply shrugged.
"Following you."
As if that explained everything.
Now, several hours later, you found yourself standing inside a baby store. Apparently that was where the day had taken you.
Michael often wandered into stores that fascinated him, so you didn't think much of it.
His hand rested against the small of your back as the two of you wandered between aisles.
The touch wasn't possessive. Just familiar and comforting.
Michael always seemed to know where you were. If you stood beside him, eventually he'd touch your arm or your hand. Sometimes your shoulder. Something.
Years ago you'd asked if he realized how often he did it.
His answer had been immediate.
"No."
A complete lie. The man knew exactly what he was doing.
The realization made you smile to yourself as he guided you around another corner. Then suddenly he stopped, completely. You nearly walked into him.
"Whatâ"
Michael was already staring at a row of cribs.
You watched the exact moment curiosity overtook him. His eyes narrowed slightly and his head tilted. And just like that, you lost him.
"Oh no."
You knew this was going to add a minimum of 20-30 minutes to your time in this store.
Michael didn't hear you though, he was already approaching.
You sighed and followed.
Because experience had taught you that once Michael became interested in something, there was no stopping him. Only waiting.
By the time the store associate approached, Michael had somehow progressed from casually observing cribs to performing what appeared to be a full safety inspection.
The poor woman had no idea what she'd walked into.
"What happens if the baby chews on this?"
She peered at Michael in confusion.
"The paint?"
Michael nodded.
The woman assured him it was non-toxic. Michael accepted this information. For approximately 10 seconds.
"What if they climb?"
The associate again looked confused.
"Climb?"
"Out. The baby."
You bit the inside of your cheek hard.
Michael gently pulled you by your hand in front of him without looking, almost as if to say "come be apart of this".
He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on top of your head. His thumb gently grazed over your belly, thinking about what it would feel like to shop for their first crib of many.
The gesture was so automatic you barely noticed it.
Michael nodded thoughtfully as the woman spoke to the two of you.
Then he crouched beside the crib. Inspecting the hardware, testing the rails. He even started reading safety labels.
The associate watched with growing amusement.
"You seem very interested."
Michael looked up, completely serious.
"Oh I am, very."
The woman smiled.
"How many children do you have?"
The question caught both of you off guard. For a moment Michael simply blinked. Then he looked at you.
"We don't have any, yet."
The associate looked surprised.
"Oh."
A pause.
Then she said,
"You two seem like parents."
The response arrived before either of you could stop it.
"What?"
You both asked simultaneously.
The associate laughed.
Michael looked genuinely puzzled. Meanwhile, your face felt warm.
The woman gestured vaguely between the two of you.
"I don't know."
She smiled.
"The way you interact. I would have thought you were expecting or something."
Michael looked down at you, then back at her.
And to your horror, he didn't seem bothered by the comparison at all. If anything, he appeared oddly pleased. You could tell from the amused look on his face.
The realization made you narrow your eyes at him immediately.
Michael noticed.
A smile threatened the corner of his mouth. He pressed his lips together and shifted them to one side as he looked away.
Dangerous. Very dangerous.
Twenty minutes later, Michael had somehow learned more about crib safety than most first-time parents. And you were beginning to suspect something was up.
That suspicion only grew stronger later that night.
The movie you had been watching together had ended almost an hour ago. Neither of you had bothered turning on another one.
The bedroom remained quiet except for the distant sound of crickets chirping outside.
Michael lay stretched across the mattress beside you and you were reading.
He had one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting across your shoulders as you rested your head on his chest.
He absentmindedly traced circles through the fabric of your shirt with his fingers. It was a habit he'd developed years ago. You'd long since stopped noticing it, until it stopped. Then you noticed immediately.
For several moments neither of you spoke. You just laid in comfortable silence.
The room glowed softly beneath the bedside lamp.
Michael stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. Dangerously thoughtful.
It was a look that you recognized instantly. Usually, it meant he was about to say something important. Or strange. Sometimes both.
"I want a big family."
He said finally.
And there it was.
You smiled without looking up from your book.
"Mhm."
You encouraged him to continue, signaling that you were listening.
"I'm serious."
"I know."
For a moment it was silent.
Then he said:
"Like... a really big family."
That made you laugh. Finally you looked over.
"And what does that mean?"
Michael thought about it. He pondered deeply for a moment.
"Five."
His answer came pointedly, it was certain.
You stared.
"Five what?"
"Maybe six. Children of course."
"Michael."
"What?"
The offense in his voice was immediate. As though six children were the most reasonable thing in the world.
You laughed and he smiled sheepishly.
Then the teasing disappeared. It was replaced by something more reflective.
For a moment his gaze drifted toward the ceiling again. Lost somewhere else. Somewhere years away.
"You know..."
His voice grew quieter.
"When I was little..."
He paused.
"I always had somebody."
The words made you look up. Michael's expression had changed. The playful energy was gone.
Now he looked genuinely nostalgic.
"If I got scared..."
He smiled faintly.
"I had somebody."
A pause.
"If I got in trouble."
The smile widened, like he was remembering being mischievous with his brothers.
"Definitely had somebody."
You laughed softly.
Michael smiled too.
"If I was happy."
Another pause.
"I had somebody then too."
His gaze drifted toward the window.
Toward memories only he could see.
"My brothers... my sisters. There was always somebody around."
The room grew quieter. Suddenly you got the feeling that this wasn't about children. Not really. It was about family. Connection, belonging.
Michael looked back at you. His expression was open. Honest.
The kind of expression that appeared when he stopped guarding his thoughts.
"I want my kids to have that."
The confession settled gently between you.
"I want them to have each other."
His voice softened.
"I want them to know they're never alone."
The pieces suddenly clicked into place for you. Beneath all the fame and success, beneath the moniker Michael Jackson.
There was still a little boy who loved his family and missed them. They were all so busy these days, life had taken them in different directions though they were still close.
But Michael remembered what it felt like to grow up surrounded by people who belonged to him. People who knew him. People who stayed.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
Then Michael looked over.
His lips twitched with amusement, as though he'd just thought of something dangerous.
"I think you'd be a good mother."
The words caught you completely off guard.
And judging by the way his breath hitched as he waited for you to process his words, they had surprised him too.
Before you could respond, Michael shifted you closer. He gently grabbed your thigh, draping your leg across his waist. He nuzzled his face into the top of your head like he suddenly needed to be touching you. Like he needed reassurance.
You happily settled against him before teasing,
"You're awfully clingy tonight."
"I'm not clingy. Just wanna feel you."
The response came immediately and honestly.
You chuckled, unable to hide your amusement. Michael only tightened his arm around you. Which proved your point entirely.
"You brought me into a jewelry store."
Silence.
"You interrogated a woman about cribs."
More silence.
"Now you're talking about six children."
Michael stared at the ceiling, he was refusing to take the bait.
A slow smile spread across your face.
"Oh my God."
He closed his eyes, immediately. And just like that, you knew. He was up to something
The realization hit you like a freight train.
"Michael."
No response.
"Michael Joseph Jackson."
His eyes remained closed.
"Hm?" He hummed, still stroking your leg.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
And for the first time all day, you realized exactly why that store associate thought you looked like parents.
Michael wasn't imagining a future anymore, he was planning one.
The realization hit you so hard that you sat upright.
Michael cracked one eye open. Then the other. His expression cautious.
Like a man who had just heard something dangerous rustling in the bushes.
"What?"
You stared. Michael stared back.
Slowly, he pushed himself up onto one elbow.
"What is it?"
You pointed at him.
"You've been acting weird."
His eyebrows shot upward.
"Weird?"
"Yes."
"No I haven't."
The denial came entirely too fast, Michael couldn't even convince himself the statement was true. His voice had that upward inflection on the end, like when someone is caught in a lie.
You laughed and Michael looked offended immediately.
"I haven't."
"You took me to a jewelry store."
Silence. Michael looked away. Danger sign number one.
"You had my ring size measured, even though you pretended we were there for your watch."
More silence. Danger sign number two.
"You spent forty-five minutes interrogating a woman about crib safety."
Michael rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Danger sign number three.
The realization made your eyes widen.
"Oh my God."
"Michael."
His head fell back dramatically against the headboard.
A deep groan escaped him. The kind of groan that said he'd been hoping you wouldn't figure it out yet.
But you weren't stupid. The room fell quiet.
Neither of you spoke for several moments.
Michael gazed toward the ceiling.
You continued to stare at him, refusing to let up. Finally, he sighed.
Long. Slow. Resigned.
"I've been thinking."
He started hesitantly.
You couldn't help but giggle at his bashfulness.
"Clearly."
Michael pointed at you.
"Hey, I'm serious."
"I know."
The smile on your face softened.
Because despite the teasing, you knew this mattered. You knew Michael.
And when Michael started thinking about something, really thinking about it, it consumed him.
The same way songs did. His choreography. The way performances did.
He didn't think or move halfway, he'd always dive headfirst.
Michael's gaze drifted toward the lamp on the nightstand thoughtfully.
"I'll be thirty-five in a few weeks."
You blinked slowly, confused by his statement. Mostly because Michael almost never talked about his age.
Just a few weeks ago, you watched it in real time.
An interviewer said to Michael "We're getting close to your 35th birthday, how is the way you feel about music-"
Michael had quickly interrupted, not allowing the man to finish his sentence.
"I did not circle that question"
Behind the scenes, you nearly doubled over from laughing.
Michael had bit back a smile, ignoring you and smiling politely at the interviewer.
He was getting older, and it was not something he wanted to openly discuss. He would always say he wanted to be young forever.
In the present, he continued.
"Everybody always talks about the music."
A pause.
"The tours."
Another.
"The records."
His fingers absentmindedly found yours, intertwining your fingers with his.
Like he needed something to anchor himself while he spoke. Or maybe to give himself the confidence to say what he said next.
"But lately..."
His thumb brushed across your knuckles.
"I've been thinking about what comes after."
The room couldn't have been quieter. You squeezed his hand, encouragingly.
Michael smiled softly, not looking at you. Still somewhere else mentally.
Somewhere years away. Nostalgia had captured him.
"I know what I want."
The certainty in his voice caught your attention quickly.
Michael finally looked straight at you. And suddenly he looked shy. Genuinely shy.
Which was ridiculous.
The man could perform in front of seventy thousand people. Yet somehow this conversation made him nervous.
"I want a wife. Somebody just for me."
The words came quietly and earnestly.
No theatrics. No charm, no place to hide. Just honesty.
Michael swallowed.
Then continued.
"I want children."
A pause.
"A home."
Another.
"I want Christmases."
You smiled despite yourself. Michael smiled too. The smile growing as he spoke.
"I want birthdays."
Another pause.
"Those are things I didn't have when I was little."
He trailed off sadly.
"I wanna be somebody's dad."
Something warm settled in your chest. Because you knew he meant it.
Every word. You could hear it. See it. Feel it.
Michael looked down at your joined hands. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"And..."
His voice softened.
"I want it to be with you."
The room went still and your heart skipped.
You forgot how to use words in the moment, flattered but unsure of how to respond.
Michael immediately became interested in the blanket.
He was embarrassed.
He bit down on his bottom lip like he wasn't sure what to say next. And he wasn't. So he waited.
Which somehow made the confession even sweeter.
You stared at him, the realization settling slowly.
He wasn't hinting anymore or testing the waters. It became clear to you that he wasn't imagining possibilities.
Michael Jackson was sitting in front of you and very plainly telling you that he wanted to marry you.
The thought made your stomach flip.
"Michael."
He looked up, immediately. He was hopeful, and terrified. Vulnerable in a way you really hadn't seen him before.
The expression made your chest ache.
Before you could stop yourself, your hand found his cheek.
Michael melted into your touch instantly, leaning into your palm. The way he always did.
Like affection was sunlight and he'd spent too long in the shade.
"You know I'd say yes, right?"
The question escaped quietly.
Michael froze completely.
Then his entire face changed.
For one brief moment he looked younger. Almost boyish.
"Yeah?"
The word came out embarrassingly fast.
You laughed. Michael laughed too. Suddenly he felt relieved.
The tension left his shoulders. He felt silly in the moment for thinking you'd reject him.
"Yeah." You confirmed.
His smile widened slowly and uncontrollably.
The kind of smile that started in his eyes.
You loved that smile.
Michael looked down at his fingers that had been fumbling with the trim of the blanket..
He looked back up at you bashfully then down again.
Trying and failing to hide how happy he was.
And that was when he ruined everything. Completely by accident.
"Well..."
He smiled.
Still looking pleased with himself.
"I mean, Debbie offered too."
You nearly twisted your neck with how fast you looked at him.
"Debbie who?" you asked, crooking your neck.
The tension that filled the room could have been sliced with a knife.
It was instant and absolute.
Michael felt the change in temperature immediately. The same way animals sensed incoming storms.
Slowly... Very slowly...
He looked over. You were staring at him expressionlessly, daring him to answer.
Honestly, his remark had caught you off guard and you weren't sure what else to say.
Michael swallowed. There it is. The warning sign.
"Rowe."
You nodded once, never breaking eye contact. Which was both calm and dangerous Michael had come to learn.
"Debbie." you said to yourself bitterly, like she was suddenly an arch nemesis.
The room became very quiet. Michael suddenly wished he'd phrased that differently. Not because he'd said anything wrong. Well, maybe he had.
But because he was beginning to understand how it sounded.
"You mean to tell me..." You sat upright slowly.
"...that we've spent all day discussing marriage."
Michael closed his eyes, here we go.
"...children."
A pause.
"...future plans."
"...and your nurse apparently submitted an application?"
Michael buried his face in his hands immediately. He now understood how his statement sounded when it came out. He had never been very good at explaining himself.
You crossed your arms. You were offended. Deeply so. Sincerely offended.
"Michael, stop playing with me."
A laugh escaped him. It was tiny and accidental. He tried to hide it.
And failed spectacularly.
"Don't laugh."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
His shoulders were shaking as he bit back a smile.
You pointed at him.
"You're laughing."
"I'm trying not to."
That somehow made it worse.
"Debbie?"
Michael finally looked up.
Still smiling and entirely all too amused. The sight only irritated you further.
"If anybody's having your babies, it gonna be me. Period."
You pointed toward yourself, crossing your arms with finality.
The declaration filled the room. It was firm and confident.
And oh, so sexy to Michael.
You had decided that the matter was entirely non-negotiable.
For a moment Michael simply stared. He was enamored with how quickly you became possessive. He felt guilty for enjoying the subtle rage you were actively trying to smother.
Because beneath all of it, he'd heard the thing he'd secretly wanted to hear.
You were picturing a future too.
The realization made something warm settle in his chest.
He reached over to you, settling his palm against your hip and squeezing gently.
"Yes ma'am. I'm all yours, if you'll have me.""
He smirked at you, holding your gaze in a way that made your stomach flutter.
You narrowed your eyes.
"Oh?"
Michael nodded, a grin spreading across his face.
It was slow and dangerous.
The same smile that made women pass out at his shows night after night.
"I guess you're gonna be a mommy." He teased, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, kissing you repeatedly
You jokingly pushed him away, knowing he'd gotten his way.
Michael dissolved into laughter. The loud kind that comes out when you're genuinely tickled.
A second later he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his arms.
He ignored your protests entirely.
"Michael."
"Just let it happen."
He sighed playfully as he squeezed you to his chest.
"Michael."
"Nope."
You tried to stay annoyed. Really. You did.
That was until Michael's hand drifted up your thigh mischievously.
Which made remaining angry significantly more difficult.
"I love you."
The words felt automatic. Like breathing, like truth.
Your annoyance lasted approximately three more seconds. Then you sighed. Defeated.
Michael smiled against your shoulder victoriously.
He was entirely too pleased with himself.
He trailed his fingers down your back, toying with the hem of your panties.
"So when are we getting started?" He asked softly, suddenly day dreaming of his first of many infants growing up within the halls of Neverland.
â dad! michael jackson đ„ female pediatrician !reader â
....âïž slice of life of how you meet and fall in love. you're a pediatrician. michael's kids are your patients.
....â tw: mentions of debbie + surrogacy, infidelity (no actual cheating)
HOW YOU MEET
michael Jackson almost never panics. that is, until he started having children.
he found himself visiting the children's hospital more often. he told himself it's paranoia, first-time dad jitters maybe. it is a bit ridiculous how fast he can get to the doctor as soon as little prince makes a coughing sound or scrapes a knee. that is a far more reasonable explanation anyway.
the truth is, Michael fell in love with you the moment he stepped foot into your office. the very first time he held his very sick baby boy, he came to you anxiously. rambling on about how he doesn't know what he did wrong.
you gently placed your hand atop his, calming his nerves. and assured him he did nothing wrong, and that he did right by his son by taking him to the hospital. your hands left his to tend to his child, but the electricity lingered. he couldn't forget that.
so here he was, in front of you again. prince on his lap, crying out of frustration, as babies do. âhi mr. jackson, what seems to be the problem with little prince over here?â your smile towards prince was so sweet he could faint.
maybe itâs the way you always greet his child first, plastering your beautiful smile towards the infant. or maybe it's the way you sincerely apologize to prince after giving him his much needed immunity boosters. or is it because you hum little lullabies while you're doing physical examinations ? he couldn't determine what he was so enamored by the most.
what he surely likes, is how despite being the doctor of michael jackson's children, you could care less that you're the doctor of michael jackson's children. he doesn't know if he should be a little offended that you pay almost no mind to him, not swooning or jumping at the opportunity of a photo-op. when his kids are in your office, your attention is 100% on them. except for the polite greetings and formal instructions for diagnosis and care, of course.
while it is your job, he found it intriguing. even his personal doctors who had treated him throughout the years only seem interested in him, asking for pictures just for proof that 'hey, i helped heal michael jackson!' finally a doctor that just...cares for their patients.
âno worries mr. jackson, this is a completely normal developmental response. Here are some natural teething remedies that have worked on my kiddos, works like a charmâ
his heart dropped. your kiddos?
âhow old are they?â he hid the disappointment in his voice with a soft smile. but your confusion made him laugh a little "your kids, how old are they?"
âah I did it again didnât IâŠâ you nervously chuckled under your breath. "sorry, I just have this habit of calling all patients âmyâ kidsâ you hurriedly finished the rest of your home care instructions, hoping that michael found your comment cute rather than weird.
lucky for you, it was endearing to him. "that's adorable" he responded. as you handed him the prescription, he checked for a ring on your finger, before quickly glancing over your desk to see for a picture of a boyfriend. he felt relief when he couldn't find any evidence.
"thank you doctor, i'll take good care of him" your fingertips brushed against each other, and he noted how easy you are to blush.
MICHAEL THE REGULAR PATIENT
michael ends up at your office at least once every month. Sometimes just to ask a question or two. And sometimes, without any of his children.
âmr. Jackson, you know, you donât have to come all the way up here to ask a question. Iâd be glad to answer any of your concerns through emailâ you offered with a small smile as you placed your card in front of him.
to you, a friendly offer.
to him, it felt like a boundary.
you donât miss the way his face fell, eyes baring the disappointment. moments like this he wished he had his sunglasses on.
ân-not that I donât enjoy our little chats, I justâŠI know itâs inconvenient having to come all the way here to the hospital thatâs all. I know you get mobbed at the lobby almost every time and that must be stressful for youâŠâ you rambled âand for the kids, of courseâ
he's touched by how thoughtful you are. and he hoped that your care for his family's wellbeing isn't just because you're their pediatrician.
ây-yeah the kids..they donât enjoy that so muchâ he added. a beat goes by before he leaned forward from the chair, elbows resting on your desk as he cocked his head with a question
âdo you do home visits as well?â
BECOMING THE IN-HOUSE DOCTOR
monthly professional visits at his home were routine now. regular checkups on prince and paris, vitamin restocking, vitals checking, basic developmental tests. you were honestly running out of things to do. his children were so perfectly healthy, you didn't have to be there.
michael would always invite you over to stay for dinner. at first, you refused. afraid that this was unprofessional. but prince had learned how to talk recently, and you couldn't refuse his "pwease doctor y/n. pwease have dinner with us"
michael liked having you over for dinner because that meant prince would finish all the food on his plate. or at least, that's what he tells bill. but everyone in the room can see the way he stares so lovingly at you, mesmerized by the way you talk as you enticed prince to eat all his spaghetti. it's so mundane. but he smiled to himself anyway as he fed paris another spoonful of mush.
more often than not, the dinners turn into late night conversations, soft voices over freshly brewed calming teas in the living room. fireplace in full display with an old record playing in the background. you talked about anything and everything. dreams for yourself and for the world. you share in a mission to end child suffering. he thinks you're perfect.
