every love note, late-night confession, and Michael Jackson daydream I’ve written so far.
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✧ requests: open 🫶🏾
✧ current eras: otw, thriller, bad, dangerous, history, invincible, mature
✧ note: I don’t always write requests in order, but I promise each one is seen and appreciated. I like to follow the ideas that spark first so every request gets its sweetest version. For now, this is mostly a Michael blog, but if inspiration ever taps me on the shoulder for someone else, I may follow it 😂💗
summary: you had prepared yourself for almost every outcome, except losing your best friend. michael’s rejection leaves more questions than answers, transforming the easy companionship you once shared into unbearable silence. as life on tour goes on, both of you are forced to confront the consequences of a single conversation, proving that sometimes the greatest acts of love can look exactly like heartbreak.
cw: angst, mdni, emotional hurt, unrequited love (not really), miscommunication, rejection, jealousy, pining, pet names, lots of crying, smut, p in v, oral, dirty talk, creampie, eventual happy ending
wc: 5k
Most of the crew had already packed their things and gone to rest for the night. The faint scent of hairspray lingered in the air as Michael sat in front of the mirror, pulling the tape away from his fingers. You packed away your brushes as Michael’s soft voice reached your ears, “You don’t hafta rush, not in any hurry.” You forced a smile despite that knot forming in your stomach. “I know… tonight's show was amazing as usual, Mikey.” Michael turned his head slightly and gave you a crooked smile.
“Couldn’t have done it without you guys.” You smiled softly, that was Michael. He always appreciated the people around him and stayed humble. “Thanks, Mikey.” Silence settled between you guys, which wasn’t unusual. As your friendship grew, you’d gotten comfortable with silence. Some nights you would sit there and talk about anything going on in your lives. And other nights you would say nothing at all, content with each other's presence.
Tonight, though, there was a pit deep in your stomach. The type of butterflies you would get before telling your high school crush, but much more serious. Michael was your boss. Confessing could ruin your whole career, but the time you spent together this past year gave you no doubt that he had feelings for you also. The lingering touches, the late-night talks, the smiles he reserved just for you.
You remember the night you called your friend just to make sure. Of course you wanted a second opinion just in case. You made sure to tell her everything that's happened this past year, and she wholeheartedly agreed with you to take the chance. Worst case, Michael wasn’t the type to fire you over a confession. It would be… awkward, and your heart would be broken, but you’re a big girl. You could get through it…right? You set your makeup bag on the counter and took a deep breath before turning around. Your mouth suddenly felt dry. This was the moment you’d spent weeks rehearsing in your head, but every speech you practiced vanished.
“Michael?”
“Hm?”
“I… need to tell you somethin’.”
He looked up through the mirror and noticed the tremble in your voice, scrunching his eyebrows in worry. He asked, “You ok, beautiful? You’re lookin’ real nervous.” Your stomach erupted in butterflies at the endearment. He had no idea what he did to you. Michael turned in his chair to fully face you. “What’s wrong, hm?”
“Mikey… I’m tired of pretendin’ that I don't feel somethin’ for you.” His eyebrows knitted together. “I love you.” You kept your head down, too nervous and scared to see his reaction. “This past year, the more I got to know you, the more I fell in love with you. You’re such an incredible person…” You finally lifted your gaze, and you expected anything but this. Michael had the most blank expression on his face. The room became impossibly still. His eyes drifted to the door, and seconds passed. His expression softened, but he didn’t smile. Your heart felt like it stopped beating for a second.
Michael looked down at his hands, and when he finally spoke, his voice barely rose above a whisper. “I’m sorry.” You tried searching his face, waiting for him to say anything else. But he wouldn’t even look you in the eye.
“What does that mean? I’m sorry?” He stood up from his chair and avoided your eyes as he gathered his jacket, draped over the back of the chair. “It means exactly as it sounds. I’m sorry, but I don't feel the same way.” Your heart dropped, and your eyes started to sting from the tears gathering in your eyes.
“Mikey… please.”
Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand through his curls. “Why did you have to tell me?” The question felt like a knife digging deeper into your chest as you struggled to find the right words. Your lips started to tremble from you holding back your tears. You had never seen Michael so… cold.
“I couldn’t keep pretendin’. I thought you would have felt the same way.”
“Well, I wish you had kept pretendin’.”
You felt your heartbreak into two. “Why would you say that? You’re not even gonna talk about this with me?” Michael shook his head and didn’t say anything for a sec. Usually the silence between you two was comfortable, but now it felt suffocating.
“Y/N… we both have a job to do. I’m on tour. I don’t have time for this right now. I’m sorry.”
You were so confused. Michael looked pained as he said this, but his words were absolute. Feeling emotionally drained and exhausted, you let out a shaky breath. “That’s all you have to say?” You whispered. “I thought we were closer than that. Michael, you’re treating me like a… stranger.”
His jaw tightened, but he never looked at you. “Please,” he murmured. You studied his face, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It seemed like he was trying to mask his emotions, and quite frankly, it pissed you off. Because how dare he treat you like he wasn’t your best friend? This was the same man who used to call you when he couldn’t sleep. The same man who told you his greatest fears. You've fallen asleep on his shoulder more times than you could count. He had become your home. You guys built a bond, but now he can just throw your feelings away like trash. I guess you weren’t as close as you thought you guys were. You understood if he didn’t like you back, but… you weren’t expecting him to be this harsh.
“Please, what?” Your voice cracked as tears streamed down your face. “Please pretend none of this happened?” Fuck… you didn’t want to cry and seem weak. But your heart hurt so bad, you truly loved Michael. He’s one of the nicest people who made you feel seen, at least you thought so.
Michael swallowed hard, as his fingers curled into fists at his side. “Please, don’t make this any harder.” You stared at him, trying to find the man you knew. The one who always found the right words and who never wanted to see you cry. But the man in front of you felt like a stranger.
“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll forget this ever happened… say it.” His expression faltered for the smallest moment. Michael's lips parted, and his throat bobbed, the silence was deafening.
“I don’t love you.”
The words hit harder than you expected, your chest felt heavy. All you could do was just stare at him, waiting for him to tell you this was all a joke. Waiting for him to pull you into a hug and caress your hair after he said something stupid. But he didn’t. Michael’s eyes were glued to the floor, he couldn’t even look you in the eye. You scoffed and let out a shaky exhale, you couldn’t even comprehend what was happening.
“I’m such a fuckin’ idiot.” You gave a slow nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your vision blurred until Michael became nothing more than a dark silhouette standing a few feet away. “I won’t make this harder for you.” As you stepped around him, your shoulder brushed his. You didn’t look back.
After the dressing room door clicked shut behind you, Michael stood frozen until your footsteps disappeared down the hallway. The second you knew you weren’t able to hear him, he slowly slid down in the seat at the mirror. He pressed both of his hands down his face and let out a broken sob. “I'm sorry, please don't hate me,” he whispered into the empty room.
The truth was, he loved you. He loved you so much that he thought pushing you away would protect you. He had watched people he cared about become headlines. Strangers suddenly believed that they knew everything about his life, every person beside him became another story to sell. The thought of you going through that made him feel sick. He should have kept his distance the day you joined tour, he knew that. Instead, you became the person he spent his late nights with. Somewhere along the way… you became home.
୨୧ ───────── ୨୧
It would have been easier if he’d acted like you didn’t exist, that would have made it hurt less. But now and then you would catch him looking out of the corner of your eye. It was never long, but long enough to have made your heart ache. Then came the night he spoke to you for the first time in weeks.
Backstage was a chaotic mess after the show, everyone was ready to get back to the hotel and unwind after a stressful day. As you were walking out of the makeup room, someone bumped into your shoulder, making you spill your makeup bag. “Sorry!” Before you could answer them, they disappeared into the sea of people. “You have got to be kiddin’.” You let out a long breath of frustration and bent down to pick up the fallen items.
“You ok?”
You froze and stopped what you were doing. Of all the people to stop and ask, it had to be him. Hesitating, you slowly looked up. His curls were messy around his face, and sweat still covered his face from the heat of the stage lights. Michael was already kneeling down and carefully gathering the scattered brushes. “You really don’t have to, Michael.” You kept a blank face, not wanting to let him know how much this was affecting you.
“It’s ok,” he murmured, his eyes staying on the floor instead of looking up at you. You weren’t surprised. The silence between you felt heavier than it ever did, even with the busy walkway, people walking by. He reached for the last brush and handed it to you. “Here.”
“Thanks.” You slipped it into your makeup bag without meeting his eyes. Adjusting the strap over your shoulder, you stood up. And for a moment, it looked like Michael wanted to say something, his lips parted, but nothing came out. “Goodnight…” was all he managed before he turned on his heel and walked away.
You felt the sting of tears reach your eyes. Before anyone could see, you quickly rushed into a side room and closed the door. The moment the door clicked shut, the strength you’d spent weeks pretending to have vanished. Your knees gave out beneath you, and you slid down the door until you were sitting on the cold floor.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to soothe all the pain away. “Why?” Your voice was barely audible. You never would have thought heartbreak would feel like this. Your breathing became uneven as you tried to control the pent-up emotions that were about to spill out. A broken sob escaped your lips as you buried your face against your knees. Your chest hurt so bad, it felt impossible that a heart couldn’t actually break. “I hate this,” you whispered between uneven breaths.
୨୧ ───────── ୨୧
Michael stood frozen at the end of the hallway long after you disappeared. He had seen the tears in your eyes, he had seen you try to keep it together, and he had seen you go into the room. He stared at the closed door; every part of him wanted to follow you and comfort you. To tell you the truth. Instead, he lowered his head and walked the other direction. Loving you had never been the hard part, but letting go was.
୨୧ ───────── ୨୧
The next week wasn’t any easier, things just kept getting worse. Every rehearsal ended the same way, Michael and Tatiana stood together near the stage. They were quietly discussing something, while the rest of the crew packed up around them. You stood off the side of the stage, trying to make yourself smaller. Why did you have to torture yourself? It hurt to see them laugh together. Your jaw flexed as you watched her raise her hand and softly touch his arm. She did that a lot. You could tell Michael wasn’t into it, he would always give her the polite smile. So why did it bother you so much?
Why did it feel like someone was slowly twisting a knife deeper into your chest every time you looked their way? You tried to avoid it and bury yourself in work, but it only worked so much. You volunteered for extra touch-ups with the background singers, anything to keep your eyes off of him. But at the end of the day, when your head hit the pillow, there was only one person on your mind. It never worked.
୨୧ ───────── ୨୧
One evening, rehearsals wrapped up just before midnight. The hallway outside Michael’s dressing room was almost empty as you rounded the corner. Just as you walked past, the door to the dressing room opened, and Tatiana stepped out first, laughing softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Michael smiled. “See you tomorrow.”
His smile disappeared the second his eyes landed on you. Tatiana glanced between the two of you, feeling the tension, she quickly excused herself. The hallway fell silent as you two stared at each other. You should have walked away and acted as if none of this bothered you. But of course your mouth caught up to you before your brain did.
“So that's why, huh?”
“What?” Michael had the nerve to look confused. A bitter laugh escaped you as you turned to leave. “C’mon, don’t do that,” he called after you. Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag. “Do what, Michael?” He took a slow, cautious step toward you.
“Talk to me, girl.”
You let out a disbelieving scoff as you looked at him. “Talk to you? You haven’t talked to me in over a month.”
“That’s not-”
“No.” Your voice cracked as tears started to fill your eyes. “You don’t get to do this to me and pretend everything’s ok now.” His expression fell as his eyes trailed across your face. “I see you every day, Michael…” You swallowed as you felt yourself start to choke up. “I see you laughing. I see you smiling. I see you spending every second with her. How am I supposed to feel?”
His jaw tightened. “She’s just…”
“I don’t care!” Your voice echoed down the hallway. You hadn’t meant to yell, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. “You pushed me away, and you replaced me.” Your eyes burned, and your vision started to blur, which you were thankful for. Those big doe eyes did something to you, made you weak.
“I didn’t replace you…”
“You did, Michael!” Your voice broke completely, you felt so hopeless. How can he just sit there and say he didn’t separate himself from you? “You asked for another makeup artist and won’t even look at me.” His breathing got heavier, and you saw his lashes glistened before a tear finally spilled over. “You acted like I never mattered.”
“Please, stop…” You watched as a single tear dropped down his cheek. “You know what hurts the most?” For the first time in weeks, you looked him directly in the eyes. “It’s realizing… how easy it was for you to move on.” Michael looked away as his chest rose sharply. “You think this is easy?” His voice was barely a whisper
“You have no idea…” His hands shook as he ran them through his curls. Michael kept his head down for a good second, and when he looked back up, you could see the pain in his eyes. “You think I wanted this? You want to know why?” His voice cracked as more tears slowly slid down his face. “I pushed you away because every single day I woke up terrified.”
“Terrified that one day you’d wake up and realize loving me meant giving up your own life.” All you could do was stare at him in disbelief. “I watched what this world did to the people around me. I couldn’t let it do that to you.” You were unable to speak, not knowing what emotions you were dealing with right now.
“I thought if I made you hate me…” His breathing became uneven as he tried to gather his words. “...you’d have a chance to be happy.” Michael looked up at you with complete heartbreak. “It didn’t work because… I still love you.” Silence stretched between you two as his words hung in the air.
Your chest tightened so hard it hurt. Part of you wanted to run into his arms, the other part was furious. How dare he? You laughed once, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “That’s it?” Michael frowned and looked at you in desperation. “What?”
“You tell me you still love me and expect that to fix everything?”
“Y/N…”
Your voice was quiet this time, too emotionally drained. “So you loved me this entire time… and still decided what was best for me.” His mouth opened, but no words came.
“You never asked me what I wanted.” Tears slipped down your cheeks again as you grasped the front of your shirt. “You decided I’d be happier without you and decided that I couldn’t handle it.” Every word that came out of your mouth made him shrink a little more.
“I would’ve chosen you, Michael.” The words came out choked as you held back your sobs. “I would’ve chosen all of it. The rumors. The cameras. The pressure. Every single ugly part of your life.”
You picked up your bag off the floor and studied him. “I still love you too.” His head snapped up, and his eyes widened. “But right now, I don’t know if that’s enough.” You walked past him, and for a second it looked like he might reach for your hand. He didn’t. The hallway echoed with your footsteps until he couldn’t hear them anymore.
୨୧ ───────── ୨୧
The hotel room felt suffocating as you sat on the edge of the mattress. You hadn’t even bothered to turn on all the lights, only the small lamp beside the bed lit up the room. Your shoes had been kicked off somewhere near the door. You stared blankly at the floor as Michael’s words replayed in your head.
“I still love you.”
A sharp knock echoed through the hotel room. It was nearly one in the morning. Another knock echoed through the silent room. Slowly, you stood and made your way to the door. You opened the door, not even checking the peephole. The second you pulled it open, your breath caught. There stood Michael, his curls were messy, like he’d been running his hands through them for hours. His eyes were swollen and red. He looked exhausted.
At first, neither of you spoke, you simply stared at each other. “Hi,” he whispered. Your grip tightened on the doorknob as you tried to keep your face neutral. “What are you doing here?” He swallowed, and you could see his fingers flexing at his side. “I know you probably don't wanna see me.”
“You think?”
His eyes fell to the floor. “I deserve that.”
“I didn't come because I expect you to forgive me.” He looked up into your eyes, and your breath caught. Those eyes… always had you in a trance. “I came because… I couldn’t let you go to sleep thinking I wasn’t going to fight for you.” You looked away before he could see the shine in your eyes again.
“I spent weeks convincing myself that pushing you away was the right thing.” Michael’s laugh was weak and broken. “Tonight, I realized I never even gave you the chance to decide.” Your heart was beating hard as you looked at his crestfallen expression.
“You were right.” He looked at you again, his eyes were glossy. “I took that choice away from you.” The hallway fell quiet as you thought about his words. “I was so scared of ruining your life that I never stopped to think maybe loving me was a choice you deserved to make yourself.” The tears you’d fought so hard to stop threatened to return. Hearing him admit it made your heart ache even more.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight… just asking you to let me tell you I’m sorry.” Your hand remained on the door, every instinct screamed to shut it. To protect yourself. But when you looked up at him, he wasn’t the superstar that everyone adored. He was just Michael, the person that you learned was home. After what felt like forever, you stepped aside and let him in. “Thank you,” he whispered. Without another word, he stepped inside.
Michael remained near the door, unsure whether he should sit or continue standing. The distance between you felt impossibly small and unbearably large all at once. You sat on the edge of the bed, and he took that as an invitation. He slowly walked over and sat next to you. You watched as he nervously rubbed his knees with his large palms.
You looked at him for a long moment before speaking again. “When you left… I kept telling myself that if you loved me enough, you’d come back.” Michael’s eyes closed as he grasped his knees. He then took a deep breath and turned to face you. You looked up, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t hurt to look at his beautiful face. He grasped your hands in his and rubbed his thumbs across the back of your hand. “I know, baby. I was an idiot, and I’ll spend every day showing you how much I love you.”
A tear slipped down your cheek as you slowly lifted your hand to his cheek. “I’m still angry at you,” you whispered. “I know, mama.” He leaned into your touch as his eyes fluttered shut. “But I missed you so much.” His breathing hitched as his eyes darted down to your lips. “You have no idea how much I missed you, every second of the day, my mind was on you. Especially lying in bed at night alone,” he whispered. The confession hung between you too, and finally the silence was comfortable. His eyes searched yours as if asking for permission without saying a word. You answered by closing the distance, your forehead rested gently against his.
Michael’s fingers settled against your side softly. You leaned forward and gently pressed your lips against his. The kiss deepened, a low hum escaped his mouth as your lips parted slightly, letting him taste you. You grew more confident, the kiss grew more confident, more heated. Michael pushed you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. He pulled back from the kiss and stared down at you, his eyes soft. You looked up at him, his soft curls framing his face. He looked like an angel. “Is this ok?” He murmured. You nodded breathlessly, “Yes, please, I want all of you, Mikey.”
He groaned as his fingers softly trailed the skin of your ribcage. “I don’t think I can hold back, mama.”
“Then don’t.”
And with that, his hands found the hem of your shirt, tugging it upwards and over your head in one smooth motion. Michael tossed the shirt aside, as his eyes roamed over your exposed breasts. The hunger in his eyes made you clench your legs together, feeling that throb of need. He then leans down and closes his mouth around one of your nipples, warm and wet. His tongue swirls slow circles around it, making you gasp and thread your fingers through his curls. “Oh, Mikey…”
A low moan rumbles in his chest as he sucks gently at first, then with more pressure. His other hand kneads your other bare breast, while he switches to the other nipple, teeth grazing lightly before soothing it with his tongue. Michael then leaned back on his knees and gazed down at your body. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” You couldn’t help the blush that appeared on your face. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his broad shoulders and beautiful skin. You took your hand and gently caressed it down his stomach, watching his body shudder. “I could say the same thing about you.”
Michael gave you a crooked smile and hooked his thumbs into his waistband, pulling down his pants and boxers at the same time. His impressive cock sprang free, smacking against his stomach. You couldn’t help but gawk at his size, he was bigger than you expected. He slowly slid off your shorts and raised his eyebrows in surprise at seeing you had no panties on. You smiled shyly and shrugged, “Sometimes it's more comfortable.” He chuckled as he lay on his stomach and settled between your thighs. Michael looked up at you through his eyelashes and smirked, “I’ve been wanting to taste you for a long time now.”
He took his large hands and spread open your thighs. Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against your slick pussy. His tongue swirled over your clit before dipping lower to taste your entrance. “Fuck, Mikey… that’s so good.” You push his head gently toward your pussy. He groaned against your sensitive folds, the vibration sent a jolt of pleasure through your clit. Encouraged by the sounds of your moans, he sucked firmly on your clit, his tongue flicking rapid circles, while one gripped your thigh to keep you spread open. Michael lapped up your wetness eagerly as he felt your thighs start to tremble. Your breathing quickened as his tongue worked faster. His tongue sucked your clit, as his thumb found your entrance, rubbing tight circles. “Mikey… yes, right there.” You feel your release come in a big wave as he greedily drinks up your cum and licks you through your orgasm. He lifts his head, face flushed and slick with your arousal.
“Did you like me eatin’ that pussy, mama?” You nodded, unable to find words. Without pausing, he sits up and aligns his thick cock at your dripping entrance. “You want this cock?” You nodded.
“No, I need your words, baby.”
“Yes, I want it so bad.”
“Good, girl.” He sinks in deep with one smooth thrust, making you cry out. His cock stretches you wide, hitting something deep inside that makes your vision blur. Michael groaned at the tight, wet heat wrapping around him. “Your pussy feels so good around my cock, mama.” He started to move immediately, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in with a wet slap of flesh on flesh.
His hands grab your hips, tilting you up to take his cock deeper, thrusting hard and fast, making the bed shake slightly. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head as the head of his cock hit that spongy spot deep in your pussy. “You’re so deep, baby.”
“Mhm… you like that?” He glanced down between your bodies, a groan tearing from his throat at the sight of your creamy arousal coating the length of his cock. The visual makes him fuck you harder, his hips snapping against yours. “Fuck, you're creamin’ on this dick, baby.” Your wetness creates obscene squelching sounds with every thrust, your cream turning into a white frothy ring at the base of his cock.
He can feel your walls fluttering around his cock, your breaths coming out ragged. “You gonna cum around this dick?”
“Yes, yes…” You could barely get the words out, the pleasure consuming you. He leans, and buries his face in your neck, as he fucks you harder. Your orgasm reaches the surface as you let go and cum around his cock. “Fuck, yes!” Your fingernails claw at his back as your cream gushes out around his shaft, soaking his cock and balls completely. You feel his hips stutter for a second. “Oh, baby, that feels so good… comin’ on my dick like that.”
“Where do you want this cum?”
“Inside, please!” He groans at your whimpering surrender, his head and eyes rolled back as he finally breaks. A low groan escapes him as ropes of white-hot cum shoot deep inside your pussy. He gives shallow pumps as he fills you to the brim, his cum spilling back out around his cock. Michael slowly pulls out, a wet rush of fluids following. He immediately gathers your trembling body into his arms, pulling you flush against his chest. Pressing soft kisses against your forehead, he asks, “You ok, mama?”
A smile tugged at your lips. “Yes, I’m ok, Mikey,” you whispered. Michael leaned forward, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead. His eyes closed, a content smile finding a way to his face. “I love you so much,” the words barely louder than a breath. You smiled and cuddled up to his side. “I love you too.”
You guys stayed wrapped in each other's arms, and stayed that way as the outside world faded away. There was nowhere else you wanted to be, and for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at home.
a/n: sorry this took so long guys :( life got a little busy. the ending kinda feels rushed to me but i hope you guys enjoy regardless 🫶🏽
genre: fluff, one shot, bad era!mj, employer and employee relationship
content: michael was getting ready for the ‘bad’ tour but he’s not all that bad when he comes across his assertive yet extremely attractive makeup artist who managed to disarm him so easily with her charm and calm disposition.
word count: ~2k
warnings: flirting, ngl kinda unprofessional, vitiligo mentioned, fem!reader, kinda softdom/assertive reader, set in the 80s, reader has a pixie cut (inspired by princess diana, linda evangelista and halle berry), no race specified for reader, NOT PROOFREAD
original request by @sparkleyuki
a/n: i had to wrack my brain and do some research for this cuz idk how people looked in the 80s, really sorry if the reader's description is basic or inaccurate. i’ve always wanted to do a short haired reader fic and i still plan on doing one focused on it in the future but this was fun. i also dk much about makeup and it probably shows. idk how backstage in concerts work either. please keep in mind i don’t mean to hurt anyone with vitiligo and this fic isn’t a slight to michael at all.
tags: @brownsugarletters @hannimite @cermoore @miratate @liberiangirl7 @izzyy8 @botdfaholic @stormatsea6 @bloodyellenlost @naturallykae @backupschmuck @thabiddie23 @mal3volentr0se @mjfan4ever @wisejudgedragonhairdo @gingerrsnapp @hyacinthmelliot @waywardgirl83 @kalista-101 @izkzauyloitz @luzziii-luvv @domfikeluva @navydotz (dm me if you wanna be in a taglist for the future or if you wanna opt out! so sorry if I missed anyone)
“Michael! You’re up for makeup.” one of the stage hands called out to him. “Alright, thanks.” Michael looked up briefly to respond while he adjusted his wrestler belt. The ‘Bad’ tour commenced, it was his first time going on a tour without his brothers on stage with him. His body thrummed with nervous energy but he was still excited to perform for his fans- fans who showed up and filled enormous venues for just him. The atmosphere backstage was hectic yet exhilarating, everyone was working together to make sure everything was functioning smoothly like running soundchecks, training vocals, configuring lighting rigs, setting up instruments and practicing dance routines. All these people were working with him to deliver the best night to his dedicated fans, and for a few seconds Michael stood there to soak it all in.
Michael started his trip to the dressing room, the buckles and zips on his stage fit jingled as he walked, tight and glossy curls bounced with each step. He took off his facial mask and pushed open the door, not having enough time to do his own base makeup at home before he was rushed to the venue. His breath stuttered in his chest at the sight that greeted him. You sat on top of the vanity with one leg propped under you while the other swayed off the table as you flipped through a fashion magazine. You snapped the magazine shut as the bubble from the gum encased by your red lips popped. Michael’s eyes gently trailed over your short hair in a tousled layered pixie cut, the smoked out eyeshadow with a pop of blue on your waterline and your sharply lined eyes. You were clad in a cropped biker jacket that looked like it had seen better days with a simple white tube top underneath and leather shorts, a few pops of gold peeking through with your jewellery. Your style was inexplicable, somewhere between following the current pop culture trends while also erring towards punk elements. It was refreshing and unapologetic. You were undeniably stunning, a real sight for sore eyes but he also felt slightly intimidated by your seemingly nonchalant and relaxed demeanor.
You hopped off the vanity and tucked the gum under your tongue before you reached out a hand, “About time you got here, I thought you got lost. I’m [reader] and I’ll be doing your makeup. Thank you for this opportunity and I won’t let you down.” Michael took himself out of his daze before he reached out a warm hand to shake yours, your burgundy tipped nails brushed his fingers and he suppressed a shudder, “Pleasure to meet you. Your makeup looks great so I have no doubts.” You let go of his hand, ignoring how large his hand was as it nearly engulfed yours before you smiled widely at him. “Well now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s get to work.” you said as you cracked your knuckles and turned back to the vanity where all your products and tools were neatly laid out.
You were clearly a woman on a mission, no frills or fussing and he admired that about you. Michael’s eyes tried to not-so-subtly look at your beautiful figure slightly bent over the table as you fussed with the items, completely forgetting what you said as he was just utterly enamoured with your presence. You looked off to the side where he was just standing still, you didn’t even look at him fully but Michael was graced with your side profile as you raised a pretty eyebrow and motioned to the chair, “Sit.” He was almost comically quick to obey.
He hoped his face was calm and collected because he felt the complete opposite as he subtly wiped the sweat building on his hands on his thighs. The angle from sitting down and having to look up at you has existing pre-concert nerves already fraying. You spit out the gum into a tissue paper and discarded it, you then shrugged off your leather jacket and placed it on a nearby rack. Michael held a breath as he now stared at your bare arms and shoulders, your skin almost seemed luminescent under the lights. You then approached him with an outstretched hand and a finger smoothed out the curls from his forehead and then played around with some base products and brushes to match the correct shade. For someone who seemed so fierce and looked like she marched to the beat of her own drums, your hands were surprisingly gentle as they swept over his face and you put him at ease, making sure to take some breaks in between steps and check if he was doing alright. He tried not to seem too eager to receive your touch when you held his face or poked and prodded at his skin. Michael gave his own directions and insights into how he wanted the final product to look like and you complied.
“How long have you been doing makeup?” Michael asked with mild curiosity. You paused your ministrations as you straightened your posture a bit, “Hmm. For as long as I can remember. I watched my mother and older cousins do their own makeup. I was always trying to copy them and played with my ma’s stuff. She would get so mad.” you giggled as you reminisced and Michael laughed back. “Eventually I figured out my own style in my late teens.” you finished. “So, how’s it like going on your first solo tour?” you asked as you grabbed more product with your brush. Michael took a deep breath and licked his lips before he answered, “Surreal. It’s really nerve-wracking but I’m also really happy. I’m excited to give the fans- my fans. It feels really good to say that- an unforgettable show.” You grinned wide, “I’m sure you will. Your performances are truly amazing.” Michael tried and failed to hide a toothy grin as his eyes bore into you, “So you watched my performances?” Your hands froze momentarily before you cooly replied, “Who hasn’t?” He bit his bottom lip slightly before he cheesed even more, “Oh yeah? Tell me more.” You took the end of the brush and mock threatened him with it, “We are NOT going there, twinkle toes.”
The next few minutes passed with some playful banter and small talk. Michael unabashedly stared at you and you did your fair share of staring too, never being more grateful to be a makeup artist since it gave you a solid excuse. The atmosphere was warm and intimate as you two were in your own bubble. “Your skin is so smooth. I’m actually a little bit jealous.” you whispered in mild awe as you buffed the foundation into his skin. The brush slanted a bit in your hold as Michael smiled, the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice was hushed but layered with an undercurrent of insecurity, “The patches don’t bother you?” Your hands paused for a second before you continued, you looked deep into his pretty doe eyes to shrug one shoulder and snorted, “Why would they? I’d be a terrible makeup artist if it did.” Michael broke the intense eye contact as the simple response shook his core. You didn’t make his vitiligo a big deal, you didn’t even think of mentioning it, your eyes barely glanced at the depigmented patches of skin. You didn’t make him feel different. “It’s just skin.” you said. And that was that.
Since the face was done, it was time for your favourite part, the eyes. Michael’s eyes were unnervingly beautiful. When you took up this job, you almost didn’t believe it. Makeup artist for Michael Jackson? You counted your lucky stars because it wasn’t everyday you got to do what you loved and it involved one of the most sought out male celebrities on the planet. You grabbed your eyeliner and uncapped it before you faced him. “Hold still.” you ordered in a whisper before you leaned closer. Michael suddenly felt overwhelmingly bashful at the proximity, your pretty face was too close to his, he could smell your sweet perfume drifting to him and his glazed eyes drifted across your teasing décolletage since you took off your leather jacket. He glanced at your red pouty lips and an unbidden thought flashed through his mind. He bit his bottom lip nervously before he leaned his head back a bit, “Uh- I’m gonna go uh grab some water.” You instantly backed off with a smile and nodded, “Sure, pretty sure there’s some in the mini fridge over there.” Michael sprang off his seat and beelined it for the fridge to grab a bottle.
You turned back to the vanity to check on your own makeup and play around with your hair, making faces into the mirror when you felt eyes on you. You didn’t spare him a glance, inwardly reveling under his gaze and calmly spoke, “Like what you see?” Michael clearly didn’t expect you to take notice and he nearly choked on the water. He cleared his throat and screwed the cap on the bottle before he went to sit back down in the chair with a deep calming breath.
“Alright, where were we?” you muttered to yourself as you uncapped your eyeliner and leaned back in. One hand reached out as you raised his eyebrow up using your thumb on his hairline and your other hand began to gently line one eye. You were so close, Michael could feel your slow breathing on his face and trying to keep calm under your intense gaze was one of the hardest things he had to do this week. His eye twitched slightly and you tutted gently, “You need to stop twitching.” “I can’t help it, it tickles.” he said with a giggle. “Stop laughing too!” you exclaimed as you used a q-tip to wipe some smudges off, the laughter in your voice couldn’t be hidden either. At this point you both stopped to laugh, doubled over and you bumped heads. “Ouch!” “Ow!” you both shouted in sync before you laughed again.
Eventually the two of you had calmed down, Michael’s twitching barely stopped and his eyeliner took longer to apply than it should have. “Perfect!” you mused, almost like you didn’t realise you said it as you applied the last stroke of black on his pretty eye then capped your eyeliner. His stomach did the thing where it dropped and then inflated back up at your mindless comment. How did a woman he only met an hour ago manage to disarm him so quickly? He felt really comfortable around you. You were so effortlessly charming and confident- truly one of a kind. He didn’t realise how attractive it was to have a beautiful lady approach him and it was refreshing.
“Careful, if I didn’t know, I’d think you’re flirting with me.” he said, voice light with laughter as he smiled wide. You didn’t back down and instead you smiled back, equally flirtatious, “Now that would be unprofessional, wouldn’t it, Mr. Jackson?” He laughed and looked down shyly, “So unprofessional that I want you to do my makeup for the rest of the tour. And please, call me Michael.” You lazily leaned back against the vanity, one leg bent as though you knew the effect you have on him, “My my, I must’ve left quite the impression on you.” Someone had banged on the door, “Show time! You’re on in 10!” Time flew by fast. He looked at you as his gaze implored yours, heart nearly beating out of his chest like a hummingbird in a cage, “Is that a yes?” You laughed as you held out your hand, red nails glistening under the lights, “You’ve got yourself a deal, Michael” Michael’s heart fluttered at the sweet tone you used to say his name and he reached out his hand to shake yours, his thumb gently brushed over your knuckles as his warm eyes filled with mirth stared into yours, “Deal.”
“Now let’s put the finger tape on.” you announced with a clap. Michael’s brain shortcircuited as he looked at you with wide doe eyes, as if it wasn’t bad enough surviving close proximity with makeup and now you were gonna basically hold hands together. And yet he wasn’t going to refuse. Maybe the show was gonna be the easiest part of today.
masterlist
DISCLAIMER: My writing is my own work and from my own mind. I do NOT use generative AI. Please do not reuse or reupload my works as your own or on other platforms. Please do not use my works for translational purposes.
I have an idea but I don’t know where to go with it.
Jackie Jackson x Reader, two oldest siblings choosing each other. They both are their families rock,they spend all their days taking care of everything and everyone but who’s going to take care of them? Two older siblings healing, loving, and reassuring each other
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jackie jackson x black!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: in the quiet spaces between holding their chaotic households together, two exhausted eldest siblings find an unexpected refuge right next door. away from the non-stop demands of everyone relying on them, they discover what it feels like to finally be the ones being taken care of.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: neighbors to lovers, fluff, eldest daughter syndrome, eldest son solidarity, dynamic duo, soft black love, comfort, protective!jackie, set in the early '70's/jackson 5 era.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k
𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: another request from a lovely anon. it was honestly a delight to finally write for my pookie baby, jackie. i was cheesing from beginning to end, and hopefully, y'all will too! :) i have also decided that requests will come out over the weekend, so if you'd like to request something, my requests are still currently open!
The silence in Encino didn’t feel like normal silence. It felt borrowed, bought at a high price, and entirely temporary.
September of 1973, Hayvenhurst was never truly quiet. Even when the sun went down and the gates were locked, the house vibrated with the residual friction of nine children, endless business managers, phone lines that rang until the receivers grew warm, and the looming shadow of Joe Jackson’s ledger. But at two in the morning, if you stepped out onto the back patio where the citrus trees smelled sweet and heavy in the night air, you could almost pretend the world had stopped spinning.
Jackie Jackson leaned his forearms against the low, dark-stained wooden fence that separated his family’s property from the lot next door. He was wearing a deep navy velour tracksuit, the zipper pulled halfway down his chest, his afro freshly picked out but slightly crushed on one side from resting his head against the studio control board three hours earlier.
His shoulders were tight—a hard knot of muscle right where his neck met his trap. They’d spent six hours at Motown’s West Coast studios refining vocal tracks for Get It Together, going over the same four-bar harmony until Jermaine’s voice rasped and Michael’s eyes turned with fatigue.
As the eldest brother, the weight fell on Jackie differently. He wasn’t the lead singer, and he wasn’t the primary mouthpiece for the press, but he was the structural beam. When Michael was tired, Jackie carried the bag. When Randy got restless, Jackie smoothed it over. When Joe’s jaw set into that rigid, dangerous line that signaled a lecture on discipline, Jackie was the one who stepped into the room first so his younger brothers had a buffer.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the damp California air, trying to drain his head of the endless rhythm tracks and chord progressions.
Click.
The back screen door of the house next door creaked open, its soft yellow porch light casting a warm, rectangular beam across the grass. Jackie didn’t open his eyes right away; he just listened to the soft, rhythmic slide of leather slippers against the concrete patio.
You stepped out into the night, wrapped in a thick, oversized waffle-knit robe over your nightshirt, a steaming mug held tightly in both hands. You stopped when you saw the dark silhouette leaning over the fence, but you didn’t jump. You were too tired to jump.
“You’re going to catch a chill out here without a jacket, Sigmund,” you said, your voice a low, raspy hum that belonged exclusively to the hours past midnight.