âand your wife?âŠ.â you had the courage to ask one night.
âoh weâre notâŠlike that. debbie is a good friend. we have an...agreement about the children...â he took a long sip of his tea, afraid of your response.
âlike a surrogate? thatâs very modern of you mikeâ a name you have only used once or twice before â he needs to get used to it so his ears stop flushing.
âyeah, is that weird?â you found it cute that he still seeks for validation
âI think itâs beautiful.â was your honest answer.
then it was his turn to ask. âdo you ever think about having kids?â
âall the time. but I want to get married first. i'm a bit traditional that wayâ you admitted, a shy smile on your lips as you held your gaze to the fireplace.
âI think you and I are very alike y/n" he turned to face you, not breaking eye contact as you clinked your teacups together. chamomile in his, and peppermint in yours.
HIS DIVORCE
his divorce was all over the newspapers. and he spared no time in publicly winning your affection immediately after. he would send flowers to your hospital every. single. day. each came with a different love note, always signed with MJJ, as if you needed to be reminded on who it came from.
your older kid patients teased you if they caught you blushing.
LIFE AS MIKE'S
it didnât take much for you to start dating officially.
soon you were at his home almost every night. and slowly, you were weaved into every corner of his life, and every fibre of his being.
the guards let you pass through the gates with ease. security didnât have to pat you down thoroughly anymore. the chefs learned your favorites. bill knew your home and work address by heart. and the children started including you in their crayoned family portraits.
one of the greater perks of being his girl was getting to know and seeing the man that he truly is. more than the performer on stage â you saw the doting father, kind-hearted friend, loyal brother, and loving partner.
and my god did he looove to spoil you. not just with pretty gifts but with experiences you both could cherish forever. he would think of something new and exciting for the two of you to try. whether that's a night drive at a safari or going on a disney world tour.
"i want to see the whole world with you" he'd say as he smiled from ear to ear, guiding your hand to follow him.
he cared so much for others that he often forgot about himself. you took on this role quickly. you had audited his entire medical team and demanded a change in healthcare regimen, a focus on long-term healing rather than short-term numbing. "hey, who's the professional here" michael protested at first, but you made a very good argument.
and when the pressures of being the king of pop bubbled up to the surface, there is no better person to turn to than you. his insecurities, anger, frustration â all melt the moment you lay by his side.
the night air got chilly, but you nuzzled your face closer to his neck as you whispered "remember the important things Mike" your voice was small, quiet and steady. he' was so focused on the way your chest moved up and down with every breath, slowly synching with his. and just like that, he was grounded once again.
"i love you, you know that right?" he said into the air as he hugged your waist tighter. "you're one of the important things" is the last thing he muttered before he lulled into a deep sleep.
DOCTOR MOMMY
"is doctor mommy coming over today?" paris asked one morning while she was on a walk with her father, bright blues looking up at him as she firmly held his fingers. he had never heard his kids call her that before. his heart swelled, and he bent down to her level before saying "how would you like it if she were here everyday?"
paris' bright smile was all the confirmation he needed.
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
michael proposed over a candlelit dinner at his property. he transformed his garden at the ranch into an intimate celebration â a table just for two, surrounded by the beauty of nature. string lights hanging from his giving tree, illuminating your beauty amidst the night sky.
he brought out a letter he wrote, afraid he'd forget what to say. he was sweating a little, and you found his nervousness cute. you lightly dabbed his forehead with a napkin, and before you could retreat your hand, he grabbed it and interlocked fingers with yours.
he began to read
"my dearest y/n.
it's been over 3 years since i met you. and i swear, my heart has been beating faster ever since. you are the most intelligent, kind, and beautiful woman i have ever met. and you have given me the utmost privilege of being able to love you.
you make me a better man and a better father. i live everyday hoping to see you smile, or hear your laugh. i love your childlike wonder, and how you never judge me for who i am, inside and out. to the world, i may be michael jackson. but at the end of the day, i prefer to just be your mike. always.
i also cannot thank you enough for loving my kids like your own. i never pictured them having a mother in their life, the same way i never pictured falling in love again. but I'm sure glad this is the life i have been given. I thank God every day for the gift that is you.
if you could do me this honor, i would love to spend the rest of my days with you. y/n my wife.
your husband, michael"
you wanted to make fun of him for being so sure you'd say yes. but you couldn't, not when he's knelt on his knee, as tears threatendd to spill from his eyes. because you felt the same way. this was your husband, and so by far the easiest "yes" in your life.
you could only muster a nod as he slipped the ring into your finger. he held both your hands tightly as you both stood up, leaning forward, foreheads touching. you placed your hands on his cheeks as your eyelashes fluttered upwards to look at him
you really, looked at him. the beautiful, kind man you fell in love with.
you kissed him, fervently, and fully. he embraced your waist with large hands, and pulled you closer so that your bodies pressed tightly against each other. he didn't comment on the tears he can taste on your lips, or the drum-like beating of your chest.
all he could think about was how lucky he was to have found peace in you.
michael never panics anymore, not with you by his side.
â Summary: A glimpse into the hours following the Champions League victory in Oslo. You might or might not be wearing Patri's shirt through it all, which is a problem for a certain captain.
â Word count:Â 6.7K
â Warnings: (+18) SMUT âąÂ lot of dry humping âą scissoring (again, yes) âą boob love <3 âą the captain armband stays on during sex âą jealous/possessive Ale âą mention of body image issues âą baby alexia
â A/n: keeping score universe!! You will enjoy this fic more if you read these fics first
The Champions League final was here.
You had managed to get a few (precious) days off from the hospital, all so you could tag along to Oslo.
But travelling with the Football Club Barcelona meant navigating a game of hide-and-sick. You and Ale were still very private about your relationship, so much so that your presence in Norway has sent some small corners of the internet buzzing.
Online, the fans were completely split into two teams. Half of them thought you had come solely to support Clara, your younger sister, while the other half suspected you were there for Alexia, your rumoured girlfriend.Â
None of them knew you were there for both.
It was Clara's first time playing in a Champions League final, and since your parents were far too "busy" to make it to the game, you had made sure she would have someone cheering for her in the stands. At the same time, it was the first opportunity you had ever had to travel and watch Alexia play anywhere other than Barcelona.
Two birds, one stone.
When the final whistle blew, you were in the stands wearing a Guijarro shirt. The shirt had been a very strategic decision on your part.
Alexia and Clara had both suffered absolute meltdowns at the mere thought of you wearing the other's number and name. There was no chance you were subjecting yourself to the humiliation of a half-and-half shirt either, so you had ended the argument by picking up Alexia's phone, texting Patri yourself, and asking if she could sort you out a shirt with her name on it.
Clara had retaliated by making sure you could hear Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo playing from her room for three days straight. It was, indeed, torture.
Alexia, meanwhile, had pouted and declared that you were officially banned from kissing, hugging, or holding her hand until you came home with a shirt with her name and number eleven on it.Â
You did not cave.Â
She lasted four hours without kisses, hugs, or hand-holding. You didn't mention it when she finally folded. You just smiled into her hair as she pulled you in, both of you pretending the temporary ban had never happened.
Your plan had never been to go down onto the pitch for the celebrations.Â
You didn't want fans spotting you and Alexia together, which you knew would happen the second you were within a few meters of each other. You had told both Ale and Clara that beforehand, and they had agreed, after, of course, being babies about it.
But then the fans began to leave the stadium, the medal ceremony things were dismantled piece by piece, and the red and blue ribbons settled in the turf.
That's when you saw it.
Across the pitch, Alexia was laughing with her mum and uncle, tucked between them as if she were a little kid. A little further, Cata was wrapped up with her girlfriend and parents. Pina was surrounded by her mum and cousins, all of them talking over each other.
And then there was Clara.Â
She stood all by herself, a gold medal hanging around her neck, quietly watching everyone else. It was long past the moment when teammates were celebrating with each other; now they had all turned toward their own families. And Clara's family consisted entirely of you and your brother, who hadn't been able to take time off uni to come.Â
You felt your heart crack right down the middle, pieces of it falling in the stands. Before you could think better of it, before you could remind yourself why you had promised to stay in the stands, you were already moving towards the barrier.
You showed your credentials to the security guards, and they let you through without a second glance.
Clara didn't see you coming.
You caught her by surprise, wrapping your arms around her shoulders from behind. She gasped when she saw it was you, and you knew it was a sound you were going to carry around with you for a long time.Â
She was just so, so happy.
The expression on her face reminded you of when she was younger, doing dance recitals. Back then, she would search for you in the audience because your parents thought those performances weren't worth attending. As she spun around inside your embrace, her smile looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago. Except now, with fewer baby teeth.Â
You pulled her into a tighter hug, burying your face into her shoulder because, of course, she was taller than you despite being the youngest. The edge of her medal dug painfully into your sternum, but you ignored it.Â
"I'm so proud of you, Clarita," you whispered, "Te quiero, mana."
"Te quiero," she replied, kissing your cheek. "Thank you for being here."
Neither of you moved for a long time, and although there were plenty of people around, talking nonstop, it felt like this tiny space between the two of you was the quietest place on the entire pitch.
"You said you wouldn't come down," Clara murmured, squeezing you even tighter. "You said we would meet back in the locker room."
"I was being silly," you said, smiling up to her as the bear hug finally came to an end.Â
Your ribs were hurting. When had Clara gotten so strong?
You ignored her completely as you reached up and pinched her cheeks. "Mi bebezota!"
"Urgh!" Clara groaned, trying to escape your grip. "Stop! You are embarrassing me"
A grin tugged at your lips. That was exactly what you wanted.
"People are watching, you know," she added.
People were watching indeed. Including Alexia.
It hadn't taken long for her to find you.
You obviously spotted her before she saw you; she was standing several meters behind Clara.
The moment her hazel eyes landed on you, something in her whole posture softened; a beautiful smile spread across her face even as she held herself carefully still, stiff, almost rigid.Â
Her shoulders were far too straight, the professional façace held tightly in place. She, as much as you, was entirely aware of how many broadcast cameras were following her every move.
It was almost as if she were waiting for you to make the decision.Â
Seeing her standing there, her temples covered in sweat that slipped down her collarbones, her face flushed from the game and from being smothered in her mother's affection, the identical gold medal that also adorned her neck....
She was pretty, and yours and the distance suddenly felt far too ridiculous to be taken so seriously.Â
You patted Clara on the back when Syd and Aicha called her to take some pictures. After watching her go, you turned and started walking towards Alexia.
She smiled at you the entire way.
When you stopped in front of her, you immediately pulled her into your side. You were hyper aware of your surroundings, so you kept the gesture simple, safe and casual.Â
You slid your arm around her shoulder, nothing more. You leaned in close enough for only her to hear, whispering a "mi campeona" right into her ear. Then you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
You hear her breath hitched, the puff of air that came out of her mouth was slow and warm against your neck as she instinctively leaned into you. She squeezed your waist just a second too long, just a fraction harder than any friend normally would.
"I thought you weren't coming down?" she murmured the exact same word Clara had said only moments earlier.Â
"Mhmm," you whispered, reluctantly stepping away from her, putting a more friendly distance between you. "I changed my mind."
Behind her, Eli and her uncle were watching the interaction with matching smiles.
"Hola, mi amor!" Eli exclaimed, stepping forward and pulling you into a motherly hug, completely unconcerned by the cameras around you. "I'm glad you came down! I told you, it's fun being on the pitch after they win."
"Hey, Eli," you said, smiling and kissing both her cheeks. "You were, once again, completely right."Â
You turned in a slow circle, taking in the stadium, taking in everything.
"Everything feels far too big down here." You turned to Alexia. "How can you even play? I feel so tiny, like an ant."
Alexia shrugged, a soft look in her eyes. She always got those whenever you and her mom were together.Â
"You get used to it and--Mama! I told you I'm not cold" she pouted.
Alexia twisted away, trying to dodge as Eli attempted to drape a heavy coat over her shoulder.Â
"I'm not shaking, mama," Alexia protested, already blushing. "I'm justâ"
Before she could finish, you felt an arm suddenly land over your shoulder, dragging you slightly sideways.Â
"Guapa! Hi! look who's decided to join us. Got tired of hiding in your cave?"Â
Patri's voice was excited; she was always the sweetest on the team. She looked like she had been to war and back, maybe for them footballers, the Champions League final really was war.
"Hola!!!"Â
Another voice came. Kika appeared beside Patri, vibrating with energy, her dark hair sticking out in every possible direction. You knew those two would party a lot tonight.
Patri's brown eyes dropped to your back, her grin widening as she noticed the name printed across the fabric.
She looked over at Alexia, raising one eyebrow with mischief.Â
"Look at that, Ale," Patri teased, patting your shoulder proudly. "Your girl knows talent when she sees it."
Alexia's eyes narrowed playfully, her lips pressing into a tight, pouting line as she stared at the Guijarro shirt covering your torso. She looked at you, her eyes shining with that possessive spark you had come to adore. To expect.
Kika laughed, leaning into Patri's side. "Oh no... capi's a bit mad."
"I'm not mad," Alexia countered smoothly, though her eyes never left yours. "It's a nice shirt. It just happens to have the wrong number on it.
By the time you made it back to the hotel, Alexia had been grinning ear to ear for approximately forty minutes straight. She knew perfectly well what the two of you were going to do once you set foot into the hotel room.
The team bus wasn't leaving for the club for another hour and a half, but Alexia did not seem particularly invested in the public celebrations anymore. At the moment, she appeared to be significantly more excited about kissing your entire face.
The door had barely clicked shut behind you before her hands were on your waist.
"I'm so happy you are here, mi sol," she whispered against your lips, her voice raspy, probably from running so much and whatever singing had taken place in the locker room afterwards.
She kissed you gently at first, and then deeper, before resting her forehead against yours, breathing in slowly. Breathing you in.Â
"You looked pretty in the stands," she murmured. "My favourite fangirl."
"I'm your favourite even while in Patri's shirt?" You teased softly.
"Shut up," she murmured with a breathless laugh, not allowing you to mutter another word as she captured your mouth again, sucking your tongue.
"You won't be wearing it much longer, so enjoy it while you can."
You were fairly sure you would.
Her hands settled on your hips as she slowly guided you backwards through the room. There was something confident in her steps; they were so deliberate and confident, for a moment, it was easy to forget you were in a hotel a few kilometres away from her actual home in Barcelona.Â
The back of your knee bumped against the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall onto it, with Alexia following right after.
You kissed her, tasting her champagne-tinged tongue, she felt weightless on top of you.Â
Her captain's armband was still hugging her bicep tightly; of course, she hadn't taken it off. Once you had told her how much you loved it when she fucked you with it, she had started to keep it. Her heavy gold medal was still hanging around her neck, swaying between you like a pendulum. Â
Alexia was exactly as good as she thought she was, completely dominant on and off the pitch. The way confidence seemed to be radiating off of her in a way that was equal parts dangerous and attractive.
Your hand travelled down to her lower back, your finger sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts to squeeze the firm flesh of her ass. You shifted under her, tilting your body just right to force her pelvis closer to yours.
"It was hot watching you play," you murmured against her mouth.Â
You leaned up, caught her lower lip between your teeth, biting into it enough for you to hear a small whimper fall from her tongue.Â
She pouted at you, her eyes hazy, unfocused. She was completely fixed on you, silently asking you to kiss it better.
You didn't make her wait, pulling her down once more.Â
"Soy su campeona?" Alexia whispered into the narrow space between your mouth. Her voice sounded much smaller than usual, completely bewitched, and slightly tipsy. [Am I your champion?]Â
"Si," you whispered, your hand clutching her ass. "Mine, only mine."
Alexia smiled and caught you in a kiss.
Her hot mouth trailed down the line of your jaw, dragging over the side of your throat. One hand guided your head gently aside as she found the hidden and sensitive spot right behind your ear, choosing to brand you there, sucking firmly until you knew it would leave a purplish mark.
A mix of a giggle and a gasp escaped you as your hand settled on her shoulders. "A hickey? Really? You teased. "How old are you? Sixteen?"
She huffed a laugh against your pulse point. "I deserved it, okay? I won the Champions League. I can do whatever I want today."
"Mhm," you hummed, tipping your head back a little further to give her entirely uninhibited access to do as she pleased. "I suppose you can do whatever you want with me, yes."
"Si?" She asked dangerously.Â
Even without looking, you could feel the slow, coy smile pressing right against your jugular.Â
"Uhum," you nodded as much as you could under her weight.
"Joder," she cursed, her breath hitching as the absolute submission in your voice sank in. Her hips shifted, rolling hard and against yours as she pinned you to the mattress. "Voy a correr si sigues diciendo eso." [I'm gonna cum if you keep saying that.]
She kept moving against you; it was clear that the confession made her turn absolutely relentless. She took off your shirt, leaving your torso bare.Â
She pressed her body completely flush, the medal a cool contrast between your breasts, while the rough fabric of her armband brushed against your arm. Her mouth claimed yours once more, her tongue pushing deep, the taste of champagne still there.Â
You could, somehow, feel her wetness through the fabric of her shorts, slick and hot.
Your fingers dug deeper into the meat of her ass, squeezing as you tilted your own body, forcing her pelvis to drag exactly where you needed. "You're so fucking hot, Alexia."
Alexia moaned low straight into the kiss, then broke it to trail her lips back to your neck, sucking another mark right beside the first.
"MĂa," she murmured, voice dropping as her hips found a steady rhythm. [Mine]
Her clit was pressing and sliding against yours through layers of clothing. Her chest was absolutely perfect against yours. She nipped at your earlobe, her breath becoming faster and faster with every passing second.Â
"Dilo otra vez," Alexia demanded, grinding harder. [say it again.]
You arched up to meet her, your hands roaming beneath her shirt to feel the sweat-slick skin of her back. She trembled when your fingers dug into the tense muscles there.Â
"You can do whatever you want with me, baby," you breathed right into her ear. "Whatever you want, sĂ? I'm yours; you deserve it. I'm all yours tonight."
"Ah," she moaned, the medal clinked softly with every roll of her hips. "I want to fuck you nice and slow."
She was growing impatient with the barrier of clothes between you.
She shifted, yanking her shorts down just enough to bare herself before turning her attention to you, working at your clothes with impatient tugs until skin finally met skin.Â
Finally, you were both completely naked.
When her bare pussy finally settled over yours, your folds parted wetly under the weight. She resumed the grind right away, clit to clit, moving in slow circles.
"Oh god, you feel so good," you gasped, eyes dropping to watch the way her slick coated you, it was so messy, so raw, so fucking delicious. Your eyes landed on her armband again and that only made you get wetter. "Damn, Alexia. You are fucking dripping baby."
"Joder, amor" She hissed again, her voice cracking as overstimulation hit her. "Tan mojada-" [you're so wet]
Still, she kept the pace even, riding the shared wetness, her body soft yet controlled as she chased the edge without rushing towards it.Â
Her medal continues to swing between you, a constant reminder of the massive victory waiting just outside the hotel room.
Her hands slid up your arms before settling around your wrists, pinning them above your head.
"You get so bossy when you win," you manage to say, rolling your eyes. You loved it when she got more dominant.
Your head suddenly felt so heavy.
You weren't sure whether it was exhaustion, dehydration, or simply the overwhelming intensity of the day catching up with you.Â
You were so overwhelmed with the way her body was touching every centimeter of your skin, how her kisses were getting sloppy and wet.
She was desperate, and you were, too. Your cunts were grinding, making a mess on both your bodies, the slickness dripping down her pussy right into yours, soaking you completely.
"I'm bossy and you fucking love it," Alexia shot back, moving her body carefully, trying not to crush you, but apply the right amount of pressure to your clit. "You are soaked, mi amor, all for me, huh"
She was, of course, right.
Keeping one wrist pinned above your head with one single hand, Alexia used the other to grip your thigh firmly, spreading it wider.
"Stay like that," she whispered while absolutely devouring your neck. "Don't you dare move."