Jackie turned his head, a slow, tired smirk breaking through the exhaustion on his face. He loved the way you called him by his real name— not Jackie Jackson of the Jackson 5, not the heartthrob on the cover of Right On! Magazine, just Sigmund.
“Girl, it’s sixty-five degrees out here. Ain’t nobody catching a chill in California,” he drawled, his Indiana accent slipping back through the polished, media-trained veneer he used during daytime interviews. He turned his body toward the fence, resting one elbow on the top rail. “What you doing up? Thought you had that early shift at the clinic.”
“I do,” you sighed, walking over to the fence until only a few inches of redwood paneling separated the two of you. You leaned your hips against it, letting the steam from your chamomile tea rise into the cool night air. “My sister came home at midnight talking about how she needs fifty dollars for a dress for senior pictures, my brother left his dirty work boots right in front of the refrigerator again, and my aunt called from Chicago at one in the morning just to tell me she had a bad dream about my uncle’s gout.”
Jackie let out a soft, deep rumble of a laugh—the kind that didn’t reach his throat during the daytime, reserved only for moments like this. “Sounds like a full house.”
“It’s a circus,” you corrected gently, looking up at him. Under the dim yellow bulb of your porch light, the shadows under his dark eyes were undeniable. “And don’t look at me like that. I know what your day looked like. I saw three different station wagons parked in your driveway by noon.”
“Man,” Jackie muttered, shaking his head and looking down at his sneakers. He rubbed the back of his neck, his knuckles cracking softly in the stillness. “Berry had us in the room all afternoon talking about this new television special. Then we had to run the choreography for ‘Dancing Machine’ six times because Marlon kept turning on the wrong beat, and Joseph… well, you know how Joseph gets when the steps ain’t crisp.”
“He was giving you a hard time?”
“He gives everybody a hard time. That’s his job, I guess,” Jackie said softly, though there was a bitter edge to it that he tried hard to smooth over. “He looks at me and sees twenty-two years old, and he thinks I oughta be keeping the boys in line better. Says if they slip up on stage, it’s on my head ‘cause I’m the oldest.”
You set your tea mug down on a flat fence post and turned your body fully toward him. Without asking, you reached across the fence line. Your fingers were warm as you reached up, setting your palm gently against the side of his neck, your thumb brushing over the tight muscle along his collarbone.
Jackie stilled completely. His breath hitched in his chest, a soft, involuntary sound.
“You make it look easy, you know that?” you whispered, your thumb working a small, deliberate circle into the tension behind his ear. “Every time I see you out front, you’re laughing, taking care of Randy, carrying gear, telling folks where to be. You act like it doesn’t cost you anything.”
Jackie closed his eyes, head tilting into the pressure of your hand like a stray animal finally being petted. “It costs plenty,” he admitted, his voice dropping an octave, so low it was practically a secret between the grass and the trees. “It costs… everything I got some days. You just learn to stop asking who’s coming to help, ‘cause you are the help.”
You let out a long, quiet breath that sounded so much like his own soul speaking back to him. “Yeah. I know that feeling all too well.”
Jackie opened his eyes, looking down at you. You were twenty-one, the eldest daughter in a family that relied on your paycheck, your organizational skills, and your emotional sanity to keep their world turning. You were the one who bought the groceries, paid the electric bill when your mother’s hours were cut, and made sure your younger siblings didn't drop out of school. You were the rock of your driveway, just like he was the rock of his.
He reached up, his large, warm hand cupping over yours where it rested on his neck. His skin was smooth, his pulse steady beneath your palm.
“Look at us,” Jackie said, a faint, tender smile playing on his lips. “Two heads of the household, standing over a fence at two in the morning, looking like two lost kids.”
“We aren’t lost,” you murmured, leaning slightly closer over the wood. “We just need a break.”
“Then take one,” Jackie said softly. His thumb stroked the back of your wrist, gentle and protective. “Just for five minutes. Right here. Don’t think about your sister, don’t think about your brother’s boots. Just stand here with me.”
For five minutes, nobody called his name. Nobody asked you for money. The world stayed small, contained entirely within the three feet of space between his porch light and yours.
Four months passed in a blur of endless rehearsal schedules, late-night phone calls, and stolen moments across the low redwood fence. By January of 1974, a heavy, uncharacteristic winter storm had rolled through the San Fernando Valley. Rain lashed against the roof tiles in sheeted waves, turning the dirt flowerbeds into red mud and swelling the gutters along the street until they overflowed into the storm drains.
At seven in the evening, the power grid in Encino gave out completely.
The neighborhood went dark in an instant, the amber glow of the streetlights blinking out in unison and leaving the houses illuminated only by dramatic, jagged flashes of lightning across the sky.
In your house, the sudden dark had caused immediate, predictable chaos. Your siblings had scrambled for candles, your mother was complaining about the food in the refrigerator spoiling, and your brother had managed to knock over a hall table in the pitch black. You had spent two hours finding flashlights, lighting oil lamps, settling everyone into their rooms with board games, and reassuring your mother that the storm would pass by morning.
By ten o’clock, everyone had finally drifted off to sleep, tired of sitting in the dark.
You were sitting alone on the living room floor, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, staring at the small, flickering yellow flame of a single pillar candle sitting on the coffee table. The house was cold, the rain beating a relentless, heavy rhythm against the windowpanes.
A low, heavy knock sounded at the back door.
You stood up, pulling your blanket tight around your shoulders, picking up a small flashlight. You walked to the kitchen and unlatched the heavy deadbolt.
Jackie stood on the covered back porch, illuminated by the flash of your light. He was wearing a dark brown corduroy jacket with a sheepskin collar, his hair slightly damp from the dash across the lawn. In his left hand, he held a dark wooden box; in his right, he held a thermos.
“Power’s out over there too, huh?” you asked, stepping back to let him inside.
“Total blackout,” he said, slipping out of his wet corduroy jacket and hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair. He looked at you in the dim beam of the flashlight, his eyes dark and warm. “Boys are all asleep. Joseph drove into town before the rain hit hard to meet with some promoters, and Mother’s got the younger ones settled. I thought… well, I thought you might be sitting over here in the dark by yourself.”
“I was,” you admitted, leading him back into the candlelit living room.
Jackie set the wooden box and the thermos down on the thick shag carpet. He unbuttoned his collar, settling down onto the floor beside you, pulling his long legs in close. He reached for the thermos, unscrewing the top and pouring a steaming cup of spiced cider, handing it to you first.
“Brought medicine,” he said with a faint smile.
You took the cup, the warmth spreading through your chilly fingers instantly. “What’s in the box, Sigmund?”
“Something to keep us from going crazy,” he replied. He opened the wooden latch of the box, revealing a battery-operated portable record player—a sleek, portable Panasonic unit he used on tour buses. Beside it were three 45rpm vinyl records.
He placed a record onto the small spindle, flipped the switch, and set the needle down gently.
The soft, scratchy, beautiful opening notes of Gladys Knight & the Pips’ “Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me” drifted into the dark living room, filling the quiet corners of the house with a warm, analog soul.
Jackie turned to you, reaching out to take your free hand, pulling your blanket down enough to lace his fingers through yours. “Sit closer,” he commanded gently. “It’s cold in here.”
You didn’t argue. You slid across the carpet until you were tucked against his side, your head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, the smell of rain and fresh cider clinging to his clothes.
“You look beat tonight, baby,” Jackie murmured, his voice sinking into the rhythm of the music. His fingers gently began to massage the base of your thumb, working out the tension built up from hours of household chores.
“I am,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “My brother got into an argument with his coach today. He wants to quit the track team. I spent three hours sitting on his bed trying to convince him that he’s throwing away his future just because he doesn’t like being yelled at.”
He let out a soft, sympathetic grunt. “Kids don’t see the big picture. They just see the guy yelling at ‘em. I know how he feels, honest… but he’s lucky he’s got you to set him straight. If I didn’t have my brothers, I don’t know where they’d end up.”
“And who sets you straight, Jackie?” you asked softly, turning your head to look up at his profile in the candlelight. “When you’re mad, or tired, or feel like quitting… who sits on your bed for three hours?”
Jackie went quiet. The record continued to spin, Gladys Knight’s voice soaring over the soft hum of the rain outside.
He didn’t answer for a long time. He just stared at the flickering candle flame, his jaw working slightly.
“Nobody,” he said finally, his voice barely audible over the storm. “You don’t get that luxury when you’re the first one born. You don’t get to have a breakdown, ‘cause if you break down, the line behind you breaks down too.”
He turned his head to look at you, and for the first time since you’d known him, you saw the immense, terrifying vulnerability he kept hidden behind his handsome smile and his cool, easygoing stride. He looked like a young man carrying the weight of a multi-million-dollar family empire on shoulders that were never meant to carry it alone.
“Sometimes,” he whispered, his hand tightening on yours, “I just wanna run away. Just drive that Ferrari as far down Route 66 as the gas will take me, and not look back for a month.”
Your heart bruised for him. You reached up, setting your cup aside, and placed both of your hands against his cheeks, forcing him to look at you directly.
“You don’t have to run away, Sigmund,” you said, your voice fierce and gentle all at once. “You just have to come over here. When you’re in this room, with me… you aren’t the leader of the Jackson 5. You aren’t Joseph’s oldest son. You’re just a twenty-two year old man who gets to sit down and test.”
Jackie looked at you, his chest rising and falling in deep, rugged breaths. A single, silent tear slipped down his cheek, catching the yellow light of the candle.
He didn’t say anything. He just leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his arms coming around your waist, pulling you into him so tightly it took your breath away. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your collarbone, his body trembling slightly as he finally let go of the tension he’d been holding since he was twelve years old.
You wrapped your arms around his back, holding his shoulders, rocking him gently against the beat of the rain on the roof. You rubbed your hand in slow, steady circles over his spine, whispering sweet, soft nothings into his ear—reassurances that he was good enough, that he had done enough, that he didn’t have to hold the sky up tonight.
They stayed like that until the record finished, the needle clicking softly in the final groove, leaving only the sound of their shared breathing and the storm outside.
Winter melted into spring, and by May of 1974, Encino was ablaze with early summer flowers—purple bougainvillea spilling over the white stone walls, jacaranda trees dropping soft violet petals onto the driveways, and the air smelling of sweet honeysuckle and warm asphalt.
It was a Saturday morning, and for the first time in the nine months you’d known Jackie, your own house was in absolute, unmanageable crisis.
Your younger sister had been rejected from her dream college, your brother had managed to back your mother’s station wagon into a light pole, and your aunt had arrived unannounced from Chicago with three suitcases and an attitude that could sour milk. You had been up since five in the morning—mediating fights, filling out insurance forms for the car, cooking breakfast for six people, and trying to keep your mother from having an absolute nervous breakdown in the kitchen.
By eleven o’clock, you were standing on your back patio, holding an empty laundry basket, your eyes burning with unshed tears of pure, overwhelming frustration. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of other people’s needs, your lungs filling with water every time you tried to catch your breath.
The wooden gate between the yards clicked open.
Jackie walked across the grass. He wasn’t wearing his usual casual clothes—he was dressed in a sharp, tailored yellow button-down shirt, white trousers, and leather loafers, looking every bit the handsome star. But his eyes weren’t looking at the neighborhood; they were fixed entirely on you.
He’d seen the station wagon hit the pole two hours ago. He’d heard the yelling from his bedroom window. He’d watched you run up and down the stairs through the kitchen window for three straight hours.
He walked right up to you, took the heavy plastic laundry basket out of your hands, and set it down on the grass without saying a word.
“Jackie, I can’t talk right now,” you choked out, your voice tight and dangerous, threatened by the tears pressing behind your eyelids. “My mother is crying, my brother is being an idiot, and I have to go to the grocery store before—”
“No,” Jackie said.
It was a single, firm word—spoken not with anger, but with an absolute, unyielding authority that stopped you dead in your tracks.
“What?” you blinked.
Jackie didn’t answer. He stepped past you, opened your back screen door, and walked right into your chaotic kitchen.
Your mother was sitting at the table, surrounded by papers. Your brother was standing by the fridge, looking sulky. Your aunt was loudly complaining about the heat.
Jackie walked into the room, his presence instantly filling the space with a natural, commanding charisma he’d honed over years of stage work and family leadership. He put on his warmest, most charming, unshakeable big-brother smile.
“Morning, ma’am,” Jackie said smoothly, leaning down to give your mother a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Auntie, good to see you again. Look, I heard about the car—don’t you worry about that for a second. I already called my mechanic down on Ventura Boulevard. He’s sending a tow truck over in twenty minutes, and he’s gonna fix that bumper on my tab as a favor to the family.”
Your mother blinked, her mouth opening in shock. “Jackie, oh, honey, you don’t have to—”
“It’s already done,” he smiled, turning his head to look at your brother. “And you, man—grab your jacket. You’re coming over to my house to help Randy clean out the garage. You’re gonna earn the money to pay me back for that bumper, and you’re gonna do it today.”
Your brother looked like he wanted to argue, but one look at Jackie’s cool, resolute expression—the look of an elder brother who did not take backtalk—made him nod his head silently and reach for his shoes.
Jackie turned back to your mother, his smile warm and steady. “And as for your daughter… I’m takin’ her out for the afternoon. She’s off the clock.”
Before anyone in your family could protest, Jackie walked back out onto the patio, grabbed your hand, and led you straight through the open wooden gate, across his lawn, and into his silver Ferrari parked in the driveway.
He opened the passenger door, helped you slide onto the leather seat, slamming it shut, and walked around to the driver’s side. He got in, turned the key, and the heavy v6 engine roared to life with a satisfying, deep purr.
He backed out of the driveway before your aunt could step onto the porch to call your name.
You sat in the passenger seat, staring at him in absolute wide-eyed disbelief as the Ferrari cruised down the tree-lined streets of Encino, heading towards the open highway.
“What… what did you just do?” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
Jackie looked over at you, one hand on the steering wheel, a brilliant, proud, triumphant grim lighting up his entire face. His dark eyes were sparkling in the California sunshine.
“I just did what you’ve been doin’ for me for nine months,” He said, his voice brimming with satisfaction. “I took care of it.”
You stared at him, and suddenly, the heavy, suffocating lump in your throat dissolved—not into tears, but into a loud, bright, hysterical burst of laughter that filled the car. You leaned back against the leather headrest, laughing until your water watered, feeling the absolute, miraculous freedom of having someone else step up to fight your battles for you.
Jackie laughed with you, his hands reaching across the center console to grab yours, squeezing your fingers tight as he accelerated onto the Ventura Freeway, heading toward the coast.
An hour later, he parked the Ferrari on a high bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Malibu. The sky was a brilliant, endless blue, the ocean churning below in white, foaming waves, the cool salt breeze blowing through the open car windows.
He shut off the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt, and turned in his seat to face you fully.
He reached out, gently pulling you across the console until you were sitting sideways in his lap, your back resting against his chest, his strong arms wrapped snugly around your waist.
“Better?” he whispered into your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both looked out over the vast, sparkling water.
“Better,” you breathed, leaning your head back against his shoulder, letting the steady beat of his heart soothe your frayed nerves. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know you could just walk in there and do that.”
“I told you,” He said softly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles through the fabric of your shirt over your hip. “We’re a team, baby. You spend all your time being the rock for them, and I spend all my time being the rock for my boys. But when it comes to us? We take turns.”
He turned his head, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your neck, lingering there until you let out a long, contented sigh.
“I spent my whole life thinking I had to carry everything by myself,” Jackie whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “My dad taught me that a man doesn’t complain, he just works. He carries the weight until his knees give out. But then I met you… and I realized I don’t gotta carry it alone. You give me a place to lay my head down, girl. You’re my peace.”
You turned in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking into his beautiful, earnest face. You reached up, tracing the high arch of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw, the soft texture of his lips.
“And you’re mine, Sigmund,” you whispered back. “You’re my safe harbor.”
Jackie smiled—a deep, genuine, effortless smile that reached all the way to his soul. He leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, and pressed his lips against yours in a deep, slow, reverent kiss that tasted like salt air, warm sunshine, and long-awaited rest.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let you go. He kept you tucked close against his chest, his chin resting on your head, his hands holding you like the precious, irreplaceable gift you were.
Down below, the ocean waves crashed relentlessly against the rocks, eternal and busy. Back in Encino, two houses were waiting with their phone calls, their family drama, and their endless demands.
But up on the bluff, inside the quiet leather interior of the Ferrari, the two oldest siblings were completely off the clock.
They didn’t look at the dashboard clock. They didn’t check the time. They just held each other, anchored at last, watching the sun begin its slow, golden descent into the sea.
And the thought of you giving someone else even a portion of what he got from you made him sick to his stomach with jealousy and fear."
SYNOPSIS: Michael is selfish and doesn't wanna share reader with anyone— including the personal tutor he hired for her.
CONTENT: fluff, a little angst, smut, 18+, overstimulation, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink? if you squint?, hair pulling, era 1990, dangerous era!Michael, yearning Michael, very descriptive dirty talk, ITS NASTY Y'ALL
Song Inspo: Nobody x Keith Sweat ft Athena Cage
Author's Note: Sorry y'all I was supposed to upload last night but I fell asleep 🫣 this fic was a little inspired by my bby @1andonlytashae who wrote a angst/hurt no comfort story that was soooo good. You can read it here
Los Angeles was in its rainy season and there had been a constant downpour for the past three days. The storm made everything look soft, gray, and endless.
And it was during this time that Michael hired Alejandro. He had found the man himself— a soft-spoken instructor that taught Spanish to beginner students. Alejandro had excellent reviews and a calm demeanor that Michael thought would be perfect for you.
The Latin American leg of the tour was coming up, and soon you’d be in a different city every few days. Michael had looked at you one night while you were curled up against him and asked quietly,
“I want you to come with me this time. Experience all of it. But I don’t want you feelin’ lost when we go places where no one speaks English. Let me find you somebody good who can help?”
Flattered was the best way to express how you felt in the moment. It was an indicator that things were getting more serious between the two of you. Michael had never asked any woman to accompany him on tour before.
He understood that his life came with a lot. Whoever his person was would have to sacrifice the simplicity of their everyday life in exchange for being with him. You had shown him you could handle it, and for that he was more grateful than you understood.
You’d simply smiled and told him he didn’t have to do that, but he brushed your hair away from your face like he always did and insisted.
“I wanna do it. I never want my life to make yours smaller.”