Alexia shifted you as if you were a rag doll, moving your legs how she wanted until her cunt was aligned to her liking.
"Next time you wear my shirt, si?" she murmured, jealousy still thick in her voice as her cunt moved with yours.
She looked down at you, her eyes dark as she kept rutting against you. "Tengo mi coño pegado al tuyo, y todavĂa no llevas mi camiseta?" [My cunt is pressed against yours, and you're still not wearing my shirt?]
"Mhmm," you moaned. Fuck.
You were gonna cum.
"Tell me who is going to make you cum," she asked, as if reading your mind, her voice was low as she continued her movements.
The pleasure was becoming so intense, you were going to snap.
Alexia's dirty talk was way too good. Her pussy was pulsing over yours, all slick, dripping down to soak the white sheets between your thighs.
Alexia pinched your arm. "Ouch!" You gasped, caught between pain and pleasure.
"Who is rubbing your cunt? Me or Patri?"
"Y-you," you managed to say, breathless.
"Who marked your whole neck?" She asked again. "Who gets to have you naked in her hotel bed? Who, mi sol?"
The sensation pushed you over the edge right after, your body arching up into her as waves of pleasure took over you.
"F-fuck, Ale," your body was going limp, all warm as the orgasm took over. "You baby, you, always you."
Alexia, sensing your orgasm, rutted her cunt faster until she was climaxing all over you. "Oh, godâ" she moaned in your ear.
She stayed exactly where she was afterwards, naked and beautiful on top of you.
Your pussies were still pressed together, warm and dripping. Alexia nuzzled lower until she found your breast, drawing the nipple into her mouth with slow and comforting pulls.Â
Her tongue flicked lazily, her breath warm and even against your chest as she settled in, tasting the mix of sweat on your breast, while her fingers played with your other nipple.Â
"You didn't answer my question," she mumbled from your breast after a minute.
"Ahn?" You asked, your mind far too dizzy. You hadn't even realised she was on your breast, when you did, pleasure began to grow again. "I did, no-?"
"You'll wear my shirt?" She asked, her words slightly slurred. "Next time? Please?"
"Oh," you said, nodding against the pillows, your voice still shaky from the climax, it was so⊠intense. You weren't sure you would ever regain all of your breath. Â
"Yeah, of course. I meanâŠ" A laugh escaped you. "After this, how can I not?"
Alexia made a pleased sound deep in her throat and kept her lips sealed around your nipple. Her body stayed relaxed on top of yours, her frame soft pressing down.
You realised it was probably the first time she felt at ease and relaxed since she woke up.
Her thumb continued to touch over your nipple, rubbing slow circles before giving it a gentle tug and roll between her fingers.
"We need to get ready for the club," you murmured eventually, your fingers threading through her now-brunette hair. "It's getting late."
She whined softly.
She sucked a little harder for a moment, refusing to lift her head. Her thumb kept playing, flicking and pinching the other nipple while her hips gave one lazy grind that made both of you shiver, your clits brushing.
"No..." she mumbled around the peak in her mouth. "Stay like this. Just a little longer."
"I can't be the reason you are late," you said with a chuckle, still combing your fingers through her hair. "It's not good for my reputation. I'm new to the Barcelona circle, the girls need to like me... they won't if I make their captain late."
"The girls will never think anything badly of you," Alexia said, her mouth finally unlatching. She rested her cheek against your chest, listening to your heart. "You are too sweet for that."
You chucked at that, staring at the beige hotel ceiling. Was it beige? Or had it once been white and simply not been cleaned properly in years.Â
"Sweet? Me?" You chuckled. "Okay, maybe love really is blind."
Alexia looked up, frowning. "What? You are sweet, gentle, caring-"
"Because you care," Alexia interrupted instantly.Â
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, no longer putting her full weight on you; she looked down at you with a very fierce expression.Â
"You are worried all the time because you care about your patients, about your siblingsâŠ" Her voice softened slightly. "About me."
You looked at her with soft (and slightly sad) eyes.Â
"I think you see me in a much better light than I actually deserve."Â
"I see you just right, mi sol," Alexia said, leaning down to kiss your lips.Â
"My sweet." Kiss.Â
"Pretty." Kiss.Â
"Gentle." Kiss.Â
"Loving." Kiss.Â
"Girlfriend.Â
You were smiling second one. You didn't try to stop it.Â
"You get too cheesy when you cum," you whispered, a sudden blush creeping up your cheeks. "It's adorable."
"I know, perdon," Alexia replied, pouting down at you without a single ounce of regret.
"I'm sorry I don't get cheesy," you murmured. "But I swear I love you just as much."
"It's okay," she chucked. "I know you love me. This is the first time you have actually taken time off for someone. That has to be true love."
You squinted your eyes, your cheeks heating up even more. "And who exactly told you that?"
Alexia chucked, leaning down to press a warm kiss on top of your blush. "Your sweetheart of a sister."
"Of course she did."
As it turned out, actually getting out of bed and preparing for the night was considerably less romantic than the books made it seem.
Once Alexia finally untangled herself from you, the two of you were forced to acknowledge the mess the sex left on the hotel sheets.
There was a large, damp stain stretched across the middle of the bed. The lingering scent of sex and slickness was mixed with the light breeze coming through the window.Â
Alexia did not seem remotely concerned about the ruined sheets, instead, she just propped her head up on her hand and simply watched you with a big and proud grin on her face.
You, in response, blushed all over, immediately scrambling for the duvet, dragging it up to your chin to cover yourself.
"Stop watching me like that," you pouted, clutching the fabric tighter.
Alexia rolled her eyes and continued to smile.Â
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, moving smoothly without a single hint of instability; you were certain you would be wobbling if you had been topping the way she just did.Â
She walked across the room to fetch the two white hotel robes hanging by the wardrobe.
She slipped one on herself before returning to bed with the second. She gently tried to pry the duvet away from your tight grip so she could put the second one over your shoulders.
"We had sex less than twenty-four hours after we met for the first time," she teased, tugging playfully at the duvet. "Back then, you had absolutely no problem being naked around me⊠And now you are embarrassed?"
You rolled your eyes, holding it for dear life.Â
"Back then, I was thinner. But you know what they say, happy relationships make you gain weight." Your gaze dripped over her athletic frame. "Bon⊠unless you are a very disciplined footballer, then apparently, you don't gain a single kilo."
Alexia's playful expression vanished instantly, replaced by genuine worry.Â
"What!??" She blurted. "Are you having issues with your body? Like... body image issues?! Mi amor, you are the prettiest woman alive!"
You rolled your eyes at her dramatics. This was exactly why you hadn't said a single thing until now.
"No, I'm not having any issues," you said. "I know I'm... fine. I'm just different than when we started dating andâ"
"You are, like, hotter now," Alexia interrupted, stating it so blankly and firmly as if she was merely speaking facts.Â
"Huh?"
"You are hotter," she repeated. "Because you are my lovely, beautiful girlfriend now."
You smiled at her, your heart feeling warm. The poor thing was trying hard to reassure you.
Your sweet, sweet girl. "Gracias, Ale."
"No, baby, I mean it," Alexia insisted, her tone changing to something so incredibly tender and sincere it made your chest ache. "You are perfect. Your face is perfect, and your body-"Â
Your grip around the duvet loosened, and Alexia took advantage, finally managing to wrap the robe around you. "And your thighs are perfect, and your tummy is perfect⊠and everything about youâ"
"Okay, love, that's enough--"
"If I could, I would eat you whole."
You blinked at her.Â
"Okay, that's literally cannibalism."
"Some cultures see cannibalism as an ultimate act of love and adoration," Alexia countered immediately.
She said it with the most profound, soft, tender and deadpan face. She was completely serious, looking at you like a proud cat that had just caught a dead bird and was offering it as a sign of love.
"Oh, okay," you said, as you reached up and patted both her cheeks. "Thanks, my love. I'm feeling much better now. I would absolutely let you eat me whole if it wouldn't result in the complete ceasing of my existence."
"Really?" Alexia asked happily, her eyes lighting up. "Would you do the same to me?"
What the hell kind of sweet talk even was that?
"Oh... yes," you said with fake enthusiasm. "Of course."
Alexia beamed, looking incredibly happy and touched that her (bizarre) feelings were being fully reciprocated.Â
Relationships, however, and as sad as it seems, were not built entirely on sex and body image conversations that somehow end up in discussions of cannibalism, you see. Most often, they were not; there were arguments. Petty and ridiculous arguments.
Like the shower.
"Okay⊠we really need to clean up and get dressed," you said, glancing towards the bathroom. "The bus is leaving soon."
Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Let's take a shower together then," she murmured against your skin, her voice dropping to a seductive cadence.
You let out a dry laugh. "Nice try, Ale."
Alexia stepped in front of you, her face collapsing into a (guess what?) pout.Â
"Mi sol, please?" she pleaded, yes, pleaded. "I love you and your body, and we love taking showers together, sĂ? Come on, please? Pretty please? You say I'm your champion, no? Don't I deserve to take a shower with mi amor?!"
You stared at her for two full seconds before you folded.
You always fold. It was entirely Eli's fault for creating a woman with the prettier, most stupidly devastating puppy face ever made in the world. Nobody could say no to those eyes.
"Ugh, fine," you sighed, letting her take your hand and lead you to the bathroom. "You do deserve it."
Slowly, the reality of what she had accomplished began to settle over you, a warm feeling took over your torso, a smile appeared on your face, and Alexia noticed it.
She grinned too, pushing you gently against her, one hand sliding to your robe as she backed you against the tiled wall.
She was all over you, kissing you until your knees felt weak.
"Your girlfriend is a European champion," she whispered back.
She grinned again before she stole another kiss, her hips drifting a little to yours.Â
"Ale, no," you gasped, pushing lightly on her shoulder. "We seriously cannot have sex again. We'll actually miss the bus, and I'm not taking an Uber to the club. That would be a proper walk of shame."
"No sex, no," she dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand. "Just a little kissing," she bargained, punctuating the statement by nipping at your chin.
"Okaaay," you said slowly. "Kissing, yes, but under the shower."
You both stepped into the shower stall. You reached over and turned the knob, settling the temperature to your preference. You waited a bit till the water completely heated up and then walked under the water, feeling it soak over you.
So warm. So perfect.
Alexia, still wearing that confident and romantic smile of hers, stepped directly behind you. Okay, maybe too could fit in a quickie and-
Alexia went completely silent behind you. Then⊠her eyes flew wide open.Â
Before you could even register what was happening, a hand clamped around your waist, and she yanked you backwaters out of the stream of water.
"Joder! EstĂĄs loca?!!" She said, frantically wiping stray droplets of water from her face as though she had just been splashed with HCl. "The water is burning my skin! It's melting me!" [Fuck, are you crazy?!]
"That's the temperature I like to shower at!" You protested, completely bewildered by her reaction. "What is wrâ"
"You are making a soup out of yourself!!" Alexia looked so genuinely horrified, you were starting to wonder if the water was really that hot. "You are a doctor, you, of all people, should know how bad this is for your skin! It's gonna fall off!"
You cautiously stuck a hand back under the stream.Â
It felt oh so lovely⊠warm, comforting. Exactly how a shower should feel.
"You are being dramatic again, Alexia!"
"I'm not!" she said. "You want us to stand in boiling water!"
"You and Clara," you said, shaking your head. "Dramatic as hell. That's why you get along so well. Exactly the same personality."
Alexia opened her mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut. Apparently, she did not appreciate the comparison to her teenage protege, and got deeply wounded by it.
In the end, the romantic shared shower never happened.Â
Alexia kept her robe on and sat on the closed toilet lid while you showered, her arm crossed, pout deep in her lips. She watched you through the steam the entire time, her eyes fixed on you, refusing to look away for even a second.Â
When you finished, the two of you switched places.
Alexia then proceeded to shower at a temperature that, according to her, had been specifically designed for people who weren't actively trying to cook themselves alive.
Not everything is as romantic as it seems.
You were halfway through putting on your shirt when Alexia's voice drifted out from the bathroom, muffled by the glass door and the rushing water.
"You know I gained weight, too, right?"
You paused, confused, with your arms caught awkwardly in the fabric. "Uh?"
After a second, the sound of the shower cut off.
Alexia emerged wrapped in her hotel robe, her damp hair dripping down her shoulders and right onto the wooden floor. Unlike you, she actually had to wash her hair after being on the pitch for so long.
Drip. Drip. Drip.Â
You silently counted every single drop that fell.
"You said disciplined athletes don't gain weight," she explained, pulling at the collar on her robe, which seemed too tight on her; her skin was red and irritated. "I gained two kilos this season."
You stared, still confused, but then the realisation finally set in. She was still thinking about what you had said earlier.Â
"You know exactly what I'm talking about,' you said, turning away from her toward the small vanity to start doing your hair. "I'm fine, Ale. Really."
"Well," she began, stepping closer. "And you don't need to do that â saying you are fine just because you don't want to talk about something."
You rolled your eyes, focusing on the mirror and and how your hair was completely inconsiderate of the fact that you had places to be tonight.
Alexia didn't like to be ignored.Â
Predictably, she appeared behind you a second later. For a brief moment, the angry dog in you wanted to snap her, tell her to back off because her wet hair was soaking through your dried clothes.Â
But then she rested her chin on your shoulder. In the mirror, you noticed how her cheeks were still pink from the shower. She smelled overwhelmingly like generic hotel shampoo because she forgot to pack her own, and the lightning made her hazel eyes look somehow greener.
The anger completely dissipated. You let her stay.
"I love your body," she said quietly, her eyes on yours through the reflection.
You softened even more. "I know you do, Ale."
She pressed a soft kiss against your neck, and you continued. "I never worried about that. You have never given me a single reason to, okay?" you said.
It was the truth. Alexia had always looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Always. From the very first day back at her house until now.Â
"You always make a point of showing it, ale," you murmured, feeling a deep need to reassure her.
"Okay, good," she said, pleased with herself.Â
For a moment, you genuinely thought the conversation was over, and you could go back to fighting with your hair. But then her expression shifted, turning serious again. "So⊠where is this coming from, then?"
You looked away from her reflection, or tried to. A million different reasons passed through your mind, but none of them seemed serious enough or logical enough to be the actual reason behind it.Â
Maybe it was the junction of it all. Maybe it wasn't just one thing. Or maybe it was just you, fighting with that universal human flaw, that dangerous voice that made it hard to feel fully satisfied with yourself.Â
You shrugged, choosing the simplest answer you could find. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, but we are talking about it," she said, delivering with certainty as if a conversation didn't always need to be bidirectional.Â
You rolled your eyes again. "Alexia, the busâ"
"The bus can wait."
"It literally cannot."
She pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, then finally released her hold on you. She let the robe fall carelessly to the floor, leaving her beautiful naked body entirely free for you to look at.Â
She was really an unfairly pretty woman. Then, killing your fun, she grabbed a fresh towel to dry her body off.Â
"Okay," she said, drying herself and then beginning to brush her wet hair. "We'll talk while we get ready, that way we wont miss the bus."
"Oh Jesus Christ," you groaned, letting your forehead rest against the glass of the mirror.
"The faster you talk," she sang out, completely cheerful. "The faster we leave."
"You are so annoying," you sighed. "And incredibly stubborn."
"And excellent at time management," she countered, clearly proud of herself.Â
"And insistent," you mumbled, though you couldn't help but smile. "So annoyingly insistent."
"I prefer the word tenacious."
You rolled your eyes at that.
You were quiet for a moment, desperately hoping she would let the silence take over and drop it. But Of course, she didn't. She was tenacious, unfortunately for you.
"It' justâŠ" You hesitated, thinking of ways to put it. "Everyone around you is so... fit. You know?"
Alexia paused her brushing, looking at you. "What? Everyone?"
"The girls on the team," you explained, your voice dropping a bit. "Their girlfriend, your other friends⊠Everyone in that circle is so into the gym and everyone is so athletic and they all look a certain way."
"And what does that have to do with you and your body, amor?" she asked softly. "They are them; you are you."
You opened your mouth to give a very sharp and pragmatic answer, but the words never came. You couldn't think of a single thing to say.
Yeah, what exactly did that have to do with you?Â
For once in your life, you didn't have an answer, and you absolutely hated that. You were witty, rapid thinking, you always knew what to say, but right now, you were empty of logic and words.
Alexia instantly sensed your distress, as always, she saw right through the quiet.Â
"Eres guapĂsima," she said tenderly, putting her brush aside and walking back over to you and gently cupping your face.
You felt your cheeks warm, but she didn't stop. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then your chin.Â
"Hermosa, preciosa," she murmured against your skin. "Perfecta. MĂa."
You laughed, weakly trying to push her shoulder to hide your face. "Okay, okay, got it. You are like, super, hopelessly in love with me."
Alexia just grinned. "Something like that, si."
She locked her arms around your waist, pulling you against her and bringing her mouth close to your ear. "You will always be the prettiest woman in every room â or pitch â that I ever walk in, okay? Don't forget that."
You rolled your eyes, trying your absolutely best to look unimpressed, but unfortunately, your smile completely gave away.
â A/n: I really really wanted to write something "realistic" and domestic about the final, so why not with our keeping score babies? Someone asked me once what shirt reader would wear to a game, so this is the answer hehe. I got an ask a few months ago about reader feeling a bit insecure because everyone around Alexia was so fit, so I decided to add it to this fic. I'm sorry if it was too random, but I feel that keeping score reader would be a bit upset and try to hide it and I didn't want to write a whole blurb around it.
ăăâ â ⥠â ïčâbyi : female reader, drug use (mdma), sex tape filming, established relationship, light smut (nothing too nuts), slight foot fetish if you squint, shy and giggly michael, teeth rotting fluff, pretty short.
In 1988, everything carried that hazy nostalgia you only ever find in old photographs, worn magazines, and forgotten music videos. Gold lamplight pooled across mirrored furniture and half-open suitcases, catching in the slow curl of cigarette smoke drifting toward the ceiling, where it dissolved into the cool air. Somewhere in the suite, a radio played low through blown out speakers, all synths and velvet basslines melting into the warm nighttime hum of Los Angeles outside the balcony doors. The curtains breathed every time the wind came in.
Michael had been fussing with this damn camera for nearly twenty minutes now, and (Name) was beginning to think heâd forgotten why he turned it on in the first place.
She was sitting pretty, crisscross applesauce near the center of the mattress in a tiny silk robe the color of baby pink, one side slipping lazily off her shoulder every few seconds no matter how often she adjusted it. The sheets beneath her were cool against her legs, tangled from where theyâd already been sprawled across them for the better part of an hour talking about nothing. In front of her sat a mirrored compact and a credit card sheâd taken from Michaelâs wallet despite his extremely dramatic objections.
âLovey,â she called at last, voice dragging a little. Her manicured fingers were adorned with french tips, dancing delicately across the surface of the mirror. She carefully chopped the small, clear crystals of MDMA into fine powdered lines using his card. Her nails tapped lightly against the glass as she worked, the soft click click sound filling the room. âWhat are you doing over there.â She finally looks over at him.
âIâm fixing it,â Michael said immediately, soon followed by a soft click from the camera and another adjustment. He stepped back, frowned at it and leaned in again.
(Name) let out a quiet breath through her nose, half amused but still affectionate. âYouâve been fixing it.â
âNo, no, hold on,â he muttered for the thousandth time, crouched in front of the camcorder with deep concentration furrowing his face. âThis angle isâterrible.â
âItâs pointed at the bed.â Her brows pinch together as she comes up from inhaling a line, pinching her nose.
âItâs crooked.â
âOh, itâs not art then?â She smiles to herself a little.
Michael shot her a look over his shoulder. âYouâre makinâ fun of me.â
She was, a little. âYouâre just being a Virgo, baby.â
âAh,â He waves her off and she giggles at him.
âJust bring it over,â she said eventually, as if it was obvious.
Michael looked up. âBring what over?â
âThat thing. The camera.â
He hesitated for half a second then gave into her orders (like he always did), crossing the room with it still slightly tilted in his hands like he was trying to decide if he trusted her judgment or not. The red light blinked on as he lifted it again, turning it toward her.
âOh,â he said, voice shifting instantly into something lighter. âSo this is what youâve been doing.â
She glanced up at him, camera catching her mid expression and Michaelâs grin appeared before she even fully understood what he was doing.