Michael didn’t want you to feel confined in the way he did when he was on the road. So, he figured if you could get some conversational Spanish under your belt, you’d be able to visit shops, museums, and whatever else interested you without feeling like an outsider.
So naturally, Alejandro started coming over three times a week to give you private one on one lessons. You were easily embarrassed and wanted to have the privacy to learn in peace.
Everything was fine at first. During your lessons, Michael would sit quietly at the kitchen island sipping his tea. He never interrupted. Just watched you practice and admired the focused little frown that settled over your features when you struggled with getting a new phrase right.
Every time you mastered something new, your face would light up. A soft, warm laugh would spill out. Michael would smile to himself quietly and proudly. He’d think about how lucky he was that this beautiful woman with her soft voice and eclectic personality had chosen him.
To say Michael was obsessed with you would be an understatement. He was infatuated with you in a quiet consuming way that frightened him at times.
He loved the way your body felt in his hands. How it felt pressed against him late at night. Your skin was always soft and warm. He loved the little sounds you would make when he kissed the back of your neck while you were busy doing something.
He especially loved how your voice would drop into a familiar cadence when you were talking to your mama or family on the phone. The same rhythm and vernacular he had grown up hearing around his family.
He’d watch your mouth when you spoke to him. Often, he’d lose track of the actual words you were saying to him because he was too busy staring at the shape of your lips and thinking about how pretty they were. He would end up kissing you in place of a response, soft and lingering.
And, he had already started looking for the perfect ring.
One night while you were sleeping, Michael took it upon himself to size your ring finger. Luckily for him, you were a pretty heavy sleeper.
On the rare occasion that he had free time in his day, Michael found himself meeting with private jewelers and perusing options he’d picked out just for you.
He still wasn’t satisfied yet. The ring needed to be perfect, something you’d be proud to show off to your girlfriends and family. He imagined the way your face would look when he finally asked. Everything had to be right and the timing had to be perfect.
He wanted you to feel safe and chosen. So, everything was great, until it wasn’t.
Things changed the day that Alejandro started staying longer than scheduled. It started with small, harmless things.
Michael passed the room he set up for your lessons one day and overheard Alejandro offering to take you to some hole in the wall place to try authentic arepas.
Involuntarily, his steps slowed down as he ear hustled to see what your response would be. You politely declined and Michael let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
And from that day on, Michael was on Alejandro's ass. He noticed everything.
The way he’d correct your accent by gently touching your chin so he could watch your mouth form the words correctly. How he’d linger just a little too long after the lesson was over, talking about music or places he’d lived.
Or the one that made Michael clench his jaw so hard it hurt— complimenting how beautiful your laugh was after you finally got a tough phrase right.
That was when he started closing his studio door more often.
Physically Michael was there, mentally? He was somewhere else.
He started answering your questions with polite staccato answers instead of the long drawn-out conversations you used to have. After that it was the kisses. The long, lingering kisses he’d leave on your lips turned into gentle forehead kisses.
And most painfully for you, his constant obsessive touching stopped. No more pulling you into his lap the second you walked past him or hands finding your waist or the back of your neck absentmindedly during the day.
The distance was startling to you, but you just assumed he was really focused on work. Michael had a habit of immersing himself in his craft to the point that he’d forget to eat and sleep.
It was a Thursday when you looked over at the clock and realized Alejandro had stayed nearly an hour past the session end time. You were in the middle of laughing about something he said about a difficult conjugation when you looked up and caught Michael standing in the hallway.
His arms were crossed and he was watching with a completely blank expression. Wordlessly, he had turned and entered his studio, closing the door softly behind him.
That night, he barely spoke to you. It was extremely abnormal.
Usually, Michael talked your ear off to the point where you had to escape to the den for quiet time to read your book, or to watch t.v.. You loved the man dearly, but when that mouth started goin’ it didn’t stop.
He cooked in silence that night. Left a plate for you wrapped in foil on top of the stove, and disappeared back into his studio till nearly 3am. And when he did finally come to bed, he stayed on his side with his back turned to you. Michael usually held you so close to him during the night that you had to separate from him in his sleep because you’d wake up sweating like he’d been trying to fuse the two of you together.
That was when you started to think, maybe it wasn’t just work…
So, you tried to talk to him the next morning. He was sitting at the island and reading the day’s paper. As you walked behind him you trailed your fingertips gently across his shoulder blades. The touch sent chills down his spine— like it always did when you touched him. Still, his eyes stayed on the paper.
“Morning, mama” he said simply. He didn’t turn to kiss you and he didn’t trail his gaze over your face slowly, taking you in the way he usually did like he hadn’t seen you in forever.
“Mikey, are you okay baby?” Your fingers had trailed up to massage his earlobe before drifting to twirl one of his curls. He allowed the touch and leaned into it slightly.
“I’m fine.” He murmured, sipping his tea.
“You’ve been super distant. Tell me somethin’.” Your gaze stayed on him and he was quiet for a moment.
“Just been workin’, that’s all.”
“Michael” your tone held a warning.
He finally met your eyes and immediately you noticed the ghost of something sad in them.
“Just… focus on your lessons baby. Tour’s coming and I want you to be ready.” Then he'd folded his newspaper and left the room quietly.
You stared at him a moment longer as he walked away. Really, you weren’t ready to let the subject die. But you left it alone anyway, and the fear that something else was going on only grew larger.
This wasn’t like him at all. Nothing about Michael Jackson was nonchalant, he was not a man who did distant.
Especially not with you.
He would pause a conversation just to pull your closer and press his face into your neck like the smell of you was keeping him breathing. Sometimes he’d interrupt his own sentences just to tell you your skin was glowing in the warm morning light. He got quiet and shy when he’d talk about how much he yearned to marry you someday soon. And he meant sooner than you knew.
That was why when he began pulling away you knew in your gut something was off.
You just didn’t realize it was your growing rapport with Alejandro. And— that Michael was watching so closely.
Every afternoon when Alejandro came over, Michael would intentionally leave his studio door cracked. He hated it, but sometimes he’d stand in the hallway out of sight with his heart in his throat listening to how easily the two of you carried on conversation. How Alejandro's voice would go all soft when he’d correct you. Which ironically, was one of the reasons Michael had picked him for you. Now he was kicking himself.
He heard the way you’d laugh with your whole belly when Alejandro would make a joke Michael thought was corny. And he heard the way Alejandro said your name like it tasted good in his mouth.
Every single time, something dark and helpless wound tighter in Michael’s chest.
He never said anything to Alejandro despite these feelings. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you. He realized how silly it would look for him to do that when he had hired the man and invited him into his home specifically for you.
Deep down, Michael knew the man was just doing his job. A tutor should be friendly and encouraging— but Alejandro was just a little too charming.
This knowledge brought Michael no comfort. The truth was simple and brutal:
Michael felt like everybody wanted his woman. And the thought of you giving someone else even a portion of what he got from you made him sick to his stomach with jealousy and fear.
He loved the way you cooked for him, and how the whole house would smell like garlic and onions and whatever seasoning blend you’d chosen. You’d taste something off the spoon and always hold it out for him, saying “Taste it baby, lemme know how it tastes”. He’d brush his lips over your fingers, murmuring how delicious it was.
Any time you’d press a small hand against his chest when you passed him in the hallway his heart would flutter underneath it. The way you smoothed his clothing or played with his hair gave him chills every time.
He loved to brush curls way from your face when you were focused on something— and how you’d scrunch your nose and bat his hand away, mumbling “Boy leave my hair alone” even though you never actually stopped him.
Every intimate part of your life together started to feel threatened when Alejandro walked through the door, and Michael was in agony.
When he stood in the hallway listening to you two talking he felt like his heart was being slowly crushed in a fist. He’d go back to his studio, attempting to do anything close to working. But he’d end up staring at the same few bars of music for an hour while his mind endlessly replayed how Alejandro's hand had brushed the small of your back when he helped you find the right page in your textbook.
He started coming to bed late intentionally on the days you had lessons so he wouldn’t have to face the soft worried look you kept giving him.
And every night, he’d lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to your breathing and think:
She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine. Please be only mine.
The last straw was on a Friday.
Alejandro had just finished up for the day, and he was packing his bag when he casually said, “There’s a little place in east LA that does the best chiles rellenos this time of year. Private, quiet. I could take you tomorrow after we finish. Help you practice ordering in Spanish. Real conversation.”
Before he had finished the invitation you were already shaking your head politely.
“Thanks Alejandro, but Michael and I have plans.”
Alejandro's smile remained, but his eyes flicked to the hallway.
“He works a lot huh? Pretty lady like you deserves to get out sometimes.”
You had laughed it off thinking the comment was just friendly. Unbeknownst to you, Michael heard every word from the doorway of his studio.
Something in him snapped.
He waited in his studio, swiveling back and forth in his office chair and tapping his foot impatiently. He waited until the front door closed and the sound of the man’s engine faded into the distance. Then he stood up so fast the chair squeaked and rocked backwards.
He went straight to the kitchen where you were still standing by the table putting away your study materials.
When you looked up the smile on your face died immediately as you took in the expression on Michael’s face.
“What’s up? Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Concerned, you stepped around the island and came closer to him. Rain was streaking the window behind him and he was rubbing a hand over his face.
“Baby, you don’t see how he looks at you?” He sighed, finally speaking his mind. For a moment you just looked at him and blinked. You were totally lost.
“What are you talking about?”
“Alejandro” the name came out like it hurt to say. “The way he’s leaning in too close when you talk. Him watching your mouth when you talk. The dinner invitations. And now, “Pretty lady like you should get out sometime”? You makin’ me crazy on purpose? Did I do something wrong?”
His eyes were glassy and a little wild.
Your stomach dropped. So that’s what’s going on.
“Baby no… it’s just lessons. I’m getting ready for tour like we talked about. That’s all.”
Michael’s hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Usually, he reached for you when he was scared or uncertain. He looked away shaking his head as he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip as he thought about what to say next.
“You know how I feel about you.” His voice was softer than he intended when it came out. “You know what you are to me...And I have to sit in the next room listening to him tryna get closer to you every day like I don’t exist. Like what we have don’t mean nothin… like he could just take you.”
You stepped toward him carefully and placed your palms on his chest in an attempt to ground him.
“I only want you, Michael. You know that. There’s nobody else. Never has been.”
He stared at you for a long second, heart thumping behind his ribs under your palms. His voice cracked when he spoke again, almost like he was pleading,
“You’re so special and I wake up every day terrified somebody’s gonna see that and try to take you from me. I can’t breathe right when he’s in your face like that. I can’t think when he touches you like that. I keep imagining you laughin’ with him how we laugh… and it feels like my chest is caving in.”
Your heart swelled at the raw honesty in his tone.
“I need you,” He said, eyes shiny. “Need you so bad it scares me. You’re the only thing that feels real to me. Only person who makes the noise in my head go quiet. And the thought of losin’ you—” he shut his eyes tightly. “Somebody else touching you… it makes me sick. Please. Prove it to me. Prove you’re still mine.”
He looked a little embarrassed at how desperate he sounded but he didn’t take it back. He just stood there in the dim lighting, hands trembling slightly at his sides, waiting for you to save him from the fear that had been eating him up for weeks now. You didn’t hesitate.
“Okay. Anything.”
His heart skipped a beat at the way you said it. He gently closed his fingers over one of the hands pressed against his chest and turned to lead you to your shared bedroom.
Once you were inside, Michael turned to you with dark, hungry eyes.
“Strip for me, baby.”
Immediately, you obeyed. Slowly, you shed every piece of clothing until you were totally bare in front of him. The cold breeze flowing through the cracked window kissed your skin and made your nipples pebble. His gaze raked over your body greedily, like he was memorizing every curve and beauty mark.
He didn’t remove any of his clothing. His sweater and jeans remained. His eyes watched you like something he wanted to both ruin and protect all at once.
Slowly, he walked toward you till he was close enough for his breath to ghost over your lips. You breathing hitched as you looked from his lips to his eyes and back again.
A soft sound came from your throat when he didn’t kiss you. Instead, he grazed his fingers over your belly and said, “Lay back for me, pretty.” He guided you backwards onto the bed so you were flat on your back and settled beside you, one knee bent as he rested on his side.
His fingers trailed along the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The first touch of his fingers against your sex made you inhale sharply.
He traced through your folds, testing how wet you were already. His middle finger came up to gently circle your clit. When you moaned softly, his eyes flicked up to your face, drinking in every little expression.
Then, he pressed two fingers inside you slow and deep. Immediately his fingers found that soft, spongy spot and curled against it. At the same time, his thumb began circling your clit again in gentle circles.
The dual sensation had your thighs quaking already. The stretch of his long fingers and the precise pressure against that tender spot deep inside you made your hips twitch helplessly. Heat spread through your abdomen in slow, heavy waves. Each stroke sending a sharp pulse to your core.
“Look at you,” He murmured, eyes still trained on you. “Already so wet for me and I barely touched you. Been walkin’ around with that tutor, lettin’ him look at you like that… makin’ me crazy. Now this pussy’s creaming and clenchin’ on my fingers the second I put my fingers in it.”
You whimpered and your hips rolled toward his hand. You wanted him so bad it hurt. Your hands reached for him and you tried to pull him down to kiss you, but he only hovered. Lips brushing yours but never quite giving you the real thing while his fingers kept stroking you.
“Not yet, baby” He whispered against your lips. “You been makin’ me feel like I was losin’ you. Now, you’re gonna feel how scared I’ve been.”
He fingers worked you open with slow precision. The first orgasm built deep and heavy in your core until it finally broke. Your back arched into him hard, and a soft cracked moan slipped out of you as your walls fluttered around his fingers. He didn’t stop when your thighs started shaking.
“That’s one, gimme another. Show me who this pussy belongs to.”
The second orgasm took longer and was more intense. Your face contorted from the overwhelming sensation between your legs and your eyes fluttered helplessly. His fingers kept simultaneously stimulating the soft ridge of nerves inside you and your clit, and it was making you see stars.
Your arousal dripped down Michael’s wrist when it hit and your whole body felt oversensitive.
The second he pulled his fingers away and sucked them into his mouth, you were on him. You sat up fast and yanked at his sweater with desperate hands. You were so needy it was almost feral. Now empty and aching to be filled by him. Michael gasped and let out a soft surprised laugh.
“Oh baby, look at you. So needy you can’t even wait, huh?” He helped you just enough, allowing you to shove his sweater up and over his head. Then came his jeans and boxers, far enough that his dick sprang free, thick and hard, leaking pre-cum.
Michael’s heart flipped when he observed the hungry yearning look you gave him as you admired him.
“C’mere baby” he murmured. He sat back against the headboard with his legs spread and pulled you into his lap. He bit down on his bottom lip as he watched you straddle him and slowly sink down on him, inch by inch.
He let out a shaky moan and his head tilted back when he was finally buried to the hilt. The fullness made your breath catch in your throat.
The whole time your eyes stayed locked on his. His lips were already swollen from the way you’d been kissing and biting them. His mouth kept falling open with soft whimpers and his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.
You stayed there for a second, just feeling him stretch you completely. Once you adjusted to his size, you began rocking your hips in slow circles while keeping him completely inside you. With every movement, your breasts brushed his chest and your nipples dragged over his warm skin. Leaning in, you kissed him soft and messy while your hands cradled his face.
“I love you,” You whispered against his lips. The words were shaky from how full you felt. “I only want you baby. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this… I’m yours”
The combination of your soft voice and the skin-to-skin contact paired with the way you were rolling your hips against his made his eyes roll back. A long, broken whimper slipped from his lips and his head fell back against the headboard again in orgasmic bliss.
“You feel so good baby.” He moaned high and shakily. “So, so good. I can feel you flutterin’ around me just right.”
You kept going, slow and deliberate while whispering soft reassurances to him. How no one else could ever make you feel this full, this loved. Every roll of your hips brushed your clit against him and sent a heavy pulse of pleasure through your core. The obscene sounds of you creaming on him filled the room, and his hands gripped your hips like he was trying to anchor himself.
The slow, deep grind pushed him over the edge with a cracked surprised moan, and he started pulsing hard inside you. You felt every spurt— the sudden heat, and the way he filled you until you were dripping down his balls. With every continued roll of your hips, it smeared between you. The sensation of being so full of him made your walls twitch around him.
Michael only gave himself a few seconds to recover, then he moved. He flipped you onto your back so fast it knocked the wind out of you. Then your thighs were pushed up until they almost touched your chest.
He teased you, dragging the head of his cock against you and nudging your clit just to hear you whimper. His eyes trailed over your blissed out features adoringly. Leaning in, he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips as he sunk into you with one, smooth motion. Your mouth fell open and he kissed you through it.
When he pulled away, his chain dangled in your face and he exhaled shakily. You breathed in his scent as your lips brushed his collar bone. Then, you took his chain between your teeth.
He looked down at you and a lovesick smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“You’re so perfect, baby” He murmured as he continued to rock his hips deep into you, barely pulling out at all in between strokes. He was fully feral now. He kissed you all over your face, cheeks, eyelids, and your nose. Then he licked the drool from the corner of your mouth before claiming your lips again in a messy kiss.
Every time the thick head of his dick dragged over the swollen bundle of nerves inside you, your walls pulsed and he moaned into your mouth like he could feel it too. Pleasure built in slow waves and your eyes rolled back from the sensation.
“You feel that, baby? How you keep flutterin’ around the head of my dick every time I grind into that little spot.” He kissed you again as you whimpered. “So sensitive and perfect for me”. He kept massaging the head into the soft spongy tissue with every roll of his hips. The next orgasm built under the relentless pressure, and you cried out when you came hard, legs shaking in the air.
He didn’t stop.
“I’m sorry, princess” he said softly, still grinding and kissing you. “I know it’s too much and you’re sensitive, but I need you so bad. Let me feel it baby. Cum on my dick again so I know you’re mine. Only mine”
Involuntarily your next orgasm came not long after. Your face was wrecked with bliss and your saliva-slicked lips kept parting with broken moans as he kept abusing the small bundle of nerves. The pleasure was tipping into overstimulation, and your thighs were quaking as your core convulsed.
“Look at you,” He cooed in a lovesick tone. “Can’t stop cummin’ for me, can you baby? All I gotta do is let the head of my dick kiss that lil tender spot and you fall apart for me every time. So pretty like this, mama. Creamin’ all over me like a good girl.”