âMm,â he murmured, angling the lens slightly like he was framing her on purpose now. âBad girl.â The words were teasing of course, no real judgement behind his tone.
Her mouth twitched upward. âDonât start with me.â
âBad girl,â he repeated, softer now. She looked away, smiling despite herself but then she looks back up at him through her lashes. And though it was a minxy little look, there was also something shy in it. Truthfully, one of Michaelâs favorite things about her were her eyes. They were always so big, syrupy and expressiveâMichael liked that it was nearly impossible for her to hide herself from him because he could read and see the nuance in her eyes. She wore her heart on her sleeve and Michael found it beautiful, especially in a world that could be particularly cruel to him with hidden agendas and masks.
âI just.. it makes me feel good,â she said quietly, though.. she wasnât sure why she was admitting it to the camera.
Michael stopped moving for just a second, his eyes softening as he looks at the viewfinder. The camera stayed pointed at her, red light steady and the room suddenly quieter but it had nothing to do with sound.
âYeah?â he said gently and she nodded once.
Michaelâs expression changed, then very softlyâ âYouâre so beautiful.â He reaches down and cups her face to which she wastes very little time snuggling up to his big palm.
The warmth of his palm envelops her face like her own little sanctuary, and without hesitation, she melts into itânuzzling against his calloused skin with a devotion. Her lips brush feather light kisses along the lines of his hand: one on the base of his thumb, another on the soft dip between fingers. Each kiss is slow, tenderâsheâs memorizing him.
Her eyes flutter open then wide and bright as morning light through water and she looks up at him with playful submission. A small smile tugs at her lips as she whispers:
âDirect me, angelface.â Thereâs a little humor in her voice but also trustâa complete surrender to whatever scene he wants next.
His brows lifted slightly. âDirect you?â
âYes,â she said, tilting her head. âYouâre the filmmaker, arenât you?â
That made something flicker in his expression. Pride, maybe. Or the way he got when something fun suddenly became a challenge he actually wanted to excel at. So he adjusted his grip on the camera again.
âOkay,â he said carefully and she smiled a little wider, watching him settle into it.
âThatâs better,â she murmured. âNow what do I do, director?â
The way she said it made his mouth twitch and Michael lifted the camera a fraction, focusing in on her like he was trying to decide how serious he was allowed to be about this.
âDonât move,â he said at first.
Then, after a second, softer: âActually.. just look at me.â
(Name) held his gaze and the camera stayed steady now. And Michael, for all his earlier fussing and adjusting, didnât seem interested in fixing anything anymore.
âI want to remember this beauty, forever and everâ He said quietly, almost wonderingly, ââlike a famous painting from the Renaissance people stand in front of for hours on end..â
She went very still for a second, the words had landed somewhere too soft to handle and her face broke into that shy little smile again, the kind that never quite knew where to settle. She let out a tiny laugh through her nose, half a breath and half disbeliefâshe didnât trust herself to react properly without falling apart a little.
âIâm gonna cry,â she said, but it came out bright and giggly, because she was already halfway there, just overwhelmed in the prettiest way.
Her fingers tightened lightly around his wrist as she stayed tucked into his hand, still looking up at him like she couldnât quite believe he meant it. And thatâs why she fell in love with him, sheâs never felt safer with any man in her entire life like this. It took a lot of conditioning and unlearning hurt from the past to truly let this man into her heart.
âShow your ring..â He ushers softly.
She lifted her hand slowly, shy about it because she was still getting used to the idea that it was hers to show.
Michael caught it gently before it could drift too far, his fingers wrapping around hers with instinctive steadiness and guiding it into the light without thinking. The camera tilted slightly as he adjusted his grip.
The rock caught immediately, even in the low glow of the room, it threw back a pretty brillianceâfive carat natural diamond princess cut.
âGimme..â (Name) makes grabby hands at the camera.
Michael handed her the camera without much hesitation. The moment it was in her hands, she turned it over and settled back into the bed. The lamp light caught the silk of the sheets and her robe riding up her thighs through the viewfinder when she lifted it.
Michael was still standing near the edge of the bed, watching her. Cautious. Curious. A little suspicious.
She tilted it up toward him. âOh. My. Gosh,â she said slowly, dragging it out just enough to make him immediately react. âWhoâs this pretty boy?â
That did it instantly. Michaelâs whole face changed:
âNoâdonât start that,â he said, giggling but it came out shy and uneven.
He lifted a hand immediately, half covering his face like it could somehow block the camera from seeing him properly, shoulders drawing in as he turned slightly away out of pure instinct.
âStop,â he added, softer now, still laughing under his breath.
âStop? Why stop?â She raises her feet, sliding them up his thighs and massaging his crotch through the fabric of his silk pajama pants. Michael lets out a shaky breath behind a smile, pinching the bridge of his nose.
âOh, you like that, Mikey?â She whispered as her matching french set slid down his chest to the silk waistband of his pajamas. She massaged him slowly, feeling him twitch and swell under her touch as she brushed over the silk covered head.
âYouâre a tease..â Michael says, his voice is too sweet to put into wordsâheâs blushing but who knows if it's from the camera or his arousal. (Name) drops her feet and beckons him over.
âCome âmere..â Her voice is dripping like honey. âShow the camera how good you fuck me..â
Michael crawled up her body like a predator, his pajama pants already discarded as he camera caught every muscle ripple as he moved between her spread thighs. His abs were tight, his chest bare and defined. He was such a beautiful sight crawling up her body like this, his hard cock dragging along her inner thigh as he went.
This tape is supposed to be for his and her eyes only.. right?
cw: so it's casual but not at all. all i'm saying is undertones (but they're not all that subtle)
it doesn't matter where you are, as long as jack is with you, his hands are on you somehow. whether his palm rests on the small of your back or his fingers curl into the nape of your neck, he guides you through the crowd with a stern look on his face.Â
to jack, the sidewalk rule might as well be holy scripture. when you cross the street, he immediately switches sides with you. his girl is not walking right where the cars speed past, not when he has seen how quickly an accident can happen.Â
when it gets dark, jackâs chest puffs out a little more the moment you walk past a group of people, especially if itâs a group of men. heâll step in front of you like a human shield. should anyone dare to look at you the wrong way, he'll let go of your hand, and instead he'll wrap an arm around you, flexing the muscles beneath his shirt purposefully
food groupsâjack makes sure your meals are up to his standard. while he can get away with drinking coffee for breakfast, you best believe he wonât let you out of the house without getting some protein and fiber in you. he even cuts your food for you if youâre too tired, no matter how much you complain about being treated like a kid. (maybe a part of you secretly likes it.)
he doesnât say anything about the length of your skirts or shorts, but he keeps an eye on them when youâre out together. heâll pull the fabric down when it rides up or step behind you, should you bend over to pick something up. he glares at anyone whose eyes linger a little too long on your exposed skin, even if itâs âjustâ your thighs.Â
when you canât decide what to wear, heâll pick for you.Â
âthe purple top looks good, sweet pea. wear that with the black skirt. no, no, the silk one.â
heâll nod approvingly, hands wandering immediately. his fingers will dig into the flesh of your hips, holding what is his while he takes you in.
âsuch a pretty girl, mhm?â
jack plans. he organizes dates, makes reservations and picks out the perfect spots for you. heâll tell you to be ready at seven and then makes sure you are actually ready.Â
âattagirlâ
âgood job, babyâ
âyouâre doing so goodâ
he likes using those phrases against you because he knows how much they mess with your praise-starved mind. youâll hear him whisper one of them to you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, when you do even the simplest task.Â
jack sometimes picks you up randomly. just to show you that he can. he doesnât grunt or struggle but makes it seem like the easiest thing in the worldâbecause to him, it is.
placing you on the kitchen counter while you cook together, throwing you on the bed (gently, of course), or carrying you over a big puddle so you don't get your shoes soaked--he loves the startled shriek he manages to pull from you every time.
when you watch a movie together, heâll scratch your head until you practically purr.Â
âyou like that, baby?âÂ
âjust relax. but donât fall asleep, sweet pea. keep those eyes open fâme.â
itâs your weak spot. the second his fingers thread through your hair, youâre jelly in his hands. his husky voice doesn't help keep your mind focused on the movie at all.
just thinking about men who lean their heads down to listen to what you have to say because of the height difference, humming along to your words, accidentally nosing against your cheek because he knows it flusters you before murmuring, "keep talking, sweet girl. i'm listening."
â đđâ your cat canât read the room and trots in anyway because sheâs hungry.
the room smells of sweat, sex and love. you donât know how many times heâs made you come, lost count after the 3rd time. all you can really think about is the weight of his body caging yours, pushing you both deeper into the mattress, the sheets wrap loosely around his legs, yours tight around his waist, locked and refusing to let up.
the sounds of skin slapping echoed the room, rang through your ears loudly, but his pace didnât falter, if anything it got faster then slowed just enough to have you whining in frustration. his fists, slightly bawled, rest on either side of your hips.
âalways feels good when youâre wrapped around my cock, sweetheart,â he murmurs, voice raspy and slightly broken, a small chuckle vibrates against your neck when your hand flies up, grabbing the back of his arm tightly. âthatâs it, hold onto me, i ainât going anywhere and neither are you, babygirl.â
true to his word, he doesnât let you go anywhere, keeps his hard chest practically pinned down against yours, thrusts slow and rhythmic. your nails sink into this skin of his arms deeper each time he slides back in, cock stretching you out perfectly. âjust like that,â you whine, hands slipping from his arms to his sides, nails raking up and down the skin there before making their way back to his arms; where you cling tighter. âlove you.â you murmur softly into his shoulder when he presses his face deeper into the crook of your neck.
âlove you, honey,â he pants, grinding his hips against yours slowly to the point your lips part in a silent moan and the arch of your back has your tits pressing harder to hist chest. an action he welcomes happily because heâs groaning and growling into the small space of your neck, fisting at the sheets when your cunt clenches around his cock. âmy angel, could stay like this forever, so warm, wanna stay buried in you for the rest of my life.â
neither of you hear the slight creaking sound of the door at first, completely absorbed in each other too much to care, too in tune with meeting each others thrusts to feel the subtle chill soaking in and then suddenly when itâs only the soft sounds of both your moans, a loud meow rips through the entire room.
his body stills completely at the sound, slowly lifts his head from your neck, you see his hooded first but you can also see the hint of confusion lingering beneath as he looks down at you. âthe hell?â he mutters hoarsley, turning his head so slow youâd think heâs broken.
sitting completely still in the bedroom doorway is your cat, tail swishing behind her with a slowness that only happens with two things. one, sheâs doing it to spite you both. or two, sheâs hungry and demands all the attention in the world. âyouâve got to be kidding me,â he scoffs, albiet no anger or annoyance behind his words.
your cat stares, almost like she knows what sheâs ruining and does it all over again. meow!
his eyes narrow at the second meow, and his hands finally move from beside your hips to your stomach, dragging them down slowly before sighing in defeat. âokay, sheâs not kidding.â
âno, she isnât.â
âi fed her before we even came in here!â he huffs but makes no effort to move. hell, he hasnât even made a single move to pull out of you either.
âthat was before, and now sheâs hungry again, so go on,â you pause, grinning up at him smugly. âtime to feed your daughter, daddy.â you teased, giggling with a choked gasp at the way his cock twitches inside you. âoh?â
his eyes widen slightly at your seductive tone and shakes his head quickly ânope, no, we arenât doing this. mâgonna go feed her like the royal diva pain demands.â
your giggle doesnât last long, a warm melodic sound turns into a whine when heâs pulling his cock out slowly with a wet pop! your walls flutter around nothing while your eyes, despite being hooded and dazed, followed him. lingered on the firm muscle of his ass when he slipped off the bed, before widening, a shy smile on your face, at the sight of his cock despite seeing it so many times. still hard, angry red, slick with your wetness.
ânothing you havenât seen before, sweetheart,â he catches that look on your face while tugging on a pair of boxers, the fabric rubbing against him causes him to hiss. âiâll be back soon, honey, donât miss me too much.â
by the time he slipped out of the door, leaving you alone, aside from the muttered words coming from him in the kitchen, you slumped back down onto the bed, chest still heaving but you didnât move to run after him. your thighs still tingled, twitched at the reminder of him being inside of you not that long ago.
sighing softly, you turned onto your side, curling up and smiling to yourself into the pillow. the sounds of his muttering and sighs getting louder. and you canât help the laughter that leaves your lips at his sudden panicked shout.
âno! stop! we use the litterbox not the floor, oh my god! sheâs gonna hate me, use the litterbox please!, honey, the litterbox, right there! oh you hate me so much that you want her to hate me too huh?â
âź â â summary: everybody thinks they know why michael jackson is dating you. unfortunately for them, theyâre completely wrong.
âź â â no serious warnings, female reader, age gap relationship. user michaeldiary writing angst, fork found in kitchen. đ
Nobody expected Michael to meet her in a nightclub.
Even years later, the story sounded almost strange coming from him. People preferred imagining his relationships beginning somewhere private and secluded, not in the middle of flashing lights and bass heavy enough to vibrate through the floorboards. By that point in his life, Michael barely existed publicly without layers of protection around him. Security teams. Private entrances. Controlled environments. Fame had turned spontaneity into a logistical nightmare years ago.
But clubs were one of the few places where he could briefly disappear. Not literally, of course. There was no such thing as anonymity for Michael Jackson anymore.
But still, nightclubs created this illusion of normalcy he secretly liked. The darkness helped and the music helped more. Everything blurred together inside clubs. Sweat, noise, lights, bodies moving without thought. People looked absolutely ridiculous there in the best possible way. Human. And Michael, who spent most of his adult life feeling observed down to microscopic detail, liked environments where perfection stopped mattering.
That night he sat tucked into a private section partially hidden from the rest of the crowd, one leg bouncing restlessly beneath the table while security hovered nearby pretending not to watch him people watch.
Because thatâs what he mostly did in clubs. Observed. The thing is, Michael loved people quietly. Their energy. Their confidence. Their weirdness. He liked seeing how others interacted when they werenât performing for cameras or for other people.
And then he noticed her, she was trying to get his attention either. She wasnât hovering near his section pretending not to stare like everybody else had been all night. Wasnât sending drinks over. Wasnât whispering frantically to friends while sneaking pictures.
She was dancing.
Actually dancing.
Laughing openly with her friends without checking every thirty seconds to see if Michael Jackson was still watching her. Which of course immediately made him watch her. There was something so wonderfully magical about people who didnât seem consumed by his presence. Michael spent so much of his life being treated like an event instead of a person that confidence fascinated him instantly. Especially in women.
At one point she glanced toward his section briefly.
Just once.
And instead of freezing or acting shocked, she held eye contact for maybe two seconds too long before smiling slightly like sheâd privately decided something.
Then she started walking toward him.
One of the security guards shifted immediately, preparing to intercept her before she got too close to the section.
But Michael quietly stopped him first.
âI like that one,â he murmured casually without taking his eyes off her. The guard looked over and Michael leaned back slightly in his seat, amused already. âThatâs some good fish right there.â
The guard barked out a startled laugh while Michael grinned to himself beneath the brim of his hat. And just like that, security stepped aside enough to let her approach.
That tiny moment probably changed everything.
Because most people never got close enough to Michael organically anymore. Access to him had become curated by layers of protection and paranoia. Entire teams existed specifically to filter human interaction before it ever reached him.
But Michael chose her immediately, not fully consciously maybe. Just instinctively, curiosity more than anything at first.
She stepped near the table, close enough now that he could properly see her expression beneath the club lights.
Still not nervous.
That fascinated him too.
Most women became visibly affected once they actually stood in front of him. Either intimidated or performative. But she looked almost entertained instead.
Then she leaned down slightly so he could hear her over the music and asked: âDo you wanna dance or are you just gonna sit here lookinâ mysterious all night?â
Michael laughed instantly. A real laugh tooâbright and unguarded enough that even security glanced over surprised because people rarely tickled him like that anymore.
And Michael loved teasing. Loved boldness. Loved people willing to pull him out of himself instead of carefully orbiting around his fame.
âDo you always walk up to strangers like this?â he asked her.
âOnly the pretty ones.â
Ough. That got him again. He ducked his head immediately smiling into his hand in that shy embarrassed way he still had despite decades of global fame.
âWhatâs your name?â Oh, heâs so, so tickled by her. He hasnât been asked that in.. decades but he likes how it feels.
âMichael.â He says shyly.
âIâm (Name).â
And from there, everything happened strangely naturally.
She slid into the booth beside him like she belonged there already while Michael found himself more relaxed within ten minutes than heâd been all night. They talked between music and flashing lights while he kept catching himself staring at her whenever she wasnât looking. She was beautiful, yes. But she interacted with him normally and that was rare enough to feel intoxicating.
She interrupted him. Challenged him. Rolled her eyes when he got dramatic. At one point she grabbed his restless hands off the table and told him to stop fidgeting so much.
Michael stared at her afterward completely thrown by the casual touch. Nobody touched him casually anymore either. Everything in his life had become loaded and handled carefully, filtered through status and fear and fame.
But her hand around his felt easy somehow, so.. natural.
And maybe that was the real reason he got attached so quickly afterward. Because for one night inside a loud crowded nightclub, she made him feel reachable again.
At first, almost nobody knew and that was intentional.
Michael had become deeply protective over the private parts of his life by then because experience had taught him what public attention did to anything soft. Fame didnât just observe relationships. It distorted them. Pulled them apart at the seams. Turned ordinary affection into spectacle.
So for the first couple months, their relationship existed mostly behind tinted windows and locked gates.
Late night phone calls stretching until sunrise (that phone was HOT). Private dinners at hotels rented out entirely for security reasons. Her falling asleep curled against him during movie nights at Neverland while he absentmindedly played with her fingers, he couldnât stop touching her once he got used to her there.
And the strange thing was how quickly Michael attached emotionally once he realized she was safe. Michael had spent most of his adult life surrounded by people who wanted pieces of him. His fame created this constant uncertainty around human intention. Everybody wanted something eventually. Access. Money. Proximity. Validation. Stories.
But she seemed startlingly uninterested in exploiting him and that sincerity affected him deeply. Probably deeper than he intended.
Within months, she had clothes permanently left in his closets. Her favorite snacks started appearing stocked automatically in his kitchens. Staff learned her routines. Security stopped treating her like a visitor and started treating her like part of Michaelâs orbit.
And Michael himself became softer around her in ways even people close to him noticed immediately: lighter. More openly affectionate. He smiled differently when she entered rooms. And that was the first thing people picked up on, not the age gap or even the relationship itself But his happiness, ut radiated off him too obviously.
The problem was that happiness only intensified media obsession once rumors started leaking publicly. At first tabloids framed her like a passing fling. Young nightclub girl catches Michael Jacksonâs attention. Something temporary. Disposable. The kind of story gossip magazines churned through weekly.
But then the sightings kept happening.
New York.
Vegas.
Paris.
She appeared beside him consistently enough that speculation hardened into narrative. And suddenly the age difference became the centerpiece of every conversation because it disrupted peopleâs emotional image of Michael.
The public had always struggled categorizing him properly. He existed in this strange place culturally where people simultaneously infantilized and demonized him. To some, he still seemed emotionally frozen somewhere younger than his actual age. To others, he was mysterious enough to project danger onto automatically.
So dating a significantly younger woman made people deeply uncomfortable in ways that had less to do with the relationship itself and more to do with what Michael represented psychologically to the public.
And the scrutiny became relentless.
Everywhere they went, cameras zoomed in on the difference between them. The way she dressed beside him. The age in her face compared to the exhaustion in his. Reporters started asking subtly cruel questions disguised as curiosity.
âWhat do you two even talk about?â
âDoes the age gap create insecurity?â
âDo her parents approve?â
As if she werenât a grown woman sitting right there.
Michael hated that part immediately, not criticism directed at him. Heâd learned to survive that years ago. But criticism directed at her unsettled him badly because unlike him, she hadnât spent decades building emotional armor around public cruelty. Michael understood fame as violence already. Understood how dehumanizing it became once millions of strangers decided they owned opinions about your personal life.
She was still learning that and Michael watched it harden her in real time over those months.
The comments online. The tabloid photos.