He kept you like that until you were shaking and tears slipped down your temples from the overstimulation. Then, he pulled out just long enough to flip you onto your stomach and shoved a pillow under your hips. Your face was turned toward the mirror across from the bed.
In one deep thrust, he sank back inside you and started grinding again. The new angle let you watch everything.
Then he did something that made you short-circuit.
Michael planted one foot on the bed with a bent knee to give himself leverage to dig even deeper. The pressure was intense and you could feel him in your stomach. All the while, his eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. Every time your eyes started to flutter shut, he gently gathered a handful of your hair and tugged just enough to keep your gaze on the reflection.
“Look how pretty you look gettin’ fucked like this baby. Don’t look away. Want you to watch this pretty face while you cum for me. Watch how good you’re takin’ me”
At this point, everything falling from your lips was nonsensical as you tried to gather your thoughts. The vulnerability of watching yourself made everything that much more intense. You could see your expression, eyes half lidded, mouth open and drooling while he fucked you deep and steady.
Every time your eyes threatened to close, he gave your hair another gentle tug to force you to see exactly what he was doing to you. Your next orgasm hit while you were staring at yourself. It felt so good it almost hurt. Your walls continued to clamp around him in weak overstimulated pulses. Tears continued to drip down your cheeks as you watched the mess you two were making in the mirror.
Sweat glistened on Michael’s abdomen, and you moaned as beads began to drip down his chest, his cum and your arousal smeared everywhere.
“I should keep you like this all day,” he groaned as he kept grinding deep. “Pinned and stuffed full like this, strokin’ that little spot ‘till your eyes roll back. I could keep this pretty pussy cummin’ for me until you can’t even remember your own name. Would you like that, baby?”
The only thing you could do was sob and nod in agreement as another orgasm built in your already spent body. Michael’s orgasm was long and drawn out. His lips parted and an orgasmic expression spread across his features as he stared at you in the mirror. He slowed his strokes down more to keep abusing that spot inside you, deep and intentional.
One hand came down in a smack on your ass that was hard enough to sting. A broken moan spilled from his lips as he continued stroking.
“I love you. Fuck— I love you baby, so much” he gasped.
Suddenly, the depth and pressure was too much and your lower belly tightened sharply. Your hands weakly attempted to push back against his stomach from the intensity.
But Michael didn’t let you. He grabbed both your wrists in one big hand and pinned them firmly behind your back, holding you open and helpless as he kept grinding deep. Your body was completely at his mercy, and it made everything feel so much more intense.
“Stop runnin’ from me. You know you want me to keep makin’ you cream like this. Ain't that right, baby?”
“Y-yes Michael. P-please” His features lit up as you started to beg. He smirked at you in the mirror and said,
“Please what, baby? Please don’t stop makin’ this pussy cum?” His lips brushed against your ear as he stared at you in the mirror. Then, he nudged that sensitive bundle of nerves once more, and the pressure broke.
You squirted hard around him in a messy uncontrollable gush that soaked the both of you. Your walls pulsed violently and you swore you saw stars as you let out a high pitched whine.
The second you started squirting, Michael buried himself all the way to the hilt and pressed his hips flush against you so that he was pressed gently against your cervix.
He held himself there, as deep as your body would take him and moaned “Good girl, baby”. His voice was thick with lust as he admired your reflection.
“Doin’ so good for me… squirtin’ all over me while I’m in your stomach, walls jumpin’ like you’re tryna milk me… you love me baby? Love gettin' your pussy ruined like this?”
You tried and failed to respond, only managing to stutter out broken “I love you’s”. The sensation of you cumming around him was so intense it dragged another orgasm out of him.
Michael’s mouth fell open and he moaned high and shakily as your pussy milked another load from his oversensitive dick. Hot spurts flooded you while he stayed buried.
“Fuck baby— you’re milkin’ me so good— shit” he whimpered, hips twitching helplessly as you kept pulsing around him, dragging out every last drop until he was shaking and overstimulated right along with you.
He stayed deep inside you afterward. You both were trembling and filthy and completely spent. The rain kept falling outside. His lips found the side of your neck and kissed softly.
“I love you, I’m so sorry. I just got so scared. I… I can’t lose you. You’re everything to me. I can’t help it.” he whispered with a hoarse tone.
You reached back as much as his grip would allow and found his fingers, lacing them with yours. Your body was still pulsing with little aftershocks and you were still sensitive, but the emotional weight of his words filled your chest with warmth.
“You’re not gonna lose me,” you whispered back. “I’m right here. Always.”
He gently adjusted so that he was spooning your shaking frame. He held you tighter, still inside you and still shaking a little from how bad he needed this.
For a long time neither of you moved, just breathing together while the rain continued to fall.
You were his. And he was never going to let you forget it.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
please respect my work 💌
Everything posted here is written by @brownsugarletters. Please do not repost, copy, translate, claim as your own, upload to AI tools, or share my writing outside of Tumblr without permission.
I put a lot of care into these stories, so please keep them here and respect my space.
How did you gain followers, because I’m really struggling. The books that I publish on here are good but nobody reads them unfortunately
Tbh I just stayed consistent with posting and I engaged with everyone who reblogged or commented on my work. Add people whose work you enjoy. Also use relevant tags so ppl who might be interested can find your content. It just builds naturally from there, keep going! 💗
https://www.tumblr.com/brownsugarletters/822740990796480512/just-call-my-name-and-ill-be-there reading this transported me to a time where my stepd*d did something like this to me knowing i can’t swim, but it was during a vacation and it was in the sea and then he yelled at me for being a pussy💀 so i feel validated as a girly who still can’t swim…..🫰🏻🫶🏻🥹
Omggg that is TERRIFYING. I’m sooo sorry that happened to you 😭 I too had an early traumatic experience with near drowning. You never forget it it’s soooo scary 😫
off the wall/thriller michael jackson x female reader
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ SUMMARY: After doing Michael's makeup at a sunset Hayvenhurst photoshoot, a multiple year-long friendship forms between you and the budding superstar. As your relationship deepens, Michael finally gets the courage to show you you're the lady in his life with a song ♥
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ A/N: this is my first time everrrr posting my writing, be nice to me y'all or i'll cry!! if annnnny part of this hits it's because of @brownsugarletters, a real life ANGEL who read and reread my drafts, provided feedback and gave me the bravery to post this. so much big love to her :')
CW: 18+, MDNI!, michael losing his virginity, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), slighttt religious guilt mentioned, hand kink LMAO SORRYYYY
WC: 8.7k
Even after months of dating Michael, and years of knowing him, your heart still seized in your chest the second the phone on your bedside table rang. The excitement rocked your frame and you immediately reached for your pillow, squealing into it before picking up the phone.
Only one person could reduce you to a bundle of nerves like this, even with all of your history.
You cleared your throat.
“...Hello?”
A tiny, breathy laugh. Unmistakably your Michael. “Hi, pretty girl.”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Your relationship with Michael came slowly and then all at once. The first time you met him you were a teenager, job shadowing your older sister. She’d been hired to do makeup for the Jackson 5 at a sunset photoshoot at Hayvenhurst. Unlike her, you were hopelessly shy and directionless, and she’d encouraged you to come along and learn.
Stepping onto the estate, you’d immediately excused yourself to the bathroom to take deep breaths. How the hell am I supposed to act here? Everything looked and smelled opulent and expensive, the bathroom bigger than your bedroom and kitchen combined. You didn’t feel worthy of touching their embroidered hand towels.
You peeked out into the hallway, heartbeat hammering in your ears. Housekeepers busied themselves around you. As you dried your hands on your jeans, the sound of Tito, Marlon, Jackie, and Jermaine’s boisterous laughter out by the pool brought you back to Earth.
It was a late summer afternoon – the kind where you could smell cookouts and hear family gatherings swirling through the air of the wealthy neighborhood. If nothing else, that was comforting. You headed toward the boys, a sweet summer breeze kissing your face as you gathered yourself and prepared to fake at least an ounce of confidence.
And then, suddenly, you bumped face first into Michael Jackson’s chest as he rounded the corner.
"Oh, my –" he gasped. You looked up at him, struck by his boyishness. The same untouchable Michael Jackson - the one who would glide across stages, clenching his fists as he belted into the microphone - looked so...Lanky. Painfully shy. Yet, unmistakably beautiful.
He broke into a smile as a pretty blush bloomed over his acne-ridden cheeks. He wasn’t pretty despite his boyishness. He was pretty because of it. When he smiled, his eyes actually twinkled like a Disney prince.
…Was he real?
“I’m so sorry,” you said, offering a handshake awkwardly. “I’m here to help with makeup.”
“I’m Michael.” He took your hand and you glanced down, struck by how his huge hand completely enveloped yours. You made eye contact and both of your faces broke into a huge smile. It was genuinely endearing that he felt the need to introduce himself.
“Yes,” you giggled. “I… I know you.”
You hadn’t noticed in that moment, as you were fighting your own nerves – but Michael’s cheeks flushed even more at your words. I know you. There was something so intimate about it.
I know you.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his bellbottoms, sitting tight on his tiny waist.
“Mike, if you don’t get over here, we’re gonna lose the sunlight!” Tito bellowed. You both turned to see the other brothers already getting their makeup applied and hair styled.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the movie director, Mikey?” His sister LaToya teased, sucking her teeth. “You should know you’re about to ruin the photographer’s vision if you don’t hurry up!” She linked her arm in yours and pulled you toward the set. “If you don’t let this woman get to work...”
You smiled at him over your shoulder, joining the rest of the family. The photographer, his assistants, and the wardrobe girls worked in a flurry to set the scene. Your sister, always confident and effortless, wrangled the Jackson boys and laughed with them like she’d been part of the family for years. She made it look so easy.
“I got these knuckleheads covered.” She said, tossing you a makeup bag. “Get started on Michael.”
Michael sat down obediently in a director’s chair, his hands folded politely in his lap. You got to work, trying to stay focused, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pry your eyes away from Michael’s chest. He had one too many buttons undone, his lean chest partially exposed. He tilted his chin up to let you work, the golden hour light illuminating him in an ethereal glow.
For someone so naturally charming, you were - once again - struck by the sweetness of him. The way he’d let out an exasperated “Oh god,” at his brothers’ teasing, how he’d squeeze his eyes shut and sneeze when you powdered his face, his pretty brown Bambi eyes watering.
He spent almost the entire time telling you about the animals who roamed around the property – his sweet, gentle voice laced with so much enthusiasm and passion that it made your heart twist – and even stopped you several times so he could run off to give them treats.
The timidness you felt initially melted off of you in a way that was completely new to you, and so refreshing. You riffed with his family, whispering and laughing with LaToya during the photoshoot as she mocked her brother’s poses. Even Bill, their stoic and pensive bodyguard, had introduced himself to you with warmth and kindness.
In a matter of hours, you’d gone from this timid assistant - petrified that if you breathed wrong, you’d squander the opportunity before you - to a girl, throwing her head back and laughing under the moonlight with the sweetest family in show business. You never wanted it to end.
And it didn’t.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The rest of your teen years were spent at Hayvenhurst.
Staying up all hours of the night with LaToya, listening to records and drooling over her bottomless closet. Laying out under the sun next to the pool. Flopping down in the freshly cut grass, listening to the radio and eating ice cream. Playing referee under a big pink umbrella while the boys played basketball, purposely making unfair calls to watch them complain.
But every memory you had of those years was colored by the crush you slowly developed on Michael.
Your teens turned into your early 20s, the California summers slipping by too quickly - and Michael’s presence wasn’t as consistent as the other Jacksons after Off the Wall exploded. He was growing into his own, always being pulled away from home for rehearsals, TV appearances, interviews, or video shoots.
When he was home, you, Michael and LaToya would spend hours giggling over his fan mail (“Don’t laugh at them!” he would insist, always doting and protective of his fans), giving your opinions on the outfits he had picked out for photoshoots, and listening to records.
But there were…moments. Where his glance would linger on you longer than expected. Or his long fingers would brush against yours while handing you a lemonade by the pool. Moments where his eyes would catch yours across the room and the temperature seemed to change, the conversations around you muffling to nothing.
The way your heart would jump in your chest every time he appeared in the doorway of LaToya’s room was getting impossible to ignore. One night was particularly unbearable. The three of you were watching a movie, and LaToya was out cold, her lips parted as she snored softly on the couch. It was just you, Michael, and the soft glow of an old film on the TV screen.
The air felt so thick. Michael’s head tilted with intense focus and curiosity at the black and white horror movie unfolding in front of you. His long fingers gripping the popcorn bowl physically pained you.
You’d excused yourself and ran to the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. You slowly, tentatively, lifted your dress and slipped a finger into the band of your pink underwear. It was warm and wet and humiliating.
A shaky breath escaped you. In the mirror, your cheeks were flushed, your pupils huge.
“Stop it,” you begged your reflection.
Rushing back to the room to grab your purse, you made a quick excuse to Michael and ran outside. By the time he perked his head up to ask why you were leaving before the end, you were already out the door, asking Bill for a ride home.
That night in your bedroom, you couldn’t get comfortable. Your eyes burned holes into the ceiling, an ache settling deep in your skin that you were too afraid to name.
You wanted him. Michael. Your Mikey. Your best friend.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
You and Michael were spending yet another midnight in the Hayvenhurst studio. So many of your nights were spent like this: you kicked back in your chair, giggling as Michael danced at the mic. He always wanted your feedback on his work, which you felt comically underqualified for, but you obliged happily every time.
Because he always kept the lights dim.
Because it was always just the two of you.
Because every time he shared a demo with you, it felt like you were the only two people on the planet… and you were sharing a secret. That was probably why it was one of your favorite things in the world to do with him.
But on this night in particular, Michael seemed a little restless. His orange juice sat untouched on the end of the mixing board where both of you were sat. He traced the edge of the glass, gathering the condensation on his fingertips.
“Mikey, what are you thinking about?” you asked, tilting your head at him.
“What am I thinking about?” he asked in his soft little voice, smiling at his lap. His hand moved to fidget with the levels. “Nothing...What are you thinking about?”
“Wait... Mikey deflecting?” You teased, nudging his leg with your foot. “What a surprise.”
Michael’s hands flew to his face, giggling sweetly. “Stop it...” he said. He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s a pretty night, we should get some air.”
You stepped outside, welcoming the cool air after hours in the windowless, muggy studio. The Encino sky was so clear, a million stars twinkling above you. Michael sat on the edge of the fountain.
“Whatcha doing? I thought you were making an excuse to come out to see Louie.” You teased, sitting next to him. You let a hand dip into the fountain, bubbles tickling your wrist.
He broke into another brilliant smile. But as soon as it came, it was gone.
“Actually I...It’s something else. Something I gotta tell you.”
“Oooh!” you beamed, adjusting yourself to sit cross-legged so you could fully face him. “Is it a secret? Tell me tell me tell me!”
“Yes, I guess it is,” he said, nodding his head slowly, biting back a nervous laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck. “But...if I’m gonna tell you, I need you to not look at me...you make me shy.”
“Mikey, what? I make you shy? Since when?” You grabbed his arm. “Just tell me,” you pleaded. He turned away, biting his lip at the contact.
You watched Michael’s shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “My life is gonna get real busy soon...” he began. “I can see it.” Your stomach sunk a little at the thought.
Michael was slowly working his way through mixing Thriller, and you knew things would change drastically around Hayvenhurst once the world heard it. Michael was growing into his own – he even walked differently. Less like the boy from the photoshoot, more like a man. A budding superstar.
From the songs he’d chosen to share with you, you knew this record was something unbelievably special – and the world would want more of him.
Which meant less for you.
“…So I don’t wanna start this next chapter of my life without bein’ honest with you.”
This was it. You should’ve known this was coming.
“I want...you. To be my girl. I don’t...see you as my friend. I mean...I do. My best friend. But I don’t think that’s enough for me, and I’m…” he paused to clear his throat. “I’m so nervous to say it, but… it’s true.”
You felt your jaw go slack. No matter how deep your crush had gotten, you did everything you could to keep those feelings close to your chest – never wanting to change the dynamic you had. You weren’t even scared that Michael didn’t feel the same way - you knew for a fact that he couldn’t.
He was… him.
Michael turned around, peeking at you from under his long, curly lashes.
“You’re gonna kill me, girl,” he said quietly. “You’re never this quiet. Please...say something.”
Your face was flushed – not from the cold, you were burning hot – but because you were convinced this had to be a joke. You wanted to crawl inside of your own body, feeling so painfully vulnerable that you didn’t even want him to see your hands. You shoved them in the pockets of your hoodie, your face falling to your lap.
Your fingers closed on the spare change jingling in your hoodie pocket. You pulled the coins out, turning them over in your sweaty fingers.
“Do you want to make a wish?” you forced yourself to say, offering him one of the pennies without lifting your eyes. He took it. “I’ll go first.” Michael stared at you, eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“I wish...” you took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that if it’s not true.” Tears formed heavy in your bottom eyelid, threatening to spill over. “I know you’re about to change the world, Mikey, but please… don’t play with me like this.”
“…What? Angel-“ he breathed, leaning closer to you and holding your face feather light in his hands, forcing you to look up at him. “I’m being completely honest with you.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb so gently, like he was afraid to break you. You felt your face grow heavy in his huge hands as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes.
“I never thought you could look at me that way.” you admitted. Your heart fluttered in your chest. You suddenly felt naked. “I felt so stupid.”
“You’re kidding me,” he sighed, exasperated. “There is nothing stupid about you, girl,” he smiled. “Please look at me.” His eye contact was so earnest and intense, his pupils huge. He was gazing at you with so much tenderness that it almost made you want to look away. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you one time! Not since the day you showed up here and bumped right into me.”
You smiled, your cheeks burning red at the memory. It felt like yesterday and a hundred years ago all at once. So much had changed since then.
“Michael, what do you want?” you asked, sniffing up at him.
Michael’s hands dropped to his lap again, picking up the shiny penny you’d offered him and turning it over in his fingers. A deep crimson blush creeped up his neck as he tossed the penny in the fountain. “This fountain is magic, you know.” he warned. “So I take these wishes really seriously.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling sweetly at the corners. “I wish you’d kiss me. Cause I’m too nervous to do it first. But... I can’t wait any more.”
The words hung between you. Your body started moving to him before your brain could stop it. Your hands found their way to Michael’s flannel, gripping onto it to ground yourself.
Michael reached up to tuck a curl behind your ear, eyes memorizing every detail of your face. And then he leaned forward and kissed you so slowly that the world felt like it completely stopped spinning. You felt his long eyelashes flutter shut on your cheek.
Your eyebrows pinched together, trying to force yourself to savor rather than devour him. His hands found your waist, pulling your body closer. He let out a shaky sigh into your mouth, and you took the opportunity to slide your tongue between his lips. The second he tasted you, he couldn’t suppress the little whimper that escaped from him. He leaned in to whisper in your ear.
“Please don’t make fun of me,” he begged, desperate and painfully honest. “...been dreaming about tasting you for so long.”
Your eyes fluttered at the sensation of his breath tickling your ear.
“I would never make fun of you,” you breathed, lacing your fingers into the curls on the nape of his neck. “Mikey...feel.” You took his shaking hand in yours, placing it on your chest so he could feel your frantic heartbeat. Another shaky little breath escaped from him, overwhelmed by the swell of your breast just under his hand.
And then, footsteps. Distant, but working their way towards the two of you.
You looked over your shoulder to see Bill crossing the driveway, keys in hand. The intimate bubble you and Michael were in popped suddenly.
“You ‘bout ready, Joker?” he said. So Bill. So calm and collected. If he had seen something, he wasn’t letting on. “We’ve got 20 minutes until your meeting.”
Michael hung his head at the unfortunate timing. “Sure, yes...I’ll be there in a minute.”
Bill nodded, walking over to start the car.
“A meeting? This late?” you said, trying to temper your disappointment.
“We have to finish recording the last song for Thriller. It’s giving me some trouble and Quincy isn’t happy with it yet.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “This was the only time he was available.”
You nodded, your head cloudy, struggling to come back to reality and speak casually about his work when you really wanted to spend the rest of your life right there, under the stars, tasting that boy.
The headlights of the car behind you flicked on as the engine turned over, illuminating Michael’s pretty features.
“I promise you I’ll call you tonight when I’m done.” He said. He took your hand and placed a kiss in the center of your palm, his eyelashes fluttering closed against your skin. “Come on, I’ll have Bill drop you at home.”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Over the next few weeks, yours and Michael’s transition from friends to lovers was as easy as breathing. Your evenings in Encino with LaToya were always brimming with the excitement of being a young lover – waiting on bated breath for Michael’s eager footsteps climbing the stairs up to her room two at a time. Even when it was late at night after hours of work, he was still ready to sweep you up into his arms despite the sleepiness settling under those beautiful brown eyes.
LaToya knew, of course - you couldn’t keep anything from her… but the three of you held onto this little secret for as long as possible, knowing that the teasing from his brothers would be relentless once they knew how serious you and Michael were becoming (not to mention Joseph’s reaction). She’d check the hallways for you late at night before she went to sleep, ensuring that the coast was clear for you to tiptoe to Michael’s bedroom where you’d stay until the early hours of the morning.
There was now a comfortable dip in Michael’s mattress where you laid next to him every night. Little pieces of you colored his bedroom – a forgotten pair of earrings on his bedside table, a bottle of your lip gloss left behind on his bathroom counter.
Every night, you and Michael slowly furthered your physical relationship – kissing like teenagers until your lips were swollen and chests heaving with need. His long fingers would trace the hem of your shirt, his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried with every part of himself to resist stripping you naked.
But every time you thought it would finally happen, he’d rest his forehead against yours, his breath shaky. “Just hold tight for me, baby...” he would plead.
There could be a million reasons why Michael didn’t want – or didn’t feel ready – to make love to you. His faith. His crippling shyness, despite the years of history between you. His inexperience. You had already lost your virginity years ago to a high school boyfriend, but as much as you and Michael knew about each other, you had no idea if he’d ever done it. You highly doubted it, though - as far as you knew, you could’ve been his first kiss.
But Michael had this completely unique ability to make you feel both feral with lust and simultaneously hell-bent on protecting him. He was so sugar-sweet, so wholesome and delicate.
One night, you whispered in his ear how much you wanted him, and he looked up at you, cocked his head, and said “Pardon?”
The need that was burning deep in your tummy melted into an endearing warmth at his question. You promised yourself not to bring it up again. Not until he was ready.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Your time together was even more limited as Michael and Quincy were racing against the clock to mix and master Thriller – the record company telling them that it was do or die. He told you that he’d call you first thing when the master was finally delivered, and you waited. His passion for this album was so contagious and you knew what it meant to him…even though it was difficult not being with him every day.
You laid across your bed, doing everything you could to stay busy while waiting for his call. When it came, you could’ve floated out the window.
You cleared your throat.
“...Hello?”
A tiny, breathy laugh. Unmistakably your Michael. “Hi, pretty girl.”
“Tell me good news.”
“It’s done. Completely 100% finished.” He giggled, but you could hear the slight nervousness in his sweet voice. “I can’t believe it. It’s…” he paused. “It’s out of my hands.”
“That’s a good thing, Mikey.” You reassured, beaming with pride. “They’re gonna love it. You deserve this.”
“What I deserve is some time with my girl.” He lowered his voice like he wanted to protect his words; they were for your ears only. “God, I miss you so much.”
You turned from the phone, burying your face in your sleeve. He was so sexy and he didn’t even have to try.
“Aren’t y’all aren’t going out to celebrate…?”
“Look outside.”
Click. The dial tone hummed in your ears, your heart flipping in your chest. Glancing out your bedroom window, you saw Michael getting out of a car, smiling up at you.
How, after this long, did Michael still have the ability to make you so giddy? Like you were sixteen again. You grabbed your jacket and purse and raced down the stairs, running outside to him. He greeted you with a passionate kiss, smiling into your lips.
“I missed you so much.” He said, getting the car door for you and helping you in. He settled in next to you. “...Wanna hear the album?”
“Yes please,” you said, snuggling into Michael’s side, your head on his shoulder. You breathed deep, stifling a groan at the delicious smell of him – a perfect mixture of his amber cologne, his hair product, and the leather of his jacket.
“Bill,” he said, glancing down at your body pressed up against him. “Can you take us home, please?”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Hayvenhurst was quiet, mostly everyone asleep or elsewhere. Michael took your hand, leading you to the studio. You settled into his lap on the leather couch as he pressed play on Thriller. Most of the songs you’d heard in some form or another – but hearing the finished product was completely new and overwhelming in the best way. It felt like the entire room - the entire world - was vibrating under the sound of his voice.
“I love this part, baby, what do you think-“ he’d interject during certain moments, his eyes glimmering.
As the album stretched on, he became less fixated on the music, and more fixated on you – watching all your reactions and giggling at the way you’d nod your head to the groove, or roll your eyes at his flirty ad-libs.
As PYT came to an end, his hands were pulling you closer to his warm body, and he bit his lip, waiting for your response.
“Baby, that was incredible!” you started, giddy like a fan for a moment, unable to put into words how deeply proud you were of him. “You’re gonna change the world with this, I can’t believe-“
You were cut off by the slow and sensual guitar of another song. You cocked your head at Michael. You had never even heard so much as a rough demo of whatever this sexy, slow ballad was.
“Ooh, baby, what’s this one?”
Michael cleared his throat. “This one was...a surprise f’you.” He said, his eyes scanning your face. “It took me awhile to settle into this one. And...” his face grew warm. He laughed softly into your shoulder, hiding from your eyes. “...Quincy wanted me to beg.”
Your jaw fell slack as you listened closer to the lyrics.
Lay back in my tenderness
Let’s make this a night we won’t forget –
Girl, I need your sweet caress...
You cleared your throat. “...Beg?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I was...a little embarrassed. I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it. But I had him turn the lights out for me so I could think about my girl.” His eyes dropped to your lap, and he played with the frayed bits of your jeans. “I recorded this the night I told you how much I wanted you for the first time.”
“The first time?” you stared at his lips, your voice barely a whisper. “What if you tell me again?”
Michael slowly brushed your hair off your shoulder, exposing more of your skin. He wet his lips with his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in, pressing deeper, slower kisses just below your ear as the music swirled around you both.
I wanna keep you warm...
Fill you with the sweetest love...
Let me feel you babe... All over, all over, all over...
His huge hand was splayed across your back, pulling you closer to him as his lips trailed downward, leaving moist kisses all over your exposed skin. He pulled away, blinking quickly, overwhelmed with adrenaline. “I want you.” he breathed.
Underneath you, you could feel him getting hard in his jeans, his chest heaving as he breathed in the delicious scent of your perfume. He took his free hand and pulled your face to his as he let his music do the talking for him.
You’re my lady, and I love you girl –
You sighed into Michael’s mouth. He hadn’t said he loved you yet, and hearing it in his music set you on fire. You swung your leg over his lap, straddling him. He looked up at you, his eyes heavy, and grabbed your hips, dragging you along his length. Your head fell back, humming sweetly at the feeling of him between your legs. He’d never been this bold with you.
He cradled your neck, forcing you back down to earth. He traced your wet bottom lip with his thumb. “I want you…bad.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, taking his thumb between your lips, sucking it gently. A needy whine fell from his lips before he could catch it.
“...Can you,” he sighed, working up the courage to say the words out loud. “…Can you come to bed?”
“Yes please,” you whispered.
He took your hand, turning out the lights of the studio and leading you across the lawn to the spiral staircase that led to his bedroom.
Stepping inside, it was as if every memory you had with Michael flooded your mind like a coming of age movie montage. You knew every inch of this bedroom before you fully knew yourself. Michael had been a steady fixture in your life for so long. He was your constant. Your safety.
But now, his bed loomed before you. And in your body, you could feel that what was going to happen now would split your life into a distinct before and after.
You moved in a daze, focusing only on the feeling of his hand on yours to ground you. The bedside lamp was the only light in the room. Michael slid off his jacket and set it gently on a chair.
He moved to his record collection, picking one out and setting it on the player. His eyes slowly made their way around the room as the record crackled to life, looking at everything but you, his expression impossible to read.
“What are you thinking?” you breathed. You watched him carefully, picking your nail polish until it was nothing but tiny continents on your fingertips.
He walked slowly to you and took your hands in his, biting his lip. “I just...need everything to be perfect for you.” He sighed. He brought your hand to his face, placing a tender, long kiss in the center of your palm, just as he did the night he confessed his feelings to you. Your stomach flipped. “I...haven’t done this before.”
“’S okay,” you said, stepping closer. You swallowed down your shyness, knowing that if one of you was going to take the lead, it’d have to be you. You tried with everything in you to ignore the way your heart slammed against your ribcage.
“Mikey?”
“Yes, angel?”
“Your song...” you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “...in your song, you said…you know.”
He smiled down at you, his eyes crinkling sweetly at the corners. “Baby, I said a whole lotta of stuff on that entire record about you. You gotta be more specific.”
“Mikey, you.. said you loved me.”
“I do,” he breathed, his eyebrows concerned, almost like it pained him. Like he’d been dying to say it for so long that it was killing him. “I love you.”
Michael wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a hungry kiss - no longer shy with his tongue, the wet muscle exploring every inch of your mouth. Like saying the words I love you out loud, after all this time, had finally freed him.
His hand held your jaw, forcing your face to still. He pulled away, his eyes searching every feature on your face like he was committing this exact moment to memory.
He leaned down, his tongue slowwwwly swiping along your bottom lip from one side to the other, a moan creeping up from his throat at the taste of your lip gloss. He continued, licking up your jawline to your ear, his breath shaky.
Your vision tunneled at the edges at his boldness.
“I love you, Michael.”
You stepped back and took a tiny breath. Before you could overthink it, your fingers found the hem of your top. You slipped it up and off of you, goosebumps blossoming all over your chest at the exposure. His eyebrows knitted together, his bottom lip between his teeth.
His fingers traced the outline of the top curve of your breast, so painfully slowly that you had to bite back a whine. It was overwhelming, the way his eyes traveled down your whole body, studying every curve and freckle.
He sunk down, knees settling into the plush carpet at your feet. He looked up at you, silently asking your permission, before pulling down your jeans. He took your hand as you stepped out slowly of them, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your knuckles.
His hands gripped the back of your thighs as he leaned forward, burying his face into you. He breathed in your scent with an obscene groan.
An overwhelmingly deep, searing heat flooded your body. You clenched your thighs together at the feeling. “Mikey, I—“
“It’s okay, baby,” he cooed, kissing your thighs, his fingers kneading into your flesh. “Please don’t hide. You’re such a treasure.” He looked up at you, his eyes wholly wanting and earnest - like making you feel beautiful was a matter of life and death. “D’you believe me when I say that?”
A warm sensation traveled through your thighs to the tips of your toes, your vision blurring from his pure tenderness, his fingers on your skin, the warmth of his little breaths. You backed up, sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked devastated by the loss of contact.
You crooked a finger at him and he moved to you obediently. You helped him shed his flannel, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt. Something about that was a huge turn on - seeing the man who is normally decked out in layers of beautiful patterned fabrics and shimmering rhinestones looking like the boy next door. You were high off of the knowledge that you were the only woman who got to see him this way.
“I don’t think you see yourself the way I see you,” he confessed. “You compel me.” He laid you down on the pillows, his hand cradling your head, always so protective.
“I think about holding you…and tasting you all the time.” His eyes flickered downward for a fleeting moment. “I think about it…maybe more than I should.”
“You do?” you forced out, your voice barely a whisper. He leaned in and pressed a gentle peck on your cheek, nodding shyly.
“Yes baby. Is it okay if…?” he began, his hand tracing the lace of your panties. He forced his eyes to meet yours and you nodded gently, reaching up to stroke his reddened cheek with the back of your fingers.
He slid down, stopping along the way to place gentle kisses to your hips and stomach, his shaky breath hot against your goosebump-riddled skin. You bit back a giggle, wondering if he was stalling.
His bottom lip caught gently between his teeth as he slid down your panties. He leaned his head back at the sight of you, his chest rising and falling as he closed his eyes and took a breath. His hands froze, wrapped tightly around your hips - like clutching to you was the only thing tethering him to this moment.
The stillness was killing you. “Did I…is something wrong?” you asked, reaching for a sheet to cover yourself. Your voice snapped him out of his daze and his hands reached frantically to stop yours.
“No, angel, never-” he stammered, mortified at the prospect of making you feel anything less than perfect. “I just…I want to make you feel so good. Can’t stand the idea of disappointing you.”
“Mikey, you would nev--”
“Can you-” he interjected, afraid that if he didn’t ask now, he’d lose all of his nerve. “I want to watch you touch yourself for me. Do you think you could..? I mean… have you ever?”
You shut your eyes at the question, feeling more exposed by that than by your body being on display for him. “…not until I met you.” You whispered. “But yes, I do. And… I think about you. I think… about your hands.”
Your own words echoed in your head like they were in someone else’s voice. If the girl who came to this house to do Michael’s makeup could hear you, she would never have believed it.
You heard Michael swallow, shifting his weight - and you opened your eyes. He was running a finger over his palm, genuinely mystified.
“My hands?” he bit back a pretty smile. “How come?”
“They were one of the first things I noticed about you when we met,” you confessed, your stomach flipping at the memory. You reached for one, your thighs pressing together at the sight of it - the sharp curves of his knuckles, the way his palm was nearly twice the size of your own, the changes in pigment blooming along his wrist. The parts of himself he wanted to hide were so strikingly beautiful.
“And at night, when I can’t sleep… I…” you wet your lips, your throat feeling embarrassingly dry. “…I touch myself and pretend my hands are yours.”
Michael shook his head, swallowing hard. “There’s no way, baby,” he whispered with a timid, breathy laugh. You took his hand in yours and brought it between your thighs, guiding him to dip his middle finger into you.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” you promised. His eyes squeezed shut and he wet his lips with his tongue, every nerve ending lighting up at the warmth and wetness of you.
“Please show me.”
Whether it was for his own education or his ego, it didn’t matter. Your want fully overwhelmed everything else; you would’ve done whatever he asked.
His hand crept up to your lips, and you gently sucked your arousal off of his middle finger. You took his hand in yours, tracing the veins on his palm with your tongue, your eyes glazing over. Your free hand fell instinctively to your center, your pussy already weeping onto the sheets beneath you. You dipped a finger in slowly, your back slowly arching up under the heat of his dark gaze.
“Lord help me, baby…” he groaned, his brain short circuiting at the sight of you whining against his skin. He tore his eyes away from your lips to watch you pleasure yourself, your legs trembling every time you massaged the swollen bud at the top of your opening. “There you go…” he praised, enamored with and jealous of the way you knew your body. He was immediately overtaken by an unwavering desire to learn every inch of you.
“Please touch me, Michael,” you begged. He leaned down, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. It was loaded with everything he wished he could say to you. I’m going to give you everything. Gonna make you feel everything. I’m going to meet you there as soon as I know how.
He gently pressed a finger between your folds, his lips wetting at the sensation of your body pulling him in. His eyes stayed glued to your face to gauge your reaction to every movement. Shockwaves rippled through his body at the feeling of your inner walls clenching around him, wrapping him in a delicious warmth. He was addicted.
“Ohhhhhh,” you weeped, “Mikey, there-”
Your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the noise, but your eyes snapped open as Michael’s free hand gripped your wrist.
“No.” he ordered. “Lemme hear you. Sounds like an angel…” He added another finger, and your hands clutched helplessly at the sheets. You leaned down, gently rotating his wrist between your legs. You beckoned to him with a come here motion, and he cocked his head at you.
“Try it,” you guided him between gasps. His breath hitched in his throat as he imitated the motion inside of you, dragging the pad of his finger along the ridges of your g-spot. Your back arched further off of his bed, a delicious shiver shaking you from the inside out. He groaned - a desperate, broken sound - as he watched your body drench his fingers with a fresh wave of arousal. He wanted to live in the space between your pretty moans, completely drunk off of pleasing you this way.
His thumb gently grazed your pulsing clit and he felt you breathe in and hold it. But when he tried to replicate the motion again, he didn’t get as much from you. He adjusted, learning your body like a musician tuning their instrument. You knew he didn’t mean to, but the constant ebb and flow of pressure as he worked it out felt like a cruel game. You whined, another deep shiver cascading down your spine.
“You’re killing me,” you sighed, your heartbeat pushing against your ribs. He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean, seemingly unembarrassed for the first time, his desire to taste you completely primal and unapologetic and overtaking any timidness.
He dove into your core, his nose nudging into your hyper-sensitive swollen bud as he savored you. He whimpered at your taste, removing his hand from yours to grip your thigh, desperate to get as close to you as humanly possible. He alternated between pressing sloppy, deep open-mouthed kisses to your cunt and licking your clit, the constant change in pressure making your heart beat stutter.