The headlines reducing her into stereotypes: Gold digger. Groupie. Child. Manipulator. Victim. Just to name a few.
The world couldnât decide whether she was exploiting him or being exploited by him, so they accused her of both simultaneously.
One night after paparazzi followed them through an airport aggressively enough to leave her visibly shaken, Michael found her crying privately inside the hotel suite afterward. Just silent tears while she sat curled on the edge of the bed staring down at her hands.
Michaelâs chest practically caved in seeing it.
Because the thing people misunderstood most about him was how emotionally absorbent he was. Other peopleâs pain affected him almost too deeply. Especially people he loved.
And by then, he loved her. That was obvious now. Michael loved with frightening intensity once he fully trusted somebody.
He crossed the room immediately and crouched in front of her, hands sliding gently around hers.
âHey,â he whispered softly.
She wiped at her face quickly. âIâm okay.â
Michael frowned instantly because he recognized the lie for what it was. âNo.. youâre not.â The tenderness in his voice nearly made her cry harder.
âI just..â She swallowed shakily. âI didnât know people could hate somebody they donât even know this much.â
Michael went very still after that because unfortunately, he did know. Intimately and probably more than almost anybody alive. His thumb brushed slowly across her knuckles while he searched quietly for words.
Then finally: âThey donât know you.â
The simplicity of it made her look up.
Michaelâs eyes looked exhausted in the dim hotel lighting. Sad too. But calm in the way people become calm after surviving cruelty too long.
âNot me,â she said softly. âyou.â
Then his expression shifted slightly, becoming gentler again as he looked at her. âMe?â
âPeople are so mean to you, I cannot stand it.â
The room went still, completely still. Michael was used to people crying over what fame did to them. The pressure. The media. The chaos surrounding his life.
But nobody ever cried for him, not really in this way.
She looked genuinely heartbroken on his behalf now, tears slipping down her face while she spoke.
âThey treat you like you arenât human,â she whispered. âEverywhere we go people stare at you and say awful things and you still keep being so kind to everybody anyway and I just..â
Her voice broke apart and Michael couldnât speak for a second as something in his expression changed completely.
Softened? Opened? Like her words had reached someplace in him untouched for years.
Because admiration wasnât rare in his life. Love wasnât even rare.
But this? This.. was different.
She grieved for him.
For the loneliness of his life. For the cruelty surrounding him. For the exhaustion he carried so quietly all the time.
And suddenly Michael realized with terrifying clarity that he wanted this woman beside him forever. She saw the human being underneath all the mythology and loved him with almost painful sincerity.
Michael lifted his hand slowly to her face then, brushing tears beneath her eyes with his thumb while looking at her like sheâd just unknowingly handed him something sacred.
âYouâre so sweet..â He says with a small smile before he leans over to place a kiss on her forehead. âIâll be okay.. donât cry, too pretty to cry..â
what? during the filming of michael jacksonâs private home movies, michael is shown a heartwarming video of you, giving him a chance to talk intimately about your relationship.
tags. fluff. lots of fluff. established relationship. reader is pregnant with their first child. timeline switches between 2003 (invincible) and 1989 (bad). childhood friends to eventual lovers implied. [name] is used a normal-ish amount, michael refers to reader as 'bunny' (nickname hehe). but there's very little description given for the reader for maximum immersion ă
word count. 3.5k
notes. my first foray into michael fiction... i typically do mmorpg roleplaying so this is very different for me, but a great writing exercise. i love michael very much and getting to write him is fun! really not my best work ajkfhnak. not proofread!!
please be advised that this is a work of fiction. i do not claim to know the people involved or understand their inner workings. thank you!
IT WAS NO SECRET... that michael jackson was one of the most photographed, most filmed figures in modern history. from press conferences, tours, red carpet appearances, and arms full of coveted awards, even a blurry photo of him beneath a tattered baseball cap and oversized aviators would get a few hundred underneath the table. it was part of the business; soul-suckingly taking bits and pieces of the man in an effort to feed the tabloid beast. unfortunately, the consequence of fame that rising stars commonly fail to account for is that this beast is seldom satiated, equipped with a bottomless appetite fueled by curiosity and shock value.
michael learned this at a young age, the hard way, as a budding boy with enough wisdom to power all of gary, indiana. he looked to the world with open arms, with a kindness and heart for all it could give to him. perhaps it was his fault that he didnât think of what the world could take away. perhaps it was his fault that the things the world slipped from him were intangible and invisible to the eye: privacy, protection, peace, and innocence. so it meant something when he agreed to a one-hour special of his private videos.
the scene was like any other day to him. the usual onslaught of cameras, crewmen without a name to rattle off to him, producers wanting the perfect commentary of each video he coughed up. michael felt the expectations to be inconsistent with how he truly perceived his memories, encased in amber film frozen in snippets of moments heâd hop into the delorean to go back to. from watching himself on the set of black or white, to his dearest friend elizabeth surprising him with an elephant, the smile that stretched across his face was genuine. it was warm and inviting and extended up to his eyes as they squinted with each laugh.
and even when the room was abuzz with faces most unfamiliar to him, full of life and an ambition to complete this project, the man was still alone, occupying one of many empty velveted theater seats. it felt awkward, but certainly not unfamiliar. he had been here before. he was at home in his solitude.
âalright, michael,â the main producer called out to him, the left side of his headset pushed behind his ear temporarily, âhereâs your next video.â the man in question noted the way his blonde hair sprung out like weeds beneath the filming gear, and it brought a grin out of him, one that sat on the cusp of a soft laugh. a young woman behind the producer, no older than a quarter century at best, quickly switched out the tapes, her eyes flickering back and forth to ensure she didnât break anything.
michael gave an affirming half-nod and a quiet âokayâ, shifting in his seat rather uncomfortably. heâd been sitting here for some time now and could feel his body branding itself onto the cushion beneath. out of anxiousness or perhaps impatience did he begin tapping his foot. though as the video sprung to life on the projector before him, he couldnât recall if his heart sank, or if it grew wings and fluttered into his throat.
âoh, i love this one,â michaelâs voice lowered to just a hair above a soft whisper, hands clapping together. his eyes told the story much better than words could. they lit up at the sight of a shaky camera pointed downward to the tile of the neverland ranch homeâŠ
1989. -
the click of black loafers echoed against the high walls of neverland. sunlight made itself known inside, plastering itself on every surface it could find, the warmth of that july day pressed to permanent memory. towering over a bulky, gray camcorder stood michael, clouded pink button up and all. a sweat bead threatened to manifest on his right temple as diligent hands fidgeted with the tape. âcome on nowâŠâ he didnât want to hurt the poor thing, but life was happening outside, slipping by with every second that the camcorder refused to function. his curls hung just perfectly, framing his face in such a way that this frustration was not so easily revealed. but maybe if he justâŠ
thud!
a little nudge of encouragement seemed to do the trick, bringing the temperamental device to life. the lens zoomed into the tile beneath michael, taking a moment to focus. âthere we go.â
the backyard was a sight to behold, out of a storybook where princesses and fairies and proud knights came to play. streamers of pink and blue twisted and hung from poles installed just for the occasion. balloons decorated the sky as they poked to the heavens in clusters attached to chairs and tables. the laughter of children was as sweet as song whilst the jacksons and the [surname]âs mingled harmoniously. as evidenced by the smell of the grill, manned by none other than joe jackson, there was no shortage of food. a table nearby, covered with a dainty floral cloth, was but swallowed whole by an overwhelming amount of wrapped gifts, of pink and blue and yellow paper alike. a larger-than-life teddy bear sat slumped beside the presents.
the lens zoomed in again, a bit rough at first, but once it focused, a smile crept onto michaelâs face. it creased into the camera, pushing the view upwards.
ââŠand thereâs [name],â
he carried her name as if it were scripture, and gazed upon her with the hope that heâd forget tomorrow, all so he could see her face for the first time again. the video lingered on the woman as she sat in a painted chair adorned with pink and blue balloons, tassels, and frilly things. her hands idly wrapped around her stomach. it protruded from her rest of her body, though from the angle michael was recording from, it proved difficult to see. the dress she chose for that day made her appear almost ethereal; a pale green number whose frilled neckline scooped down past her collarbone, the fabric of layered tulle that moved with each hush of the wind.
her hair had originally meant to be down that day, but janet had so lovingly pinned it back for her in preparation for the heat. michaelâs eye, through the camera, continued to persist on her, as if she was the only person there with a worthy story to tell. her gaze seemed to have latched onto her niece. whatever it was she had grabbed from her - a magazine it looked to be - the woman began fanning herself with it, a sigh bordering obnoxious rising and falling from her chest. behind the video, a gentle, low chuckle erupted from the director...
-
michael, from the theater chair, pointed to the screen. he was growing more and more giddy, like a child who had but brushed knuckles with their crush in the school hallway. âthis was nineteen-eighty-nine⊠just before our first child was born. i felt so sneaky for getting that shot of her,â he shook his head, covering half his face with his hand. there was another grin tugging at his lips, âshe hated being filmed, especially then.â
to hear him speak of his children was a privilege. he kept his wife close to him, shielded her as best he could from the ever-hungry public, and he did the same for their kids. to grow up as the child of michael jackson was a unique life to be given, a hand dealt to you with a multitude of thorns. and it was their mother and father that did their best to provide normalcy for them, to prick each thorn off and give them something they themselves never had.
âmy kids â my family â they are everything to me. they are in the music i write and are part of my creative process, every step,â sincerity dripped from his voice like sweet nectar off a honeycomb, his body language opening up to the world. âfatherhood is a new journey every day for me. iâm learning things about the kids all the time. they love to read and to play outside and climb the trees, just like i do.â
he pressed on, âand doing it all with her is such a blessing.â a laugh bubbled and broiled from michael at the next shot, âoh, she still teases me for thisâŠ
-
âbunnyâŠâ
her back was turned to the camera, hands on her hips as she swayed side to side. she and latoya stood next to the pool, watching the kids show off their cannonballs and backflips. the conversation between the two women appeared passionate, well, on latoyaâs end. [name] was simply nodding, giving the occasional input here and there, but otherwise resorting to that of a lent ear. as michael approached the duo slowly, it was as if his wifeâs newfound motherly instinct had taken form prematurely, her head turning sharply to the camera.
âmike! stop that!â as annoyed as she was, there was nevertheless a smile on her face. her palm almost swallowed the view completely, holes of that day peeking through her fingers. michaelâs laugh was all that could be heard as she pushed the camcorder down.
the culprit feigned a hurt pout, âyou know i just think youâre pretty.â he readjusted the camera, âânâ i want everyone else to see it, too.â
she couldnât tell if it was the heat of the july afternoon that had begun to pulsate on her cheeks, or the shade of crimson that was, oddly enough, always around when michael put her under the limelight. it had been that way since they were kids, a tale as old as time. heâd muster up the courage to say something sweet, almost too sweet, and sheâd turn away and find the ground more interesting.
but it was the way she twisted her mouth from side to side, then keeping it on the left, that told michael all he needed to know. she was never great with receiving compliments, never great with having the attention. all the while, the undisputed king of pop lifted her to new heights. he built a foundation of confidence within her over the course of their lives, doing whatever he could to someday make her see herself the way he did.
the nickname âbunnyâ came from their childhood, too. her first pet, cautiously gifted to her on her seventh birthday after months of allowance money and beggary had been saved up. michael was the first to meet the lop eared animal. there was something about the young boy and animals, she noticed. there looked to be a language spoken between every one he offered a smile to. thus, he bestowed the title to her after watching the way her nose scrunched up at the smell of her mothers latest gelatin monstrosity.
needless to say, she hated it from the beginning. and it only served to bite her in the behind as time passed, as michaelâs brothers picked the nickname up too. even janet and katherine slipped the name a few times, despite both pinky promising never to use it.
she didnât know exactly when it was that the nickname suddenly changed to her. maybe when she heard michael whisper it to himself absentmindedly, or when heâd begin every letter and every call to her with it. it was something between them that remained consistent for a lifetime, and that was exactly what michael needed.
âyou gotta show the gifts!â latoya unceremoniously interrupted the moment, taking it upon herself to turn the camera towards the table. michaelâs eyebrows furrowed. his sister certainly had a delicate, heavy-handed touch. âyou take it then!â he released his palm from the side handle of the camcorder, hoisting the equipment from his shoulder and onto latoyaâs with one fell swoop.
[name] stifled a laugh, giving the woman a poke in the back, âdidnât think itâd be so heavy, huh?â
âoh, whatever!â latoya quickly made her way to the gift table, shooing one or two tiny jackson kids away from the cameraâs view.
with the husband and wife left alone, michael made up for lost time in the directors seat, wrapping an arm around her waist and gently guiding her into his embrace. she didnât fight it, letting her body lean into his side. the temporary feeling of weightlessness brought her bliss, something she hadnât felt for close to eight months.
a firm kiss was planted onto her forehead, followed by a studious look upon her features. their time spent together had paid off in that words became less and less necessary. there were little long-winded explanations, few moments of true misunderstanding. it was a double edged sword at times, as neither of them could truly hide from one another. which is whyâŠ
âyou smell like paint,â she blurted out.
michaelâs eyebrows shot up, âwhatâre you talking about?â
âi can smell you,â she brought her hand to his wrist, pulling it up to her nose, âyou know what they say about pregnant women.â
âi donât actuallââ
she finished his sentence, or perhaps cut it short, âthey can smell everything, heightened senses and all.â her head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on the curls that framed his face. they somehow stayed tight in the summer heat, âyou were in the nursery again.â
âi just wanted to get it done,â michael brought his hands up to surrender, guilty as charged. âwhatâs the baby going to think when they come into their room and see an unfinished mural?â
[name] failed to suppress her smirk. he was cute when the determination set in, âitâs okay to ask for help, you know.â
âiâm doing it myself, bunny.â
there it was again.
âi want to help you,â she crossed her arms, opting to lean into his body again and peer down at his loafers. the baby shower went on around them, but they hadnât a clue about it. stuck in their own bubble. âyou do everything by yourself.â
michael dug his hooves in the ground, âand iâll be doing this myself too.â he shifted his body weight a bit, straightening her up and wrapping his hands around her shoulders. âyou are doing more than enough, look at you!â doe-eyes gazed upon her. delicate and tender was his stare, boring into every crevice of her skin. she looked just as she did when he first met her, on the steps of her front porch in gary, indiana. and despite wearing a worn expression, she had a light in her eyes none other than michael could conjure.
she threw her head back and let out a tired laugh to the sky. there was one lone cloud up there in the deep blue, and she took note of it, held onto it for the rest of the day. he was still there once she met his eyes again, still holding all the wonder in the world for her.
âyou are carrying my child, our child,â michael pushed a stray hair out of her face.
âcrazy to think about,â distracted, she poked her attention at the festivities. tito and jermaine had overtaken joe on the grill. katherine and her mother sat at a table alone, closely discussing the family happenings. they had been so engrossed in each other that she had nearly forgotten what everyone was here for. he was excellent at pulling her away from the noise, oftentimes absorbing it for himself just so she could get some quiet. âyou know what else is crazy?â
-
from the projector, latoyaâs voice could be heard commentating on what the camera captured. the picturesque view taken in by the grainy tape, comparable to that of a painting.
âthereâs your mommy,â a slow zoom into [name]âs figure as michael engrossed himself in her presence, rubbing her shoulders. it slowly panned over to him, âand thereâs your daddy.â
there was silence from the set, not a peep from michael as latoya brought the past to life. his head tilted oh-so slightly. surprisingly, he hadnât known about this part of the video.
latoya continued, âthey love you very much, and they canât wait to meet you.â
the producer hesitated, âmichael?â
he snapped out of his head, readjusting himself in the chair and smoothing out his jacket. âum, iâm sorry.â he waved his hand, âyou can scrap that part. i just, you know, she was so beautiful here.â
he was borderline jealous. latoya had captured his wife so well. âshe is beautiful every day, and iâve known her for many days.â a dry chuckle crawled out of him while something bashful crept in. even years later did the man struggle to put comprehensible sentences together when speaking about her. it couldâve been voodoo magics at play, or just the unexplainable way she made him feel.
âshe lived four doors down from me, and our mothers were friends,â the child within him reflected on his face, his cheeks pushing up and out whilst a wide smile emerged. âwhen i left school for the jackson five she was still there, bugginâ me about the homework they had.â
âi remember her getting me a jump rope one day,â michael continued, âshe told me the girls at school made up a routine to âabcâ! i didnât know how to feel âbout it. that was the first time she brought up anything to do with my music.â
he didnât look to care that the was rambling on, theyâd take out what they needed to from the final cut anyway. âit was like she wanted me to forget about what was happening around me and how fast it was going. i never had a childhood like she did. she mustâve known thatâŠâ
was he getting choked up again? surely not. the lump in his throat was telling him otherwise. out of the corner of his eye, the timid girl that had put the tape in watched him carefully. like he was going to break at any moment. but michael pressed on, he knew what happened next. âkeep going!â a small hitch in his voice broke the facade of confidence.
-
âwhat is it?â michaelâs face folded into concern, fully prepared for her to say her water broke. but instead, a sly grin was given to him.
âgot you!â
an army of children fully broke the tender moment the soon-to-be mother and father shared. supersoakers abound, the camera shook with latoyaâs laughter as they ambushed michael with straight-shots to the chest and face. [name] narrowly escaped imminent death by stepping to the side. she couldnât contain herself either, nearly howling with amusement while michael threw his hands up, doing a poor job of keeping his clothing dry.
âhey!â a shriek could be heard from the supersoaker victim just before he took off for the yard, rounding the pool and making for the grass. the kids, jackson and [surname] cousins alike, certainly put up a fight. they kept him on his toes, and soon did michael have no choice but to retreat into the trees.
his body moved swiftly and with ease. the muscle memory of every bend and branch of the tree served to pay off in the end, as he quickly settled into safety from the band of youth down below. panting like a dog, michaelâs heart was racing and pumped with adrenaline. âyou guys are crazy!â
âcome down, mikey!â [name]âs nephew taunted. his watergun was already pointed to the trees, trying to find the popstar amongst the leaves. âwe wonât hurt you!â a ripple of giggles ensued at that.
âliar!â he had become quite comfortable up there. no wonder it was one of his favorite places to write songs. nevertheless, he was having fun.
the grass crunched beneath heavier footsteps, a taller shadow joined the cluster of smaller ones, ânot even for me?â
michaelâs shoulders relaxed instantly. his favorite voice poking above the crowd of loaded supersoakers. if it was any other day, heâd be down in an instant, âthatâs not fair!â
âthey promised they wouldnât hurt you,â she called out to him. she was fully under the tree then, her head craned up to him. thinking for a breath, she turned to the kids. her face lit up unexpectedly, âi heard theyâre doing cake now. ask jackie.â
âwhat?!â âno way!â âletâs go!â
the last few shots of the video, before it cut to latoyaâs precise viewing of each and every gift, was of the children stampeding their way back to the main area. it was rather trembly and unfocused, the last words a loud demand of, âi want a piece of chocolate cake!â
-
in hindsight, michael shouldâve known the kids were plotting his doom from beneath the tree. but he always had a trust in them. hindsight also told him that his wifeâs little white lie got jackie in lots of trouble with the little assailants, because the cake was in fact not happening when she said it was.
it had him wiping a tear from his eye in hilarity, âshe always knows how to get me out of trouble.â
from the sidelines, the producer raised a hand, âletâs take five, everyone.â
as the crew scattered into their own directions, michael hoisted himself from the seat. he was on a mission, as evidenced by the smile that lingered on his face. âwhereâs my phone? iâd like to call my wife.â
fin.
concluding notes. again this really wasn't my best work :sob: so i apologize if it's a little weird. i just had this thought in my head and wanted to get it out! i really like the idea of childhood friends to lovers with michael (foreshadowing for later fics)... it's so cute...
Synopsis: While Michael attends to his duties as a devoted husband (taking you to pound town), the maids arrive unnoticed. Drawn by the sinful sounds echoing from your bedroom, they find themselves unable to resist eavesdropping.
Tags: smut, established-relationship (y'all are married <3), OCs, p in v, mating press, voyeurism, creampie, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), fingering, lots of drama, legal ramifications, mike being the worlds no. 1 husband.