“God, baby, I love you so much,” he groaned, lips glistening. “Never leave me,” He pulled away to stare at your arousal leaking out of you. You clenched around nothing, immediately missing his lips. He pressed more kisses all over your soaking wet body romantically, and you instinctively grinded upwards, craving stronger friction.
“I will never, fuck, I’ll never leave you, I love you, Michael, I-” you blabbered, tears pricking the sides of your eyes. You forced your eyes down from the back of your skull, watching him grind his clothed cock needily into the mattress. “Please, Mikey, let me take care of you.”
Michael followed your voice immediately, crawling up your body to swallow your moans in a kiss. His tongue tasted like you, and a muffled sob fell out of your mouth and into his. You slid his white tee up over his head and he looked down at you, his eyes darkened and hungry. Your hands traced the lines of his lean chest and stomach, wishing you could spend the rest of your life covering his skin with your lips.
You palmed him through his jeans, trying not to feel intimidated by the size of him growing harder still. The little whimpers that spilled out of his lips were a song. He dropped his head, overwhelmed, his dark curls spilling over your face.
“I wanna feel,” you whispered.
Michael sat up, his long fingers covering his face. A blush spread over his cheeks.
“Just let me make you feel good, please, baby, I love this.” he insisted.
You put a finger under his chin, forcing his eyes to yours. “Mikey…why?”
“You’re too precious for all that. Y’dont…y’don’t have to.”
You pushed his shoulder gently off of you until he was lying down next to you. His chest heaved with each breath, the adrenaline pumping through him more now than when he was performing for thousands.
“I know I don’t have to,” you said, your hands finding his zipper. You slid it down slow enough to give him the opportunity to stop you if he truly wanted. “...But I can’t begin to tell you how badly I want to.”
He somehow blushed even more deeply, biting his lip again. You slid his pants and boxers down enough to free every perfect inch of him, and you licked your bottom lip at the sight of it springing up into his abdomen, precum already gathering at the tip.
“Lord…” he hissed, covering his face again. You leaned forward and he was quick to brush your hair away from your face, a perfect gentleman, while his other hand clutched at the sheets. You let your eyes fall closed and licked him from base to tip, slowly, savoring the salty taste of him. You began letting as much of him into your mouth as you could take, glancing up to admire the sharp line of his jaw as he threw his head back into the pillows.
“My girl, I, oh God, I-” he blabbered, his knuckles turning white. Your hand snuck down between your legs again, gathering your wetness on your fingertips. You spread it along the head of his cock, mixing it with his pearly precum. He watched you, his jaw slack and eyebrows pulled together at the center. Sliding your tongue over him, you moaned graphically at the taste. The vibrations sent another wave of chills through his body, and he shuttered.
“Baby, what are you-“ Michael whimpered, his hand in your hair trembling.
“I love the way we taste together,” you whispered.
“Uggghhhhhh—,” he whined, his grip on the sheets tightening. “Baby, slow down, I-”
You pulled away, his flushed length twitching in your hand.
“I just…” he breathed hard, licking his lips. His shy eyes found yours. “’m gonna lose control with you talking like that. I just want this to last forever. ”
He was already close. You bit back a smile.
Michael leaned over you, helping you settle on your back again. He took his cock in his fist, stroking it languidly as he got lost in the sight of you.
“…Look like perfection right now,” he murmured, taking in every detail of you. You reached back and unclasped your bra, wanting to feel his warm skin flush against yours.
“Hohhh..” he breathed. “So perfect..What are you doin’ with me, pretty girl?” Your heart softened with the awareness that he - Michael Joseph Jackson, mind you - didn’t feel deserving of you.
He lined up his cock to your entrance and leaned down, holding himself up by his forearm. “Baby?”
“Hmm?”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, your nose, your chin.
“Don’t think anyone has ever loved anyone like I love you.”
Slowly, he pressed himself into you, inch by agonizing inch. Your jaw dropped open, your eyes squeezing shut as you adjusted to the size of him.
“Am I hurting you? Baby, I know, I love you, shhh..” He cooed between kisses, trying desperately to prioritize your comfort over the waves of pleasure rolling through his core from the warmth of you. His body shuttered and he fought every instinct to collapse into the crook of your neck, not wanting to miss a second of this.
“Baby girl, look at me, I love you, I love you-” he blabbered, unable to keep quiet as he slowly began moving in and out. His face contorted as he wrestled internally with his own body, wanting this feeling to stretch on infinitely, but knowing that that would be impossible.
“I love you, I’m okay,” you breathed, your nails digging into his back. With every thrust, the prominent vein on the underside of his cock slid deliciously along your spongey core, his hips grinding sensually in small circles, pressing himself deeper and deeper.
“Mikey, you’re so deep in me-” you choked out, overwhelmed by the fullness. The closeness of your bodies was wholly spiritual - knowing this man that you loved so desperately couldn’t be any physically closer to you than he was now.
“My girl, oh God, I love you so much-” he stammered, his eyebrows pinching together. Tears threatened to spill over your eyes. “Please baby, don’t cry, ‘s okay…”
“I’m sorry,” you said, fighting the urge to sob. You took his hand, which was laced with yours, and pressed it to your lower stomach so he could feel the shape of himself inside of you. “Feel, baby…”
“Oooohh…” he breathed, the heaviness of the moment washing over him. His heartbeat stuttered as he watched your body changing shape from the inside out.
Propping himself up on a forearm, he took his other hand and gripped your jaw, kissing you like he was starving as he sped up slightly. Your jaw dropped open from the overwhelming pressure pulsing in your tummy, rendering you completely unable to kiss him back - so he pressed kisses onto every inch of your face instead.
Michael’s brain fogged, his body taking control. His tongue traveled up your jaw, kitten-licking you between whimpers. He was feral, moving his tongue over your entire face. It was so completely animalistic; you’d never seen Michael lose his composure this way. Your eyes rolled back and you choked on another sob. You were on another planet, the two of you, any outside noise completely eradicated and replaced with the sound of his body meeting yours.
“Tell me..tell me how it feels, angel,” he begged, his hand finding your chin, forcing eye contact.
“Perfect,” you whimpered, eyebrows worried, nodding feverishly. “Mikey, don’t stop…”
“Tell me you’re mine forever,” his grip on your face tightened, a silent plea for your answer as proof that this was actually happening - that you were actually opening up your body to him this way, that none of this was a dream. “Please, baby. D’you promise me?”
“I promise-” you breathed. It was becoming harder to form words as his cock swelled inside of you, his pubic mound brushing your clit with every thrust. “Forever, I promise Mikey..”
“I’ve touched myself thinking about you like this,” Michael confessed. “Thinking about you moaning so pretty for me,” his cheeks grew pink at the admission. “You’re even more lovely, baby, you’re so warm…”
He sat up to fully take in the sight of your pussy drooling all over him. He grabbed your legs, putting them on his shoulders. You felt your entire body heat up at the change in position, his cock curving up into your g-spot and making your vision blur. He turned inward, pressing tender kisses to your ankle.
“Look, baby,” Michael begged, his voice tiny and high and precious. His fingers dug into the fat of your hips, driving himself into you with such fervor as he stared longingly at the point where your bodies connected. You forced your eyes open to watch his dick drive in and out of you; his entire length was drenched in you, your body fully drinking him in.
“Mikey,” you gasped, “I think I’m…I don’t know, I’m-”
Words were so much harder for you now. You’d never cum with a partner, never felt pleasure rippling through your bones like this. It was otherworldly and terrifying.
“Baby, are you gonna finish?” He took one of his hands from your waist, bringing his thumb to the same bundle of nerves he’d watched you massage before. He rubbed gentle circles over it, contrasting beautifully with the relentless thrusts of his cock. “I want us to do it together…”
“Harder, baby-” you begged, bucking your hips up to meet his thumb. He increased the pressure on your clit, his thrusts growing sloppy as your tiny whimpers turned to devastating groans. He leaned his head back, and watching the sweat glimmering along the column of his beautiful jaw and neck sent you over the edge.
An ocean of warmth flooded you, starting at your core and rippling outward to the rest of your body until it reached your curling toes.
“Michael!” you sobbed, fighting to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible as he buried himself deep inside of you. The world quieted to only the sound of Michael’s deep, shuddering breaths in the crook of your neck and the beat of your heart as he met you at your peak.
Warm spurts of his cum slowly filled your body, his frame shaking as he emptied himself deep inside of you.
“Oh, God…” he cried out. “Mmmmnhhh….I love you…”
Your arms felt heavy and tired, but you pulled them up to wrap around his back, wanting every bit of contact you could get. His body twitched as he came down, his chest heaving hard and pushing you further down into the mattress.
For a while, you laid there in silence, your hands tracing the muscles in his back gently. Your eyes floated over the tiny grooves in the ceiling, your heartbeat slowly coming back home after running for so long.
Michael finally lifted his head. Your heart twisted at the beauty that was him - his curls stuck sweaty to his forehead, his eyes glassy.
“Are you okay?” he said finally, his voice hoarse and sleepy. When you didn’t immediately respond, he placed a gentle peck on your sweaty cheek. “Baby?”
“I’m worried I’m gonna ruin this if I cry,” you whispered, a tiny smile floating across your lips. His eyebrows immediately turned up in concern.
“Baby, what? Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head, and the first few tears slipped out.
“I just missed you.” You offered, knowing that if you spoke too much, the floodgates would open. “I missed you before I even met you.”
His eyes closed and he took a breath, a warmth settling sweetly into his chest. He never knew another soul who could steal the words from the depths of him the way you did.
He leaned in, pressing a tiny kiss to your lips, and then each of your cheeks.
“I was lookin’ for you for so long,” he whispered. “Why’d you take so long to get to me?”
You giggled as he pulled you to his chest and settled on his side, his fingers stroking your hair. You took a deep breath, every bit of tension melting off of your body as you breathed him in.
⋆˙⟡ premise . one day, you decided it was time for a new change about yourself. You didn't know if you wanted plaits, a new tattoo, a new piercing, or just something different about yourself in general. Then you finally came up with the bright idea to get a pixie cut.
⋆˙⟡ contains . fluff, kissing, pet names, hair cutting, michael being genuinely fascinated with your new look, michael being a down bad simp but you love it.
Your apartment — 1983
The itch for change had been humming under your skin for weeks.
When you woke up that morning, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror while unwrapping your bonnet, you knew you couldn't go another day of the same old routine. You had spent days tossing around ideas. Maybe getting long knotless plaits, booking a tattoo appointment, or finally getting that nose piercing you'd been eyeing. But as you stood in front of the vanity, running your fingers through your natural hair, the vision finally clicked into place with crystal clarity.
You were going to chop it all off. A soft, gorgeous, textured pixie cut.
Before heading out the door, you crept back into the bedroom to kiss your boyfriend goodbye. Michael was still half-asleep, buried under the heavy duvet in his silk pajamas, a mop of soft dark curls spilling over his pillow.
"Going to the salon,baby," you whispered, leaning down over him.
"Mm, okay mama...." He murmured, eyes barely opening. He reached up with a lazy, heavy arm wrapping it around your waist to tug you down for a slow, lingering kiss that smelled like morning sleep and sweet warmth. "Don't be too long. I miss you already."
You smiled and finally got off of him pulling your jacket on, "I won't baby, pinky promise." You grabbed your purse, "make sure you eat, I made breakfast, and your orange juice is in the fridge." You pointed your pointer finger at him. "I'm not joking michael, make sure you eat."
he was still half sleep, a small "mhm, drive safe baby" coming out his lips, you knew better to force him to eat any food. You also knew he had eating problems, but he always made sure to eat anything you prepared for him.
You headed out the door, michael always tried getting you a personal driver, but you always refused, claiming that just because you were dating a famous person doesn't mean you need to turn your whole life around, so instead of forcing you he just always told you to drive safely. You got inside your car, powering it on and driving off.
You ended up at the salon 30 minutes later. The energy inside the salon was electric–a warm mix of buzzing clippers, the sweet scent of coconut oil and heat protectant, and lively laughter bouncing off the wall. You sat in the plush leather chair, staring at yourself in the arching mirror as your stylist, marcus, draped the black salon cape over your shoulders and snapped it tightly behind your neck.
"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Marcus asked, fluffing out your hair with his fingers as he looked at your reflection. "Because once these shears close, there's no turning back."
"I'm positive," you smiled, taking a deep breath. "Do it."
What followed was a mesmerizing, almost therapeutic transformation. The sound of the sharp shears crunching through the length of your hair was surreal at first. With every snip, heavy locks dropped onto the black cape and tumbled down to the floor, leaving you feeling lighter by the second.
Then came the shampoo bowl. The warm water cascaded over your scalp, and the soothing pressure of fingertips massaging a rich, lathering shampoo into your fresh length made you close your eyes and sigh softly. After a deep conditioning treatment, Marcus sat you back in the chair to begin the delicate work.
He moved with precision, sculpting the sides, carefully tapering the nape of your neck, and using tiny curling irons to shape soft, velvety S-waves and tight, bouncy ringlets across the top. He laid down your edges with smooth, sweeping swirls, making sure every single detail framed your features perfectly.
When he finally unclipped the cape and spun the chair around, you gasped. The shortcut popped your cheekbones, drew all the attention to your dark bambi eyes, and elongated your neck in a way that looked effortlessly royal. You looked sleek, sultry, and stunning bold.
"I look....I look beautiful," you half whispered, looking at yourself in the mirror smiling.
You thanked marcus, "Thank you so so much," you said, looking inside your purse, pulling out a hundred dollar bill, handing it to him with a huge smile on your face. "I'll definitely be coming back for touch-ups." You smiled and walked out the salon heading towards your car, you got inside your car, "hopefully he likes it," you murmured to yourself, pulling off driving away.
By the time you walked back through the front door of the house that evening, the sun was sinking low, casting a warm, golden sunset glow through the tall floor to ceiling windows.
You felt completely transformed. Dressed in a crisp, white two-piece set, a cropped collard top and a fitted mini skirt that hugged every curve. You were practically glowing. You dropped your keys onto the entryway console, the metal clicking softly against the marble.
"Baby?" You called out, checking your lips gloss in the foyer mirror one last time.
Heavy, fast footsteps echoed down the hallway, and michael rounded the corner with a sweet, affectionate smile already forming on his face. "There's my girl–"
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Michael frozen right under the archway, his dark eyes widening so fast, made a breathy laugh escape your throat. His gaze swept from the top of your fresh, dark curls, down the curve of your body in the crisp white outfit, and snapped right back up to your face. For three full seconds, the world's biggest superstar was completely struck speechless.
"Michael?" You teased, sliding one hand onto your hip and tilting your head. "You alright over there?"
That broke his trance. A low, breathless chuckle escaped him as he closed the distance between you in two long strides, his eyes completely locked onto yours.
"Oh, wow," he breathed out, his hands coming up instantly to hover inches away from your head, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "Mama....look at you. Look at you!"
"You like it?" You asked shyly.
"Like it?" His voice dropped into a deep, rich register, a massive brilliant smile breaking across his face. "Baby, you look unbelievable. I mean...absolutely breathtaking."
He didn't wait another second. His hands gently slid up to frame your face, his long, delicate fingers lightly pressing into your cheeks as his eyes eagerly devoured each inch of your new look. The cut exposed the soft curve of your throat, making you look ridiculously delicate and striking all at once. He leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against yours, taking his time, tasting your gloss, and humming softly against your mouth with pure delight.
When he finally pulled back just a fraction, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.
"You cut it all," he whispered, utterly fascinated. His hands slid back, his fingertips gently twirling through one of the soft, springy curls right at your temple. "It feels like velvet, mama. Look at these curls..."
He stepped back just enough to scan you up and down again, a slow, playful smirk curling the corner of his lips.
"Wait a minute," Michael murmured, biting his lip as his fingers drifted up to toy with his own shoulder-length, dark tendrils. "Are you trying to match me? Is that what this is? We're twins now?"
"Please," you laughed, pressing your palms against his chest. "I wore it better and you know it."
"Oh, really?" Michael wrapped both arms firmly around your waist, tugging your hips completely flush against his. He lowered his head, trailing a row of soft, warm kisses along your jawline, working his way down to the sensitive skin of your newly exposed neck. "You're dynamic, baby. Dangerous. I can't even take my eyes off you."
You tilted your head back with a soft sigh, your fingers sliding up his chest and tangling around his neck, pulling him closer. "I wanted a change. I felt like a completely new woman the second I got out of that chair."
"Well, this new woman is driving me crazy," he whispered against your collarbone, placing one final, lingering kiss right at the dip of your neck before looking up into your eyes. His dark eyes were soft, completely enamored, filled with that effortless, helpless devotion he reserved only for you.
He cupped the back of your head with gentle care—careful not to mess up a single curl—and pulled you into another deep, sweet kiss that made your toes curl inside your heels.
"Come on," Michael whispered against your lips, a wicked, teasing grin breaking across his face as he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers tightly through yours. "You have to walk down the hallway again. I need to watch you walk in that white skirt. Do it for your boyfriend."
You giggled, letting him pull you tight against his side as you walked through the house together, his arm locked securely around your waist, refusing to let you go.
a/n: This is just a lil sum sum for now. wanna feed my babies with a lil something for now, and I've got a gooooooood fic dropping soon. It's either liberian girl x michael or a special request. Enjoy babies xoxoooo ;)
Preview: You endure the consequences of your actions during brunch.
Content Warning: SMUT, SMUT & MORE SMUT! DO NOT PASS GO IF YOU AIN'T 18+
Word Count: Bout 2.6k 🤭
A/N: Shoutout to the girlies that were ON MY HEAD about a part two lol, I love ya'll and this is for ya'll! Also, not completely proofread.
Read part 1 here
✦──────────✦
The mounting anticipation during the car ride back home only made the surface of your skin hum with want and still feeling the effects of the alcohol in your system heightened your dreamy state.
Michael’s hand remained on your thigh kneading the supple flesh through your dress, gradually climbing higher and in turn dragging your dress upwards, exposing smooth chestnut brown skin. You knew he was teasing you, taunting you with how he’d be touching as soon as you stepped foot in the house.
A cool sensation on the underside of your knee brought your attention back to the present and you felt Michael’s slender fingers rubbing that sweet spot causing you to shift in your seat.
Smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing even though he was the picture perfect image of calm, cool and collected. Not breaking a sweat or even the tiniest smile, Michael continued dragging a lone digit across the sensitive bend in your knee, light as a feather.
Sitting up straighter against the soft leather seat, your pussy clenched as if you were doing kegels. The slick heat between your thighs was steadily increasing and you couldn’t hold back much longer.
“Open those pretty legs for me Beauty, let me see you spread them thick thighs.” Michael commanded, guiding his hand down under the bunched up fabric of your dress.
Legs falling open, your eyes darted down to watch Michael’s hand disappear between the gap your parted thighs created. His light vanilla toned fingers dragged lightly against your pussy lips, pressing just so, you watched as the middle and pointer fingers pushed inside.
“Oooo shiiiit!” You whimpered, eyes fluttering, pulse racing as you felt those two fingers slide through your pussy and slip over your clit.
Applying gentle pressure, Michael let his two fingers caress the tight bundle of nerves in slow, tight circles. He was in no rush, this was just the beginning of your punishment and no easy reward was in sight.
✦🩶✦🔥✦🩶✦ ✦🩶✦🔥✦🩶✦ ✦🩶✦🔥✦🩶✦ ✦🩶✦🔥✦🩶✦ ✦🩶✦🔥✦🩶✦ ✦
Michael had been edging you for the past 20 minutes and your body was begging for a release.
You were on fire, that was the only way to explain how taut the string of pleasure was pulled low in your belly. Legs kept spread open to accommodate Michael’s wide shoulders as he licked broad strokes against your overly slick labia. Your juices had runneth over and were pooling in the sheets below you.
“So pretty and all mine, mmmm.” Michael hummed, sending spine tingling vibrations straight through you.
“Daddy, p-please.” You begged, hips jerking forward.
A light smack landed on your clit, “You think you deserve to cum yet? I’m just getting started, baby girl.” Michael rubbed his thumb over your clit watching as more of your slick gushed from your pussy.
His tongue darted out to catch more of the ambrosia, swallowing the tangy liquid Michael was convinced heaven was right there between your legs. Sucking your clit between his lips he used the tip of his tongue to whip back and forth. Feeling your thighs clench, he knew you were close and once your fingers entangled in his soft tresses, he released the bundle of nerves with a soft pop.
“Fuck, daddy!” You groaned once again being denied your release.
A dark chuckle left Michael’s lips as he laid a kiss upon your mound. Tapping the side of your thigh twice, he signaled for you to turn over.
Gathering strength, you turned your body over presenting your thick peach shaped ass to Michael’s greedy eyes. Setting his hand on the right cheek, he took a moment to just feel the smooth skin under his palm.
SMACK!
The jiggle was mesmerizing, so he laid a hand against the left cheek and…
SMACK!
A delicious heat licked up your spine as the sting of the slaps hit your core. Your fingers clenched the sheets.
“Now, why do you deserve these spankings baby girl?” Michael asked you as he rubbed a hand over your reddened flesh.
“B-because I was talking about our private business in public.” You stammered.
“Good, now counting em out.”
The weight of his hand felt so damn good against your ass even as it dealt pain with each blow.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
“One!” “Two!” “Three!”
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
“Four!” “Five! “S-sixxx!” “Ssseven” By the time you’d reached 7, you were a whimpering, soaked, overstimulated mess.
Soothing the stinging ache, Michael massaged both cheeks in his huge warm hands.
“Doin’ so good for me Beauty. Taking your punishment like a good girl.” He rasped, bending down to place a kiss on your hot flesh.
Trailing a hand over your ass, down your thigh and coming to rest between your legs, Michael placed two fingers at your dripping entrance and pushed forward. Your wet, slick heat instantly enveloped the long digits coating them in your juices.
A visible shudder rolled through Michael’s body as he closed his eyes and groaned from the sheer pleasure.
“Damn baby girl, this all for me?” He groaned.
“Ahh, yessss daddy. Only you!” Pushing your ass back, you started rocking your hips to try and get some friction and ease the ache.
Instantly the grip of Michael’s hand halted any movement. Fingers tightening in the bend of your hip.
“I didn’t tell you to move, did I baby girl?” He growled.
Pushing his fingers deeper inside your gushy walls, they were forced to stop once they hit the spongy g-spot. Your body answered with a rush of liquid dripping down your thigh.
“Mmmm, p-pplease.” A broken sob left your dry lips.
Smirking, Michael rubbed calloused fingers against the spongy bundle and watched your back arch even further and the goosebumps that dotted your flesh. He licked his lips, desire swirling in his eyes as he leered at the clear liquid spilling out of your pussy.
Slowly sliding his fingers from your slick tunnel, he salivated at the slick coating before stuffing them into his mouth and licking the digits clean.
Wrapping a hand around his fully erect dick, Michael kneeled behind you, rubbing the head across your pussy lips, he got it nice and slick.
“Shiiit, you feel so damn good baby girl.” Gritting his teeth, Michael lined up with your opening and pushed forward.
You both collectively gasped as the feeling of pleasure shot through your bodies. Finally being filled by your husband’s thick, curved dick had your tongue lolling out the side of your mouth.
“Damn, daddy you feel sooo big.” You moaned.
Anchoring his hands at your waist and placing his thumbs in the dimples there, Michael pulled his dick out until only the head lingered inside and with a hard thrust, slammed back inside your tight walls.
“Oooooh!” A breathy moan escaped as you were caught off guard by the deep, hard thrust.
IN. OUT. IN. OUT.
Each stroke Michael delivered hit your cervix and pushed you further up the bed until you were clutching the headboard.
The echo of skin slapping filled the room, a thick layer of heat, combined with the smell of sex swirled around you two as Michael knocked the Mario coins outta you.
Rolling his hips, Michael reached a hand up to wrap in your braids and tugged.
“When I tell you to keep our business in this house, you gonna listen baby girl?”
Eyes rolling back and a thin line of drool spilling from your mouth, you tried answering but all thought had left your brain a while ago. You were officially dickmatized.
SMACK!
“Answer daddy when he’s talking to you, Beauty.” Michael commanded.
“Fuck, y-yes daddy!” You yelped, the slap causing your walls to squeeze around Michael’s dick.
Rubbing the offended area, Michael moaned. “Good girl, you’re taking my dick so well.”
Keeping a hold in your braids, started rocking his hips thrusting hard and fast. Back and forth, hitting your spot so good you started seeing stars.
“Right there baby, harder daddy!” The pleasure building in your lower belly was reaching a fever pitch and you were so close to cumming.
Reaching a hand between your thighs and finding your clit, Michael lightly rubbed his middle finger over the bundle.
“Let Daddy feel you rain down on this dick.” The velvety tone of his rasp scratched your brain so good and that was all she wrote.
Finally allowed to welcome the release you’d been denied, a tingling started at your toes, rushing up your legs and the flood rained down washing over Michael’s still hardened member inside you. Your essence leaked out of you, dripping down your thighs and pooling in the sheets below.
“Ooooooo, shiiiit dadddy….” Moaning uncontrollably, your voice gave out from the pleasure.
Dropping your head to the pillow underneath, you gulped in deep breaths. Body still buzzing from the high of cumming so hard, you felt Michael pull out. Your pussy pulsed and clenched around air, missing the feel of being full already.
Looking down at the beautiful mess you’d made on the bed, Michael gently took hold of your hips and while moving you away from the wet spot, turned you onto your back.
“Lift up for me baby girl.” Michael instructed as he tucked a pillow under your hips.
Once you were settled and comfortable, he moved between your thighs making room for his tall frame. Adjusting your legs on either side of his knees, Michael trailed his hands over your body. Dragging nimble and skilled fingers over the soft skin of your thighs, over the soft curve of the dip in your hip, caressing the plump roll of your tummy, brushing up your sides to roll a nipple in each hand.
Biting your lip, you hissed embracing the slight pain that quickly blended into pleasure when Michael bent his head and laved his wet tongue over your right nipple. A jolt of arousal shot straight to your core, stirring your pussy into alertness.
Not one to leave a job half finished, Michael switched to your left nipple, engulfing it into his eager mouth. Sucking on the pebbled nub, he released a deep moan.
Slowly you drew a hand up his back and tangled your fingers in his soft jet black strands. The pads of your fingers lightly drag against his scalp. A shiver covered his body causing him to nip at your puckered nipple.
“Sssss” Hissing you gently bit your bottom lip.
“Sorry baby girl, let me kiss it better.” Michael released your nipple and peppered light kisses around it to soothe the brief ache.
Nuzzling into the crook of your neck, he dropped open mouthed kisses on your collarbone and along the column of your neck until feather light kisses made their way to your cheek. Cupping your jaw, Michael brushed his thumb across your swollen lips.
Dipping his head lower,he licked a stripe across the seam of your lips beckoning for entry. Opening without second thought, you allowed his tongue to duel with yours and sucked on the offered appendage. In a clash of teeth, bruised lips and soft kisses, you parted when air became necessary, pulling back a thin string of saliva connecting your lips.
“I could kiss these lips all day baby. Mmmm, gimme one more.” Michael rasped dipping his head capturing your lips in a tender kiss, nibbling on your bottom lip.
He was hard as a rock and still hadn’t released yet, rutting his hips, his dick rubbed against your pussy lips and with each nudge pre-cum leaked from the head. Grasping the base, Michael tugged, hard, and stroked up and down. The foreskin pushed back revealing the smooth, girthy length.
With a final stroke, Michael positioned the turgid flesh at your drenched hole and entered, once again nestling into your gushy walls.
Pussy, still sensitive from the previous high, you tensed from the overstimulation. Steadying a gentle hand on your hip, Michael rubbed small circles and cooed in your ear.
“You can take it mama, that’s it.”
Gradually your body accepted the intrusion and the familiar tingle settled in your lower belly. With the angle of your hips, aided by the pillow, you felt Michael’s pelvic bone bump your clit sending small chills down your spine.
“I love how you fill me baby, so full every time.” Your hoarse, aroused voice moaned.
Clutching a hand around your thigh, Michael brought it rest against his hip as he slithered his other hand to rest lightly at the base of your neck. His fingers curled just enough to feel the slight pressure he applied but not hard enough to restrict air flow.
Turning your head just so, you caught his thumb between your lips and sucked.
“There’s my naughty girl.” Michael groaned barely holding back as his hips snapped forward.
Chancing a glance down, his eyes glazed over at the sight of his dick glistening with your juices as it slid in and out of your pussy. The base held a white ring of your creamy release around it and the wet squelching sound filled the air with each motion.
Letting the feel of your gushy walls hugging his length take over his body, Michael’s hips went into autopilot and as if he were recreating moves he’d performed on stage, they rolled and thrusted in time with your moans.
This round was slow, deep love making. Your bodies were in sync with each other, both giving and taking pleasure from the other.
Michael could feel the tight knot building in his sac and hitched your thigh up higher on his hip. His fingers around your throat, tightened just a fraction, he felt your pulse jump.
“You close baby? Finish for me.” Ducking his head he licked the sweat gathering between your breasts.
“So close daddy, please.” The plea fell from your parched lips on a sigh.
Sucking a nipple into his mouth, Michael gave a few deep thrusts before the band holding his release snapped and hot ropes of cum flooded your walls, splashing against your cervix.
“Arrrgh, damn baby!” Groaning, he closed his eyes, letting the wave of ecstasy wash over him.
Michael’s release triggered your second orgasm and you tumbled over the cliff right along with him. Juices spilling over his semi-hard dick still slowly pumping inside you.
“Ahhhh fuuuck….” The soft moan slipped free from your dry and scratchy throat.
Hands resting on Michael’s back unfurled to lay slow , short strokes. Your thigh fell lazily to the side and your eyelids, heavy with exhaustion drooped.
Leaving feather light kisses on your chest, Michael glided a hand over your side and squeezed your hip.
“You good mama, still with me?” The tender loving tone returned.
Eyes still closed, you nodded your head.
“Damn baby.” Was all you had right now.
Chuckling, Michael laid a chaste kiss to your cheek and slowly pulled his now softened member from your snug walls. Hissing from the lost connection, he gingerly removed his body from you and the bed. Walking into the ensuite bathroom, you heard water running.
Returning a few minutes later, Michael cleaned you with the warm wash cloth and moved you to a clean section of the king sized bed. Tossing the cloth in the hamper, he returned to bed and gathered you into his arms.
Linking your fingers together, you snuggled closer into Michael’s warmth, the last thought to enter your mind before sleep took you under was ‘How can I act up next time?’
Warnings: none, just fluff and taking care of your man.
It's quiet, only the two of you in the room soaking in the calm and soothing sounds of the night.
Prompt. "I always feel calmer when you're around."
A/N: Thoughts and constructive feedback is much appreciated, but like Erykah, I'm sensitive about my ish so come correct peeps. This is me dipping my foot back into writing and into a new fandom. Enjoy!
It was serene really, being in the quiet, dark, peaceful kitchen with no one buzzing around asking questions, directing him to do this or that, or pulling him in a million different directions.
Michael picked up the slightly scalding hot mug and brought the rim to his lips before pursing them to lightly blow on the chamomile tea he’d fixed only a mere 15 minutes ago. The golden yellow liquid was supposed to be soothing and help put him at ease, however, it wasn’t seemingly doing the trick. Michael raised his hand and tucked a few strands of his black hair behind his ear. With an easy sigh, he brought the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip.
The immediate warmth from the golden liquid filled his chest and the knot of tension began to ease within. Humming with content, Michael took another careful sip of the tea before placing the mug back in front of him on the counter and settling more comfortably in his stool.
It was during these quiet moments, that Michael was able to turn his brain off if only for a few minutes and pretend he wasn’t the King of Pop or the most decorated Black vocal artist, but just Michael. You take away the songs, the fame, the dancing and what did you have underneath? A man from Gary, Indiana with a large family, feelings of insecurity, worry if he was enough and how to navigate such a brightly shining star that was in no way dimming any time soon.
Those were dangerous thoughts to have at times and he couldn’t imagine navigating them alone or without his support system. Speaking of which….
Soft footfalls could be heard coming closer as if a thief was creeping away from the scene of the crime. Coming from his right side, near the rounded archway of the kitchen, there you stood wearing the long sleeve ruby red silk pajama shirt that matched the silk pants Michael wore.
He took your appearance in; pajama shirt hem stopping mid thigh, silk scarf tied around your head to protect your doobie wrap, a pair of plush , cream colored house shoes on your feet and a soft but gentle expression on your face. You were his whole heart in human form and he thanked Jehovah for you every day.
Michael turned his torso to fully capture you in his gaze.
“Hey mama, what are you doing out of bed? You ok?” He asked you while wrapping one of his large hands around his mug once again.
Walking closer to the island and essentially to Michael, you placed a hand on your hip before answering.
A small yawn escaped, parting your full lips. “Baby, you asking me why I’m out of bed and knowing full well I’m a light sleeper. You weren’t next to me and so I came looking,” You were now within Michael’s orbit and reached out a hand to smooth your thumb over his cheek. The tip of your long square shaped acrylic nail softly grazed him and tickled just a bit causing your man to let out a child like giggle and you gave him a subtle grin.
Taking the last few steps which would bring you directly in front of Michael, you moved closer and instantly his long legs were bracketing your body.
“Every time.” He shook his head, slightly embarrassed that your nails still made him overly sensitive even though he should be used to the sensation by now. “I just wanted to take in the moment before coming to bed.” Michael hummed before tilting his head up slightly and capturing your lips in an unhurried kiss.
You knew how rare these moments were especially being a part of the Jackson family and ultimately the wife of THEE Michael Jackson. Today had been a wonderful first day of relaxation and you were so grateful that Michael could relax and be himself at home with you.
The pressure and stress of recording albums, creating choreography, and the constant interviews was damn exhausting. Let’s not even mention the toll it took on your sweet and gorgeous man cause if you could tell the world to back up and give him 50 feet you would gladly do so in a heartbeat.
You glanced over toward the mug that Michael had a loose hold on now and took inventory of the amber liquid. “Chamomile I take it.” It was more statement than question cause you knew your man like you knew the lyrics to Mary J’s “Love No Limit.”
Michael ducked his head but not before you saw that slow, easy grin slide onto his face. “You know me well don’t you girl?” He smirked before also glancing at the mug.
“Thought it would help soothe me and get me to settle all the energy inside so I could get some sleep.” He brought both arms to settle around your waist has his elegant and long fingers clasped together at the small of your back.
Your hands rested on his broad shoulders and you couldn’t help but admire the beautiful difference in your skin tones. If only people took time to learn what they didn’t understand, instead of criticizing and assuming, it would make the world a better place.
Michael was a proud Black man and couldn’t help the attack his body was under from having vitiligo, so the tabloids and even people in his own community were having mixed feelings and forming their own opinions about his appearance. You thought Michael was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and told him so every day.
Raising your honey brown eyes to meet his chocolate brown ones, you looked him straight in the eyes, “I love you and I adore you, you talented and beautiful man. However I need you to finish your tea and come get some rest baby.”
Michael leaned his forehead against yours and gradually let out a breath and felt the rest of the knot he’d been holding finally release. His fingers unclasped and now held your waist in a firm hold as he gently squeezed your sides as if he was grounding himself in your presence alone.
“I always feel calmer when you’re around.”
Pulling back, Michael pursed his lips in a familiar way that let you know he was fishing for a kiss. Tangling your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck, you moved in and placed a soft kiss against his inviting lips and caught just a hint of chamomille. Tugging his juicy bottom lip gently, you pulled it in between your plump light brown lips and sucked it in.
Michael hissed and on instinct his fingers clenched against your hips and slowly moved to rest just above the dip of your behind. You held his bottom lip hostage for a few extra seconds before releasing it with a soft pop.
Keeping steady eye contact, you laid one, two, three gentle kisses against Michael’s lips before nodding your head toward the mug that was by now all but abandoned on the kitchen island.
By the look on your husband’s face, he was smitten and eating up the affection like the ham he was. He glanced over at the now cooled tea and within seconds his decision was made.
Standing up and without releasing his hold on your waist, he bent his head down near your ear.
“The tea’s not gonna cut it now mama.” Michael moved his hands to tap against your butt twice and turned you toward the same arched doorway you’d entered a short while ago.
You couldn’t help but grin as you giggled a bit and breathlessly drew out his name, “Michaaael!”
With you both moving out of the kitchen and back toward your shared bedroom, the lone mug of chamomile tea was forgotten in the midst of whispered promises, soft glances, and loving caresses.