Word Count: 7.2k
Requested: yes/no
Authorâs Note: Although I'm proud of this, the writing process for this was hell! But anyway, I need detailed reports on what y'all think about everything as compensation, thank you very much.
Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist
The noise of the curtains fluttering from the warm wind and the quiet chatter of the TV wakes you from your slumber. It's most definitely way past the acceptable time for a lie-in, probably closer to noon, but you don't care. With the way last night ended, with shared moans bouncing off the walls, no one could blame you. He had been so desperate for your touch after shutting himself in the studio for hours, hungrily taking you again and again until you couldn't string sentences together anymore.
Speaking of the incubus himself, as you open your eyes, before you can even muster up the strength to stretch your sore limbs, you're met with a tantalizing sight of Michael sprawled out on the bed next to you, absentmindedly watching the television. He's leaning against a pillow propped up against the headboard, completely nude. This isn't surprising, but what captures your attention is his soft and heavy length resting enticingly against his thigh, looking as delicious as ever. You try to ignore the slickness pooling between your thighs.
His cock is a sight to behold, thick and veiny, with a prominent ridge running along the underside. The head, peeks out from his uncut foreskin, is swollen and glistening with remnants of your previous night's activities. You can't tear your eyes away from it, from the way it lays there just waiting for your touch.
You groan inwardly. How is he so nonchalant about this? How can he just sit there, so casually, with his massive cock on full display? Doesn't he know what effect it has on you, how it makes you crave him like nothing else?
You keep staring shamelessly, your eyes trailing every little detail. In your already fuzzy state, you don't notice Michael glancing at you, an amused smile growing on his face as he follows your half-lidded gaze.
Teasingly, he readjusts his body, making his hips thrust upwards slightly, causing his thick cock to bounce a little. You whimper quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. That sound doesn't even register in your mind until you hear him chuckle. Your eyes dart upwards to his face, feeling your cheeks grow hotter under his amused gaze.
"Enjoying the view, huh?" he teases, and you quickly turn onto your back, facing the opposite direction to avoid his stare.
"None of that," he murmurs, reaching over to cup your face and gently turn your gaze back to him. "Look at me."
And you do. Goodness gracious, how does he manage to be so gorgeous even with his curls messily framing his face? Your eyes linger on his lips as you try not to look directly into his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk as he gently positions your face higher, silently commanding you to meet his gaze.
His long fingers trace your cheeks as he brings your faces closer together, forehead to forehead, noses bumping. He leaves the softest of kisses on your cheeks before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is slow and unrushed; he doesn't even bother moving his lips much, just softly keeps them pressed against yours.
"Did you sleep well, baby?" he asks after pulling away, making you unconsciously lean in for more. You nod and nuzzle your cheek deeper into his warm palm. "Yeah? I'm not too surprised," he says, trying to suppress a smirk. You had fallen asleep last night while he was cleaning you up during aftercare, that's how thoroughly he had tired you out, but it's not like you're complaining. You playfully hit his chest..
Michael's chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your skin as you lay there, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours. He shifts slightly, the movement drawing your eyes back down to his impressive length. He notices and smirks again, his hand moving to gently guide your chin, lifting your face to meet his gaze once more.
"I know what youâre thinking about," he begins, his voice a low, seductive purr, âknow what youâre craving."
Your breath hitches at his words, the passion in his eyes making your heart flutter. His thumb strokes your cheek, and he leans in, pressing another tender but more heated kiss to your lips. The kiss deepens this time, his tongue gently parting your lips, exploring your mouth with a languid passion that leaves you breathless. When he pulls away, his eyes are dark with desire.
His hands trail from your hips to your naked pussy, cupping it in his large palm, feeling the warm skin against his hand. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, making you gasp. His finger slips through your folds, gliding between your glistening flesh with ease. He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear, "Always so needy, aren't you?"
Before you can respond with an eye roll at his usual teasing, he moves on top of you, spreading your thighs wide. Your breath catches in your throat as you look up at him. He groans at the sight of your drenched pussy, marveling at it for what feels like an eternity. His eyes hungrily stare at your already pulsing clit, desperately begging for attention.
 "Do I have to fuck you every morning for you to function properly?"
Your heartbeat quickens at his words, your hips bucking towards him instinctively. He spreads your thighs even farther apart, shushing your whines with an authoritative raise of his brows. "You know what to say," he prompts, his voice low and commanding.
"...Please touch me," you murmur shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.
He decides to tease you further, enjoying the power he has over you, "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."
"Please, Michael," you beg, a little louder this time, "please fuck me."
"That's more like it," he says with a satisfied expression, taking in your already needy state before reaching over to his nightstand. He opens the top drawer and grabs a bottle of lube, squirting a generous amount onto his lengthy shaft. He strokes his cock a few times, ensuring it's well-lubricated. Without the lube, it's impossible for him to ever make love to you without unwanted pain; he's just too big. Whatever's left on his fingers he spreads it across your already glossy folds, circling your hole for longer than is necessary.Â
He gives you a look, silently making sure you still want this. After you nod enthusiastically he positions himself at your tight entrance, dragging his swollen tip up and down your flesh before gently pushing in the head, watching as your cunt stretches around him. With the events of last night, it's not as difficult as it might have been otherwise. His cockhead slips past your folds with ease, and you already feel yourself clenching around him.
"Needy girl," he murmurs under his breath, his voice thick with desire.
He torturously slowly slides half of his cock into your wetness and pulls out. Repeating this endlessly until his fat length is fully swallowed by your greedy pussy, âThere we go,â he breathes out at finally watching your folds stretch around his thickness. His prominent veins deliciously rub against your slick walls, eliciting breathless moans from your lips. Your eyes flutter from the stretch, the sensation overwhelming, head pressing deeper into the plush pillow.
He steals a peck from your lips and squeezes your hips. He thrusts slowly at first, hips grinding smoothly at a mellow pace, savoring every inch of you. Consequently, making you think he's going to go easy on you but when has Michael Jackson ever been predictable?
At a speed that has your eyes widening he presses you further into the bed, folding your legs closer to your shoulders, putting you in a deep mating press that leaves you breathless. Before you can utter more than his name, he drives his hips against the back of your thighs, completely filling you up. âJesus fucking christ Michael.â you choked out.
He picks up the pace, ramming his meaty cock into your squelching pussy. Your essence creates a white ring around his base, making him groan in pleasure. This new angle allows you to feel every inch of him deeper and deeper inside you. You can't control yourself, your moans growing louder and louder. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open as filthy whines and moans escape.
As he keeps pounding you into the mattress, he looks at your face and almost cums on the spot. The sounds in the bedroom are sinful - a mix of your moans and his grunts blending together, the bed banging against the wall with every hard thrust of his hips, skin slapping rhythmically.
"Look at you, already going dumb on my cock," he awes, his voice full of adoration.
You nod while not quite sure what youâre agreeing to, his words barely registering in your mind through the haze of pleasure. His smirk widens at your response, watching your nails dig into the sheets. The room starts to fill with the smell of sex, the musky scent only turning him on more.
He continues to fuck you fast and hard, his coily pubic hair rubbing against your throbbing clit, making your hips buck, chasing more of that sweet friction. Your moans grow louder, and if his cock wasn't so good, you'd try to be quieter. But all you can think about is how good he feels inside you, stretching you, filling you completely.
Your heavenly sounds drive him wild, he loves how in the mornings your sleepiness makes you more uninhibited, your cries ringing through his ears. But still, he decides to reach over towards the remote, turning up the volume of the TV to drown out the noises. Although he's never cared about the maids or security hearing him, he knows that when you come down from your high, you'll appreciate this gesture.Â
As you both lose yourselves in the throes of passion, the maids: Annie, Susie, and Diana make their way towards the entrance of the sprawling estate for their weekly cleaning duties. The warm rays of the sun cast a serene ambiance over the grounds, punctuated by the tranquil chirping of birds, blissfully masking the storm of debauchery that awaits them inside.
"You know, I still can't believe they faked everything," Susie remarks, squinting against the sunlight.
"I'm actually not that surprised, they always seemed fishy to me," Annie replies and smiles at Susieâs scrunched up face.
"Come on now, they named themselves Milli Vanilli, what kind of name is that?" Diana chimes in, adding her two cents to the conversation.
As they ascend the doorsteps and open the front door, entering the home, Annie continues her thought, "I mean, all singers lip-sync now. They're just the ones that got caâ"
Diana abruptly pinches Annieâs arm, cutting her off with a sharp sting, "Ow, what the hellâ"
"Girl, shush!" Diana whispers urgently, motioning for silence.
The three maids strain their ears, their attention drawn by the unmistakable erotic sounds emanating from the bedroomâa rhythm of skin slapping against skin, accentuated by soft moans and gasps. Susie instinctively covers her mouth, freezing in place with wide eyes. None of them move a muscle as they process what they are hearing.
"Are they�" Annie starts tentatively.
"Oh, absolutely." With wide eyes they exchange shocked glances. None of them move a muscle, unsure how to handle the unexpected discovery. Honestly how do you go about stumbling across your boss fucking his wife?Â
Diana, always the boldest of the trio, begins to tiptoe toward the hallway leading to the bedroom, prompting panicked whispers from the others.
"Diana! What are you doing?" Annie hisses urgently.
Rolling her eyes, Diana smirks back at them. "As if you two aren't just as curious," she retorts, continuing her stealthy approach toward the imposing double doors that shield a scene of raw intimacy unfolding behind them. Annie and Susie exchange resigned groans but follow cautiously behind.
Pressing their ears against the wood, they strain to catch every moan and whispered utterance, their curiosity piqued despite the scandalous nature of their eavesdropping.
"This is crazy," Susie breathes out in a hushed voice.
Unaware of the maids' clandestine surveillance, Michael drives into you with unrelenting force, his powerful hips slamming with yours in a relentless rhythm. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the delicious sensation of every ridge and vein of his cock stretching you to your limits. Your back arches instinctively, your slick walls gripping him tightly, sucking him deeper into your warmth.
"Greedy fucking pussy," Michael's voice groans with desire, strained with the effort of holding back. he mutters, the words laced with need. "Squeezing me so tight."
"P-please," you stutter, your voice barely a whisper amid the relentless assault of his powerful thrusts. "Itâs too much."
"You can take it," he growls, his breath hot against your skin as he leans closer, his chain dangling temptingly in front of your face. "I know you can. Youâre my good girl." His movements are deliberate, claiming you completely.
In a moment of pure instinct, you gently bite his shoulder, your nails digging into his skin as pleasure overtakes you. The bed beneath you rocks with each forceful rock of his hips, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall. The murmur of the TV in the background does little to mask the crescendo of your combined moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin.
He adjusts his position slightly, angling his length to hit that sweet spot deep inside you. Your entire body trembles with the promise of release, his warm breath against your neck adding to the overwhelming sensations flooding your senses.
Meanwhile, outside the bedroom, Susie murmurs breathlessly, "Yâall hearing this shit?" Her pulse quickens with excitement. "Iâve never heard anything like it."
"That damn TV, canât hear anything," Diana complains, pressing her ear harder against the wall in a futile attempt to drown out the sounds from within.
"They're really going at it, huh?" Annie whispers, trying to stifle a chuckle. "Didn't know Mr. Jackson had it in him." Her eyes widen with playful astonishment. "I mean, I knew he was passionate, but this...?"
"Lord forgive me for sinning," Susie quips, crossing herself dramatically as Diana giggles at her theatrics. "Oh, stop it, you."
"And half the country thinks he's a virgin," Annie adds with a sly grin. "Isn't that ironic?" Their cheeky banter fades as they're filled with arousal and a twinge of envy, listening intently to the man they've all undoubtedly fantasized about, lost in passion with his beloved behind closed doors.
Back in the bedroom, Michael pulls back to look into your eyes, his own darkened with lust. He grips your jaw and "You like that, baby? You like being fucked like this?" His words send shivers down your spine, your gummy walls instantly tighten around him.
"Yes," you gasp, your voice breaking with need. "God, yes."
"I want you to make a mess on my cock," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, igniting a fresh wave of heat within you. "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" You nod eagerly, breathless whimpers escaping your lips.
"Listen to how loud she's moaning," Annie murmurs from outside, her voice tinged with envy. "She must be feeling real good."
As you approach the brink of release, Michael grins devilishly, his movements becoming almost frantic to draw out the exquisite tension building between you. With every plunge of his fat cock sliding deeper and deeper, kissing your cervix, your legs tremble, your body quivering as you hurtle toward release. You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, driving you to a point of true wanton. Uninhibited, sinful moans echo through the room as you claw at the sheets.
Unable to handle your pulsing walls clinging to him he pounds you into the mattress, chasing his own high. As your body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat you try to calm down but the feeling on his bulbous tip flooding your pussy with his hot spurts of cum pushes you towards overstimulation. He sucks love marks on your neck to stifle his groans, as he feels his voluminous cum fill you up completely. He doesn't slow down, riding out your climax, driving you higher and higher until you're nothing but a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him.
Outside, the maids are spellbound, ears pressed against the door, their own breaths quickening in unison with yours.
"Oh my fucking God," Susie whispers, barely audible over the symphony of pleasure spilling from the bedroom.Â
"Shh!"Â
The maids, captivated, listen intently to your gasps as you climax. They wait a few more moments, taking in the heavy breathing and murmurs of endearment between you and Michael. Once the sounds start to subside, Diana gestures for them to move. âWe should get out of here before they catch us.âÂ
âUh huh,â Susie agrees, her voice trembling slightly. They tiptoe away from the door, retreating to an empty room down the hall, locking themselves in.
Once inside, they're all breathing heavily, heart pounding in their chests. The air is thick with anticipation, their faces flushed with arousal.
"I- uhâŠholy shit," Susieâs voice is hushed but tinged with excitement. "She was so loud."
"No shit," Annie replies, her own breath still coming in short bursts. "I mean, it sounded like he was breaking her in half."
âYou reckon his dick is really as big as they say?âÂ
âJesus Christ D, give us a moment to breathe.â
âIâm just saying, that girlâs always so quiet and sweet you know? Donât think sheâd be the type to fake her moans unless that dick is real good.'' Diana shrugs with a little grin on her face.
Susie fans herself with her hands, trying to cool down. âYeah that's true, sheâs always blushing and looking down when she talks to us, but here she is taking all that from him.â
Annie tries to be civil about all this but canât help but add, âyou think they go at it all the time?â
Dianaâs grin grows wider as she nods. âYou know it ainât just a quick thing either, he probably takes his time too, making sure sheâs thoroughly satisfied.â
âLucky girl. I wouldn't mind being in her shoes,â Susie says dreamily.
Diana leans against the door, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You and me both,â she continues, âI gotta say, we have to do that again."
Annie looks at her, bewildered. "Are you crazy? We canât just stand outside their door listening to them fuck."
Diana rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on. With how hard they were going at it, it's not far-fetched to think they'll do it again tonight. We should wait till they go back to their bedroom and listen in again."
"Absolutely not," Annie insists, crossing her arms defiantly. "That's crossing a line."
But Diana persists, knowing the curiosity and desire are mutual. "Oh, stop with this fake righteous act, yâall liked it, admit it."
Annie looks to Susie for support, but she just shrugs, clearly intrigued by the idea. Diana smirks, sensing victory. "See? Even Susie wants more." Susie, usually the shy one, surprises Annie by siding with Diana. "I mean⊠It was kinda hot.â
Annie huffs but doesn't entirely reject the idea. Dianaâs enthusiasm is infectious, and deep down, Annie knows sheâs curious too. "Fine. But how are we gonna do it without getting caught?"
Dianaâs smirk grows wider. "We just gotta be smart about it. We know their routine. Once theyâre back in the bedroom tonight, weâll sneak up and listen. Simple."Â
Annie finally relents, though still cautious. "If we get caught, itâs on you, D."
Diana grins, clearly enjoying the thrill. "Trust me, it'll be worth it." The three of them continue to hash out their plot, excitement hanging thick in the air.
The trio finally compose themselves after their illicit eavesdropping and gossip session, deciding it's time to actually get to work. They set about their cleaning tasks, though the air between them crackles with the shared secret. Every now and then, one of them breaks the silence with a hushed comment or a knowing glance, the earlier events still fresh in their minds.
As they tidy the living room, the sound of a door opening draws their attention. Michael and you emerge from the bedroom, your body language relaxed and content, a stark contrast to the intense passion that had filled the room earlier. Michael's arm drapes protectively around your waist as he guides you towards the kitchen, his touch gentle and reassuring.
The maids exchange glances, curiosity piqued once more. "Look at them," Susie whispers, her voice barely above a breath. "She looks so satisfied."
Annie, ever the observant one, nods and without looking up continues to do her job. "Bet she is.â
Diana snickers. "Yeah, she looks fucked out, she was moaning so loud. Damn near broke my eardrums." if they hadn't heard your desperate pleas and whimpers theyâd definitely find it hard to question your innocence.
From their vantage point in the living room, they peek into the kitchen. You sit down heavily on one of the chairs, your body spent and exhausted, fingers lazily tracing random patterns on the marble counter as you lean your head on your arm . Michael kisses the top of your head and moves with practiced ease, starting to prepare a quick meal for you. His movements are efficient yet tender, his focus solely on making sure you're taken care of.
As you absentmindedly glance around, your eyes meet Susie's. You smile gently and give her a small wave. For a moment, there's a flash of recognition in her widened eyes before she quickly returns the greeting with a shy nod. She turns back to Annie and Diana, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"She saw me," Susie whispers, her voice a mixture of panic and excitement. "She smiled and waved."
Diana snorts. "Probably too blissed out to care. Look at her. Sheâs got that post-fuck glow."
Annie rolls her eyes, but a small smile plays on her lips. "You two are incorrigible. But yeah, she does look pretty content."
The trio continues their cleaning, though their attention frequently strays back to the kitchen. They can't help but watch as Michael moves about, his focus unwavering as he prepares something for you. Every now and then, he glances your way, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"Heâs so attentive," Annie murmurs, almost to herself. "I mean, he just spent all that time⊠you know⊠and now heâs making sure sheâs okay. Thatâs so sweet."
Diana smirks. "Yeah, heâs definitely got enough left in him for round two tonight. I can tell.âÂ
Susie bites her lip, clearly torn between embarrassment and curiosity. "I just hope we don't get caught."
As they continue to clean, their whispers and giggles fill the room, the earlier intensity of their task somewhat forgotten in light of their newfound entertainment. They dust the same shelves over and over again just because the view of the kitchen is by far the best from that specific angle. The sight of you and Michael in the kitchen, a picture of post-coital domesticity, only fuels their fascination.
Michael, sensing your exhaustion, walks over to you with a plate of food. "Here you go, sweetheart," he says softly, placing the plate in front of you. "You need to eat something."
You smile up at him, your gratitude evident in your eyes. He smiles and sits down next to you, watching you with adoring eyes.
The maids watch this exchange with keen interest. "Heâs so good to her," Susie whispers, a note of envy in her voice.
Diana rolls her eyes playfully. "Of course he is. You heard how he was talking to her. âYouâre my good girl,â" she mimics, her voice dripping with mock lust. "Heâs got her wrapped around his finger."
Annie, who has been silent for a while, finally speaks up. "You know, maybe we shouldnât be talking about them like this. Itâs kind of⊠invasive."
Diana rolls her eyes. "Oh my god, Annie. Live a little. Theyâre not gonna find out. Besides, itâs not like weâre hurting anyone."
They continue their tasks, though their eyes frequently stray back to the kitchen. The atmosphere is charged with a mix of lingering arousal and the thrill of having witnessed something so private. As they finish up in the living room and move to another part of the house, they canât help but continue their whispered conversation. "So, weâre still following through with the plan?" Susie asks, her voice tinged with anticipation.
Diana grins. "mhm."
Annie shakes her head, though a small smile plays at her lips. "You two are crazy. But fine. Just this once more, weâre not doing it again."
The trio shares a conspiratorial laugh, their bond strengthened by their shared secret. As they go about their tasks, their minds are already anticipating the evening, eager to once again be a part of the passionate world they had stumbled upon.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, you finish your meal, your energy slowly returning. Michael sits next to you, his hand resting on your thigh, a silent reassurance of his presence.
You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice soft.
He presses a kiss to your temple. "Anything for you, baby. You know that."
As the day wears on, You both spend the day lounging around the house, basking in the simplicity of each other's company. The day has been a rare gift of leisure, a precious break from Michael's usually hectic schedule. The sun sets lazily, casting a warm glow over everything.
The trio finds themselves looking forward to the evening, their curiosity and desire rekindled. The thrill of the forbidden being too intoxicating to resist.
As the day winds down and evening settles in, the maids finish their duties and prepare to leave. Michael politely, walks them to the door. "Goodnight, ladies," he says with a charming smile.
"Goodnight, Mr. Jackson," they reply, trying to keep their voices steady. They share a quick glance, the events of the day still fresh in their minds, and attempt to leave casually. As the door shuts behind them they walk down the path theyâd usually take to return home but they make a turn to the right, making their way towards the back of the house.
You are already in bed, lounging in a tank top and panties, the warm weather prompting you to kick the covers off playfully. The soft light of the setting sun filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the room.
Michael steps into the bedroom, locking the door behind him, his gaze finding you instantly. You turn your head towards him and smile, your hand constantly reaching towards his direction, the sight of him filling you with warmth. He shakes his head teasingly as he pulls the covers back onto the bed.
"You always do this," he shakes his head, his voice filled with affection.
You watch him intently as he undresses, his movements slow and deliberate. He strips down to his boxers, revealing his toned physique, and you canât help but feel a surge of desire. Your eyes are hungry, taking in every inch of his body which is draped in golden sun rays.
He slides into bed next to you, his presence comforting. He gently coos, "Are you feeling hot, baby?" His hand finds your hip, kneading it softly, feeling the soft, warm skin under his palm.
You nod, your eyes half-lidded with desire and mischief. Taking his hand, you guide it down between your legs, pressing his fingers harder against your clothed clit. "I am," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, signaling where exactly youâre feeling hot.
He chuckles, a low, knowing sound. "You're insatiable," he teases, his fingers starting to move in slow, tantalizing circles. The fabric unsurprisingly dampening in an instant.
Your eyes flutter from the slight pressure and you spread your legs wider, inviting him in. "You love it," you counter with a small smile.
He smirks and admits, moving between your spread thighs, his fingers hooking under your panties and slowly pulling them off. He casually lets them fall on the floor as his eyes are immediately glued to your weeping cunt, already salivating at the view.
Meanwhile, in the backyard, the maids have been waiting, the anticipation building. Diana, ever the ringleader, whispers, "Itâs time." They tiptoe towards your patio which is connected to your bedroom. They crouch down next to the glass doors, holding their breath as they try to peer inside without making their presence known. The house is quiet, the only sounds coming from within the intimate space you and Michael share. They inch closer, their breaths shallow and hearts pounding, the thrill of voyeurism electrifying their senses.
Inside the bedroom, the atmosphere is intimate and calm compared to the morning's intensity. Michael lays on his front, his face inches from your glistening pussy, still leaking with his cum from earlier. He bites his lip at the sight, the raw desire in his eyes making you shiver with anticipation.
He gently slides his middle finger into your hole, pushing his cum deeper inside you. "Look at you, so full of me," he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. "Such a good girl, taking everything I give you."
You moan softly, the sensation of his finger inside you making your body hum with pleasure. He parts your glossy folds with his fingers, exposing your sensitive clit. Leaning in, he suckles on the bud, rolling it in his mouth with expert precision.
Peering through the glass, their eyes widen as they take in the sight before them. Michael is between your legs, his face buried in your pussy, his tongue working you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Your eyes are shut tight, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he devours you. The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts a warm light over the scene, highlighting every intimate detail.
"God, seeing it is so much better than just listening," Susie whispers, her voice a mix of awe and arousal.
They press against each other, jostling quietly for the best view. Michael's focus is entirely on you, his eyes closed as he savors your taste, his tongue flicking over your clit with expert precision. The way he worships your body is mesmerizing, each movement filled with intent and passion.
Suddenly, Michael pulls away with a wet pop, your juices glistening on his lips and chin. You whine at the loss of contact, your body trembling with need. "Shh, baby," he soothes, replacing his tongue with his thumb, pressing it against your swollen clit and rubbing gentle circles.
The maids hold their breath, their eyes glued to the scene. Michael prods two fingers against your entrance, teasing you before slowly sliding them in. He breathes in deeply, savoring your scent as his fingers begin to scissor inside you, stretching your tight walls. His wedding band glistens, drenched in your slick, as he pumps his fingers in and out with a steady rhythm, the cold metal adding to the pleasure.
Susie, filled with envy and arousal, leans closer to Annie. "I've never seen a man eat pussy this good," she whispers, her voice tinged with longing.Â
"He definitely knows where the clit is." Annie giggles and adds.
Diana, unable to contain her excitement, groans softly. "When is he going to take out his cock and fuck her?" she hisses, her eyes locked on the sight of Michael's fingers disappearing inside you.
Annie glares at her. "Oh, I'm sorry, is watching this not enough for you?" she snaps quietly.
Michael's fingers work their magic, the squelching noises filling the room as you whimper and buck your hips against his skilled hands. He watches you intently, his eyes dark with lust, enjoying the way you respond to his touch. "You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "My girl."
Your whimpers turn into moans, your body arching off the bed as he brings you closer to the edge. "Michael, please," you beg, your voice a breathy whisper.
He leans in, his breath hot against your skin, leaving hickeys along your inner thighs. "What is it, baby?" he asks, his thumb pressing harder against your clit.
"Wanna cum," you gasp, your hands gripping the sheets tightly.
He smirks, his fingers curling inside you to hit that sweet spot. "Then come for me, sweet girl," he whispers, his voice a low growl.
The maids watch in rapt attention, their own bodies reacting to the scene before them. Susie's cheeks are flushed, her breath quickening. "I can't believe we're actually seeing it this time," she whispers, her voice trembling with excitement.
"Look at how he handles her. It's like he knows exactly what she needs." Annie breathes, her eyes wide with awe.
Diana, her frustration mounting, shifts restlessly. "I want to see him fuck her," she insists, her voice a low whine. "Wanna see what his cock looks like."
Annie shoots her a sharp look. "Just be patient," she snaps. "Enjoy what we're seeing now."
Inside the room, Michael's fingers move faster, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your moans grow louder, your body trembling with the intensity of your impending orgasm. "I- Iâm close" you cry out, your voice breaking with need.
"There there," he murmurs, his fingers never faltering. "Let go for me. Cum all over my fingers."
With a final flick of his tongue and a deep thrust of his fingers, you shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing with pleasure. Michael holds you through it, his mouth and fingers never ceasing their movements, prolonging your release until you are spent and trembling.
The maids are transfixed, their own arousal palpable. "yâallâŠ" Susie whispers, her voice filled with need. "I didn't even know it was possible to cum that hard just from fingers."
Annie nods, her eyes still fixed on the scene before her. "Heâs Michael Jackson, what did you expect," she murmurs.Â
Diana, her eyes dark with lust, can barely contain herself. "I want to see more," she insists, her voice a desperate whisper.
As you come down from your high, panting, Michael gently withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips. "You taste so good," he purrs, his eyes locked on yours. You stretch weakly, your body still trembling. Michael licks his drenched fingers, savoring your taste as his eyes lock onto yours with a smoldering intensity. He leans in to give your clit a soft, lingering kiss, a gesture of tenderness.Â
As he moves off the bed to take off his boxers, you whimper from the loss of contact, your body still trembling from the recent orgasm. You always become so clingy afterward, seeking his warmth and touch even if it's scorching hot outside.
âIâm right here, baby,â he coos gently, his voice soothing as he pulls down his boxers, freeing his throbbing cock. The maids, hidden just outside the glass doors, gasp in unison at the sight. Michaelâs heavy shaft sways with his every move, a sight both impressive and intimidating.
âGoodness gracious, that thing is massive,â Diana whispers, her eyes wide with arousal.
The others nod, their mouths hanging open in shock. âNo wonder she always looks so happy,â Susie murmurs. âItâs hard not to when your manâs packing like that.â
Annie notices Dianaâs hazy expression, her eyes glued to Michaelâs meaty cock as she licks her lips. Annie nudges her sharply. âStop drooling, Diana.â
Susie giggles, trying to stifle the sound. âYeah, you look like you just came.â
Diana shoots them a side-eye, irritated but unable to tear her gaze away from Michael as he strokes his meaty shaft, preparing himself. She unconsciously leans forward, hands pressing against the glass doors, her desire overriding her sense of caution. The door creaks in the silent room, a loud and unmistakable sound.
Annie, eyes wide with realization, hisses urgently, âWait, no!â
But itâs too late. Packed together like sardines, when Diana pushes forward, the glass doors swing open, and they all tumble into the room with a loud, resounding thud. The sudden intrusion shatters the intimate atmosphere, and for a moment, time seems to freeze.
You gasp in horror, your eyes wide as you scramble to cover yourself. Michaelâs head snaps around, his expression shifting from surprise to fury as he sees the maids he had just bid goodnight to, now sprawled awkwardly on the floor. They remain frozen, their eyes wide with horror at having been caught.
âFuck,â Annie whispers, the word barely audible but carrying the weight of their collective dread.
Michaelâs eyes blaze with anger, but his first instinct is to protect you. He immediately grabs the covers and drapes them over your body, shielding you from their prying eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering, âStay here.â
You try to argue, your voice trembling, âBut Michael-â
He cuts you off with a commanding look, one you donât often see, filled with authority and protectiveness. âI said stay,â he repeats firmly.
Nodding obediently, you clutch the sheets closer to your face, your heart pounding in your chest. Michael turns halfway, careful not to expose himself completely, and fixes the maids with a venomously calm stare.
âWait in my office,â he orders, his tone cold and tolerating no argument.
The trio stares dumbly for a few seconds, processing his words before they scramble to their feet, tripping over themselves in their haste to leave. Broken apologies tumble from their lips as they run out of the room, their faces flushed with shame and embarrassment.
Once theyâre gone, Michael turns back to you, his expression softening. âAre you okay?â he asks gently, his hands cupping your face.
You nod, though your heart is still racing. âI guessâŠI'm just shocked.â
âIâll take care of this,â he promises, his voice filled with a protective resolve. He kisses your forehead again, then stands, pulling on his discarded boxers and trousers. âStay here and try to relax, okay?â
You nod again, watching him as he leaves the room, your anxiety mixing with a strange sense of reassurance at his presence.
Michael leaves you in the bedroom, his heart heavy with both fury and a fierce protectiveness. As he walks down the hallway, the moonlight filters through the windows, casting long shadows and illuminating his path. Each step he takes echoes softly against the wooden floor, the sound mingling with the seething rage that burns within him. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with anger.
In the office, the maids are huddled together, in a state of panic, their faces filled with dread. They had thought themselves clever, sneaking around to watch, but now the reality of their actions is sinking in.
âOh my god, weâre so screwed,â Susie whispers, wringing her hands nervously.
Annie turns to Diana. "This was all your idea!" she hisses, her voice trembling with fear.
Diana glares back, her own nerves frayed. "Oh, don't you dare put this all on me! You wanted this as much as I did!"
Susie, caught in the middle, raises her hands in a futile attempt to calm them. "Guys, please, this isnât the time. We need to stick together."
The door swings open, and they all jump, turning to see Michael standing in the doorway, his expression a mask of controlled fury. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that feels like the final nail in their coffin.
âExplain yourselves,â he demands, his voice low and dangerous.
The maids exchange panicked glances, none of them wanting to be the first to speak. Finally, Annie steps forward, her voice trembling. âWe... weâre so sorry, Mr. Jackson. We didnât mean to intrude. We just...â
âJust what?â he snaps, his patience fraying.Â
Susie whispers, her voice barely audible, "We were just curious..."
Michael raises his brows, his eyes narrowing. "Curious? Curious?!â he repeats, louder this time. The word hangs in the air, heavy with disdain.
He loses his cool for a moment, his voice rising as he yells, "Are you out of your fucking minds?!"
The maids shudder, their fear palpable. They are totally fucked, and they know it. âWeâre truly so sorry,â Annie stammers, her voice breaking. âWe never meant for this to happen.â
Michaelâs expression remains hard, his eyes cold as ice. âYou think an apology is enough? You think saying sorry will fix this? Youâve breached a level of trust thatâs hard to come back from.â Michaelâs eyes bore into each of them, his disappointment palpable.
Michael takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. âWhat gave you the brilliant idea to spy on us?â
Thereâs a heavy silence as none of them dare to speak. Michaelâs patience wears thin. âIâm not going to repeat my question.â
Silence fills the room as the maids exchange terrified glances. Finally, Diana stutters, "We... we eavesdropped earlier this morning." Susie starts to tear up silently, her guilt and fear overwhelming her.
Michael breathes out heavily, the sound like a hiss through clenched teeth. "Sit," he commands, his tone brooking no argument.
They scramble to comply, their hands shaking as they take their seats. Michael retrieves a folder from the desk drawer, pulling out several documents and laying one in front of each of them with a pen.
"Sign," he says, the word clipped and devoid of any warmth.
Annie furrows her brows as she reads the document. It's a non-disclosure agreement. It hits her like a punch to the gut: he's making them sign NDAs to ensure they don't blabber about this to anyone, especially the press. Without reading through it, they all sign. Their hands shake so much that their signatures are barely legible.Â
Michael retrieves the signed documents, his eyes never leaving theirs. He stares at them, his gaze hard and unforgiving. "Consider yourselves fired," he says, each word delivered with cutting precision.
The maidsâ faces pale further, the reality of their actions hitting them like a sledgehammer.Â
They swallow hard, nodding silently. Without needing further prompting, they rise from their seats and make their way out of the office, their footsteps heavy with the weight of their actions. As they exit the estate, the night air feels colder. As they walk down the long driveway and the gravity of their situation sinks in.
As they reach the gates, they look back at Neverland ranch one last time, the grandeur and beauty now a stark contrast to their current despair. They exit, their steps heavy and their minds filled with regret.
au: you are a woman of composure, calm, poise. but inside that specific folder in billie's phone, a restricted access to anyone, contains multiple videos of you that is only for billie's eyes to see.
contains: face riding, filming of sex, use of dildo, fingering, scissoring, scratching, a little edging, subtle praising
an here youu gooo. moved away from g!p cuz this is so delishhh??a bit detailed b4 i leave again lol. (not proofread) PART III of Restricted Access
Clip 15: hotel bathroom
â Video âč3:12
billie is holding the phone at arm's length, filming the two of you in the mirror of a dimly lit hotel bathroom. she's standing behind you, her front pressed against your back.
she's is buried in your neck, but her eyes are locked on the camera. watching you break under her touch. you reach back, your fingers tangling desperately in her dark hair, and you yank. her head snaps back, exposing her throat, but she doesn't flinch.
instead, she lets out a sharp, jagged laugh and smirks at the lens.
"yeah, do it again," she dares you, her voice a low vibration you can practically feel through the screen.
she's working her fingers into youâdeep, fast, and rhythmic. the audio picks up the wet slap of her hand hitting your thigh. you're a mess, whimpering and leaning all your weight into her.
"b-billieâŠ" you broke.
you grab her forearmâthe one she's using to ruin youâand dig your nails in. you see the skin turn white under your claws before red lines start to rise.
but then again, she didn't even flinch. she just hummed and placed a soothing kiss on your damp temple.
billie zooms the camera in on her arm, showing the fresh, angry scratches youâve left. she looks from the marks back to your face in the mirror, her expression pure, smug satisfaction.
she whispers, "damn, look at what you did. you're such a brat," before she bites the shell of your ear and the clip cuts.
Clip 12: the fucking throne
â Video âč4:10
the phone is propped up on the headboard, tilted down. it captures the back of billie's head and the full view of you pinned beneath her.
billie is sitting directly on your face, her weight fully supported by your shoulders. the camera captures her arched back, the muscles in her spine tensing as she grinds her clit against your mouth.
"that's it baby. shitâright there. stay there for me."
the audio is muffledâyour gasps for air mixed with her low, steady moans. she's reaching down, her hands tangled in your hair, guiding your head to make sure youâre hitting every spot.
she starts to pick up the pace, her hips moving in a frantic, circular motion. needy and desperate. you can see her hand come into frame, reaching down to pull her own folds open so you can get deeper.
she's vocal now, a "fuck, fuck, fuck" rhythm that matches her movements. the camera shakes as you try to buck upward to meet her.
billie stiffens, her fingers digging into your scalp so hard her knuckles go white. she presses down with everything she has, cutting off your air for a second as she rides out the wave.
the clip ends with her collapsing forward onto your chest, gasping for breath, the camera catching her sweaty, stupid grin.
Clip 10: needy bitch
â Video âč5:12
the phone is held in billie's left hand. the flash is on, creating a high-contrast, cinematic look that highlights every bead of sweat and every drop of moisture.
the frame is filled with the sight of her ringsâheavy, cold silverâslowly parting your folds. you're visible only from the waist down, trembling so hard the bedsheets beneath you are rustling.
but billie didn't like that. she moved her hand to press against your abdomen, stopping you from thrashing around.
"stay fucking still." she commanded and that made you obey against your own will.
when you behaved enough, billie started using her index finger to trace your length, over and over, never quite hitting the center.
the audio is a symphony of your broken whimpers. you hear her voice, a low, sandpaper rasp just off-camera "look how wet you are for me. you're literally dripping, baby. do you want it?"
you hear yourself beg. a soft, pathetic "please, billie," and she just chuckles.
she shifts the camera angle slightly to show her hand moving. in the clear view, her middle fingers are soakedâshowing the camera how fucking easy you are. billie lifted her hand slightly to emphasize your slickness, pressing her middle finger and thumb together before pulling it apart â creating a thin string of your own arousal stretching. she catches the thick, clear pre-cum on her fingertips and brings it back to the frame, smearing it over your clit and deep into your entrance.
"fuckâ" you gasped. billie leaned the camera to the end of the bed and placed her palm over your mouth.
"better stay quiet for me, hm? do you want mom to hear how much of a fucking slut you are?"
oh.
my.
god.
you totally forgot about maggie and patrick and shark who's pawing outside the door.
and you forgot about how thin the walls are. you whined against her palm. there's nothing you can really do. she's stretching you with her thumb, prepping the tight skin, making sure youâre glistening under the red LED light of her room.
she brings the head of the dildo into the frame. strapped onto her. it's huge, veined, and you can see your future limping. she doesn't go in. she just rubs the head against you, catching on your hood, dragging the length of it through your slickness. you're sobbing now, your hips jerking upward instinctively to find her, but she stays just out of reach.
"tell me whose it is," she demands. you can hear her own breath hitching. sheâs just as close as you are.
the camera shakes as she finally commits. she lines herself up and pushesânot fast, but with a steady, crushing weight. the audio captures the loud, wet squelch as the head disappears inside you. your fucking moaned into her palm, a strained note as your body stretches to accommodate her.
she pauses halfway in, letting the camera focus on the way your skin is pulled taut around her base, white-knuckled and pulsing.
the clip ends with her letting out a raspy "fuck, you're so tight," before she slams the rest of the way in, the phone tumbling onto the bed as she grabs your hips to finish you.
Clip 21: stretched
â Video âč6:45
the lighting is professionalâdim warm light from her lamp that make the slickness of your skin look like gloss.
billie has you propped up on a stack of pillows, legs spread so wide it's almost clinical. she's not even touching you yetâshe's just holding the phone inches away from your clit. you see the pulse of your own heart in your folds.
billie's voice is a dark, velvet rasp off-camera "look at that. look how much you're leaking for a piece of plastic. you're literally steaming."
she brings a massive, dark silicone dildo into the frame. it's thick, realistic, and glistening with a fresh coat of lube. she doesn't put it in. she uses the head of it to circle your entrance, catching the strings of your own moisture and stretching them out. she's filming the way your body reaches for it, the way your pussy literally winces and gapes every time the head brushes past.
so fucking needy.
she finally commits. she pushes the head in just an inch and stops. the camera captures the way you're forced to expand, the skin turning a pale, tight pink. she pulls it out with a loud, wet pop and then rams it back in, three inches deeper.
"nngghhâŠ" you whimper a broken, pathetic sound.
billie zooms in closeâyou can see the texture of the silicone disappearing into you.
she whispers, "you're so fucking greedy, princess." as she begins a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm.
"oh my fucking god," you breathed out, accidentally block the view of the camera.
that's when the clip ends.
Clip 27: âïž
â Video âč 5:45
the bed is stripped down to the white sheets, making the flush of your skin and the harsh scratches on billie's thighs stand out in high contrast.
four rounds in when billie decided to try scissoring.
you're both on your sides, legs intertwined in a tight "X" shape. billie has her top leg hooked high over your hip, pinning you down. the camera is zoomed in on the center of the frameâwhere your clits are locked together.
you can see the moisture already pooling between you, creating a shimmering, wet seal. billie is staring at you, her face inches away, her pupils so blown out her eyes look almost black.
she starts a slow, agonizingly heavy grind. it's not about speedâit's about pressure. the audio captures that thick, squelching sound of skin-on-skin friction. every time she pushes upward, you let out a broken whimper.
"yeah, you like that?" billie smirks, her hand reaching down to grab your waist and pull you even tighter against her.
"listen to that," she whispers, her voice vibrating against your lips. "you're so fucking loud for me."
the pace picks up. bad. desperate. billie is breathing in sharp, jagged hitches. you see the muscles in her calves and back tensing as she drives her weight into you.
the friction is creating a visible lather of slickness. you reach out, clawing at her shoulder, your nails leaving fresh red lines. the clip ends with billie biting her lip with her head thrown back to keep herself from screaming as you both hit a crushing, synchronized peak, the camera shaking from the force of her trembling.
Clip 17: my baby
â Video âč 1:45
this isn't a sex tape anymore. itâs a "morning after" video billie filmed while you were asleep in her arms. the lighting is soft morning sun filtering through the blinds.
the camera pans over her own body. her shoulders are covered in purple bite marks, her forearms are a map of long, jagged scabs from your nails. girl looks like sheâs been in a fight with a tiger and happily married her after.
spoiler: the tiger is you
she turns the camera to you, fast asleep and looking completely innocent. she pans back to her own faceâno makeup, tired eyesâand she just shakes her head with that small smile.
billie whispers to the camera, "she's fucking crazy. look at this."
she touches a particularly deep scratch on her bicep and winces slightly, but the smirk never leaves her face.
"i love you so much, angel," she whispers before the clip ends with her leaning over to kiss your forehead.
Synopsis: After weeks of no intimacy due to his demanding schedule you decide to pay Michael a visit at the studio in a short skirt. Oblivious to the effects it has on him you face the consequences.
Tags: dom!michael, sub!reader, slight exhibitionism, doing it standing up, against a wall, oral (fem receiving), fingering, pussy slapping, p in v, rough sex, creampie, orgasm denial.
Word Count: 3.9k
Requested: yes/no
Authorâs Note: Sorry for not being very active these last couple of weeks, uni has started again and it's kicking my butt.
Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist
As you walk through the bustling halls of the studio, your heart swells with anticipation, eager to reunite with your husband amidst his intense recording sessions for his latest album. Despite the excitement, a tinge of concern lingers in your mind, a nagging feeling that something has shifted in his demeanor lately. The late nights and early mornings, the relentless pursuit of perfectionâit's all taken a toll on both of you.
You've noticed the change in him, how he's become more distant, more consumed by the music than ever before. It weighs heavily on his conscience, knowing he's neglecting the one person who means the world to him, you. But amidst the chaos of the studio, with deadlines looming and pressures mounting, finding time for each other has become increasingly challenging.
Determined to lift his spirits and offer some semblance of support, you've made the decision to surprise him at work, hoping to inject a bit of joy into his day. As you approach the door to the recording booth, the familiar sound of his voice washes over you, filling you with warmth and reassurance. Inside, you catch a glimpse of him through the slightly ajar door.
âAlright, Q roll the tape again, letâs move on to the adlibs now,â you hear Michael call out to Quincy Jones, the legendary producer, from the booth. His voice seems slightly strained from being in the studio before the sun was even up.
You watch as he readjusts his headphones on top of his head and clears his throat. The melody starts to play throughout the room and he begins to let the music overtake his body. His passion and dedication is evident in every note he sings. His curls bounce with each movement, his expression focused yet illuminated by the sheer love for his craft.Â
While he does so you look around the room and you spot a familiar face: Janet, sitting on the couch along with a few more people, Michael's colleagues you assume. She suddenly catches your eyes and smiles warmly, gesturing for you to come in and make yourself known. Gently pushing the door open, you enter the room with cautious steps, mindful not to disrupt the creative flow. Taking a seat beside Janet, you exchange greetings and exhale softly, allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of the couch.Â
"I'm surprised Mike didn't tell me you were coming," Janet whispers, her voice tinged with curiosity as she leans in closer to you, her words barely above a whisper in the bustling studio.
A wistful sigh escapes your lips as you gaze across the room at your beloved Michael, his figure immersed in the creative process, unaware of your presence. "I wasn't planning to, I just... needed to see him," you confess, longing evident in your voice as you speak of him.
Janet's expression softens, her hand finding its way to your arm in a gesture of comfort. "I know he's been a little distant lately. He's like that with all of us too. Hasn't even called Mom in a while, she's starting to worry," she confides, her concern mirroring your own.
You nod in understanding, your gaze still fixed on Michael, unable to tear yourself away from him. "You miss him, don't you?" Janet's voice interrupts your reverie. she looks at your outfit, immediately noticing the short skirt youâre wearing. You finally take your eyes off Michael and knit your brows in confusion. Before you can respond, she nudges you lightly with her knee, drawing attention to the tantalizing view of your legs. Heat floods your cheeks as you glance down at your exposed thighs.Â
âOh- itâs, itâs not like thatâ you feel your cheeks heat up as you protest weakly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt in a futile attempt to cover more skin.Â
A mischievous glint dances in Janet's eyes as she smirks knowingly. "Oh, spare me the excuses. It's obvious you two haven't fucked in a while," she teases, earning herself a playful swat from you.
"That may be true, but it's not why I'm wearing this, okay?" you retort, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone. "It's just a cute skirt," you add, though the words sound feeble even to your own ears.
Janet rolls her eyes in mock exasperation, but the teasing light in her gaze softens into understanding. "Whatever you say," she concedes with a knowing smile, letting the matter drop for now.
With a shake of your head, you try to refocus your attention on Michael. When you turn your head towards the booth you find his deep brown eyes already looking at you. A soft smile curves your lips as you wave at him, feeling a flutter of joy in your chest at the sight of his chuckle in response.
As Michael announces a short break over the microphone, Janet nudges you once more, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Taking the hint, you rise from your seat, your heart racing with anticipation as you make your way towards the soundproof booth, eager for a moment of intimacy with your beloved husband.
Passing by Quincy on your way, you exchange a polite greeting which he returns automatically before whipping his head back quickly, his surprise evident as he realizes you've managed to slip past him unnoticed.
As you slip into the soundproof booth with Michael, the outside world fades away, leaving just the two of you cocooned in a bubble of intimacy. With a flick of his wrist, he turns off the microphone, ensuring that your conversation remains private. âIâve missed you,â you whisper and wrap your arms around him, your head snuggling into his chest.Â
He returns the affection, feeling how much youâve been craving his attention that he's unpurposefully depraved you from. Michael returns your affection, pulling you closer, his head resting atop yours as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo, a comforting reminder of home amidst the chaos of the studio. "I know, baby, I'm sorry for neglecting you these past few weeks. You know how hectic it gets here sometimes," he murmurs into your hair, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back.
You nod in understanding and exhale. The tension of your separation melting away in his arms. "I'm happy you came," he adds, his voice filled with genuine warmth, and you can't help but smile at the sincerity in his words.
"Good, I was worried. Didn't want to distract you too much," His response is a playful squeeze of your waist, accompanied by a tsk. "You could never, sweetheart," he counters, his affectionate gaze lingering on you.
"Although your little get-up might distract somebody else here," he remarks, his voice dropping to a deeper, more suggestive tone. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as you lean back slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes trace over your body, settling on your short skirt, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you realize his intentions. You can see his pupils dilating even in the dim space. You try to release yourself from his arms to pull down your skirt but before you can do that, he tightens his grip around you, preventing your escape.Â
"Not so fast, baby. You'll have some explaining to do when we get home," he teases, a playful glint in his eyes. "I knew how desperate you can get after not being touched for a bit, but I didn't expect you to prance around here in your tiny skirt, trying to make me jealous," he continues, his tone sending shivers down your spine and causing you to press your thighs together instinctively.
"What? No, no, Michael, I'm notâ" you begin to protest, but he cuts you off by cocking his head to the side.
 "Shh, didn't you notice how they were looking at you?" he murmurs, tilting his head toward the glass window. Your eyes follow his gaze, catching the embarrassed glances of his producers before they hastily avert their eyes, and you flush with embarrassment, realizing the unintended consequences of your outfit choice. âPractically drooling over you like perverts.â
As you turn back to face Michael, his gaze pierces through you, sending a shiver down your spine. "Thought you could rile me up, hm?" he challenges, his voice dripping with a potent mixture of authority and desire. You open your mouth to respond, but your mind is too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation pulsing between your thighs. God, youâve missed his touch so much. Missed him fucking you spineless on your shared bed over and over again. Your mind drifts and you can almost feel the weight of him atop you, stretching you on his meaty cock. You can practically feel his tip rubbing against your clit deliciously.
Reality snaps you back to the present as Michael's strong hands grip your hips, pinning you against a secluded corner of the booth, a blind spot hidden from prying eyes. "I asked you a question, didn't I? Or have you forgotten your manners?" he demands, his fingers firm against your jaw as he lifts your gaze to meet his.
Stuttering, you struggle to gather your thoughts, your arousal evident in the flush of your cheeks and the erratic beat of your heart. "Aw, poor baby," he coos, his tone teasing yet tinged with a hint of affection, "can't even string a few words together." You whimper in frustration, attempting to focus amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, but the slickness between your legs betrays your desire.
"...Didn't wear it on purpose," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. Michael grins, bringing his face tantalizingly close to yours, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Speak up, sweet girl. Can't hear you," he taunts.
Your gaze drifts to the exposed skin of his neck, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt a tempting invitation for your hungry eyes. You repeat yourself once more, this time slightly louder for him to hear which satisfies him. "What am I supposed to do with you, hm? I thought you were my good girl, wanted to spoil you for being so patient, but you've ruined that for yourself now," he muses, his tone laced with a mixture of disappointment and arousal.
 you look at him with needy eyes as you hear the word spoil. âIâll be good, I promise,â you plead.
"Of course you will, or else I'll worsen the punishment," he warns. Before you can react, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall and hiking up your skirt to your waist. Gasping at the sudden change, you look over your shoulder but he groans and twists your head back towards the wall. âBe good,â he commands and sinks down to his knees.
Michael's breath hitches as his gaze falls upon your panties, dampened by your arousal. With a knowing smirk, he nudges your legs apart, revealing the tantalizing fabric clinging to your folds. "So predictable," he muses silently to himself, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit. A whimper escapes your lips, followed by the urgent bucking of your hips, desperate for more friction. He grumbles in response, delivering a firm spank to your pussy, eliciting a yelp from you as you jolt forward, your face pressed into the wall.
"Don't be greedy," he admonishes.
Hooking his fingers at the sides of your panties, he slowly pulls them down your trembling legs, stuffing them into his pocket without hesitation. Leaning closer, he spreads your cheeks, his gaze fixated on your soaked cunt. He licks his lips in anticipation before planting heated kisses on the skin, tantalizingly close to where you crave him most. You fight the urge to beg for more, knowing it will only lead to the opposite of what you need.
Without uttering a word, he wraps his full lips around your throbbing clit, sucking it into his mouth with precision and pulling away with a pop. A whimper escapes your lips as you press your palms against the wall, your body trembling with anticipation. Praying that nobodyâs trying to sneak a peek.
Michael watches intently as your sensitive nub pulses under his ministrations, his own desire threatening to consume him. He dives back and flicks his tongue against the slick bundle of nerves. He sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your breath hitching with each exquisite sensation.
Lost in the bliss of the moment, Michael savors the taste of you on his tongue. Lapping at your glossy folds with his eyes closed. The sweet yet tangy flavor makes him dizzy and for a moment, he entertains the thought of forgetting about the naughty little skirt, abandoning all restraint, and indulging in the primal urge to make you cum over and over again.
But the sound of your sweet whines snaps him back to reality, reminding him of the delicate balance between pleasure and control. Reluctantly detaching his mouth from your throbbing clit, he shifts his weight onto his calves.Â
"Please... fuck, please, Michael," you plead, your words tinged with desperation and arousal, the fear of being discovered only adding to the intensity of the moment. Making you unable to string coherent sentences together.Â
"What did I say, hm?" His voice is a low growl. "Is it that difficult to follow simple rules, or are you being bad on purpose?" Another sharp slap lands on your drooling cunt, eliciting a cry of both pain and pleasure from you.
You shake your head, unable to trust your voice as you struggle to maintain your composure. Your legs tremble involuntarily, aching to close, but you know better than to disobey so you keep them spread. Michael, ever the attentive lover, notices the tension in your body and grins in satisfaction.
With deliberate care, he brings his right hand to your twitching inner thighs, his touch soft and soothing against your heated skin. The gentle caresses help to calm your racing heartbeat, even as the anticipation continues to build. Meanwhile, he palms his hard cock through his trousers, the friction adding to the heat of the moment.
His fingers move with practiced ease, scissoring against your warm, gooey walls, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your eyes roll back into your skull as your pussy greedily sucks his fingers deeper, desperate for the long-awaited stimulation it craves.
Oh, how much you've missed this. While you've tried to satisfy your desires in the past weeks, desperately rubbing your clit raw, nothing compares to the feeling of being touched by him. And now that your poor neglected pussy is finally receiving some much needed attention you canât help but gush around his fingers. The wet squelching noises only serve to heighten the euphoric sensation.
You bite your lip to suppress the filthy noises threatening to escape your mouth, determined to maintain your composure. Despite the overwhelming pleasure, you resist the urge to look back at Michael, to look at his face as he pleases you, so you try to be a good girl, you keep your eyes fixed on the wall in front of you. Your hand trembles as you contemplate whether or not youâre allowed to play with your puffy pearl thatâs aching for some loving.Â
As his gaze locks onto your wandering hand, inching dangerously close to your center, he delivers a stern warning: "Don't even think about it." You whimper in frustration, complying by bringing that hand under your shirt to play with your tender breasts, seeking some form of relief from the overwhelming arousal coursing through your body.
He continues to revel in the moment, his eyes glued on your glistening cunt, betraying the depth of his desire. Despite his stoic exterior, he's missed you more than words can convey. Countless times, he's found himself excusing himself from the studio to silently relieve his pent-up longing, imagining the sensation of stretching your pretty hole. Yet, afterwards instead of the satisfying sight of his release dripping out of you, he was met with the sight of his sticky cum on the floor.
Glancing down at his stiff cock, straining against the fabric of his trousers, he realizes he's reached his limit. Heâs been holding himself back from ripping your clothes off from the second you walked into the booth with that adorable smile. With your slick coating his palm, he decides he can't wait any longer.Â
Though you pout from the sudden lack of stimulation, the sound of him rising to his full height, his warm minty breath tickling your ears, sends shivers down your spine. Then, the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone and shuffling fills the air, followed by the sensation of his leaking tip at your entrance.
You gasp as his precum smears across your folds, mingling with your own juices in a tantalizing blend. His hand wraps around his fat length and guides his bulbous tip up and down your slick slit with agonizing slowness. With deliberate care, he pulls back his foreskin, revealing his sensitive cockhead to your needy heat, a silent promise of the pleasure to come.
His palm presses against the wall in front of your face, a silent command for you to lean into it. It's not the first time he's taken you against a wall like this, but this time feels different, more tender, knowing how fervently he's going to take you in just a moment. The juxtaposition drives you crazy. He steals a quick glance at the window, ensuring that no prying eyes are watching, before returning his full attention to you.
With a swift, fluid movement, he invades your tight hole, burying more and more of his meaty cock inside you without giving you a moment to adjust. As he fully sinks into you, his coily pubic hair brushing against your cheeks, he snakes his other arm around your middle, pulling you closer to him in a possessive embrace.
In no time, he's slamming his hips against yours with a fervor that leaves you gasping, your mouth hanging open in a silent plea for more. Your hands scramble to grasp onto him for support, seeking some anchor amidst the overwhelming sensation of being filled to the brim with his massive cock. Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, the slight sting of his size stretching you to your limits mixing with the electrifying pulse of desire. Heavy balls slap against your clit as you hold onto the last bits of your dignity, before turn into a moaning mess for him.Â
"Missed me, sweet girl?" His gravelly voice whispers right behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine and making your eyes flutter. You nuzzle your face against his hand, lips brushing against his skin in a tender gesture of affection, even amidst the raw intensity of your coupling. With each snap of his hips, your body surges forward, surrendering to the pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely. As you trail kisses up his forearm, he smiles at the gesture, goodness you make it so hard to stay mad at you.Â
With his front pressed firmly against your back, he continues his relentless assault on your eager body, his cock plunging into your slick walls with a merciless rhythm that leaves you powerless to resist. Uninhibited, pornographic moans spill from your lips, echoing in the dimly lit room as he drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. His movements grow more animalistic, his groans mingling with yours as he presses kisses to the nape of your neck, stoking the flames of desire that threaten to consume you both.
"Of course you did," he taunts, his words laced with a mixture of amusement and arousal as he notices your legs beginning to give way beneath you. "Look at youâŠcan barely stand on your own two feet."
Your high pitched whines ring in his ears, the unmistakable scent of sex hanging heavy in the air as your pussy clenches around his thick cock, craving release. his veins dragging deliciously against your warm walls, molding your cunny back to his shape. Whilst he pounds his shaft in and out of you with each roll of his hips his round balls slap against your pulsing nub. intensifying the stinging sensation that drives you closer to the brink of orgasm.
"Mi-Michael, I'm closeâŠoh god, fuck, gonna cumâŠ" you manage to choke out between ragged moans, your entire body trembling with the impending release. Your eyebrows furrow, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure threatens to consume you entirely, your nails digging into his skin in a desperate attempt to ground yourself amidst the ecstasy.
"Gonna stuff you full of my cum, is that what you want?" His voice is deeper now, laced with a primal urgency that matches the frantic pace of his thrusts. You nod eagerly, your breath coming in short gasps as you cling to him, your entire being consumed by the need for release. "YesâŠyes, pleaseâŠ"
Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, you feel the hot spurts of his cum painting your walls, each thick glob of creamy seed filling you up completely, leaving no empty space as his essence dribbles out of you and down his balls, creating a sticky mess. âGodâŠsuch a pretty pussy, yeah, thatâs it baby, take it.â His groans of pleasure echo in the room as he sloppily thrusts, your cunt milking him fully before he finally pulls out, his cock softening.
As he pants behind you, his breath tickling your neck, you squeeze around nothing, whimpering in confusion. Ignoring his cum oozing out of you, you finally dare to turn your head around. You watch in a daze as he stuffs his wet cock, your slick still clinging to his skin, back into his boxers and pulls up his trousers.
"...What...I-" you stutter, trying to clear your head, only for him to cut you off with a mocking pout and chuckle.
"What, baby? You thought I was gonna let you cum?" He smirks and fixes his hair. Looking so infuriatingly composed as if he hadn't just rocked your world while leaving you a disheveled mess with his seed leaking down your inner thighs.
"But, but you-" you start again, but he interrupts, turning you around carefully and pulling your skirt down lower than it was previously.
"None of that, don't be ungrateful. You're gonna tell me you didn't like getting your sweet pussy stretched, hm?" His tone is teasing yet firm as he tries to make you look as presentable as possible.
"I did, I just thought you'd...you know..." Your words trail off as you struggle to ground yourself, your gaze meeting his through half-lidded eyes.
"Thought I'd let you cum?" You weakly nod in response, swallowing hard.
"Foolish girl," he murmurs, his lips quirking into a small frown as you squeeze your thighs together, still feeling your clit throbbing for release.
"Come on now, let's go. I'll teach you a real lesson when we get home." He wraps his arm around your body, patting his pocket to check for your panties, not wanting Quincy to find them again and scold him like last time.
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