my name’s kelsey camisha but i prefer you call me “camisha”
୨ৎ ESFP - T (entertainer)
୨ৎ she/her
୨ৎ taurus ☼ cancer ☾ scorpio ↑
୨ৎ pls read my carrd .ᐟ ➝ all my basic & current info are here, as well as socials, so pls do check it out byf ♡
୨ৎ i actually just started using tumblr bc of my current obsession with lewis pullman ughhh that man is gonna be the death of me .ᐟ
୨ৎ came back cos i have a brand new hyperfixation: michael joseph jackson
୨ৎ SOCIALS: tiktok | x | letterboxd
୨ৎ pls do check out my tiktok acc .ᐟ i make edits of my current hyperfixations there 🥹 your support would mean a lot to me & i woild very much like it if i became moots with you there as well .ᐟ
୨ৎ i always follow back especially if we share the same interests as stated in my carrd above .ᐟ
୨ৎ i’m currently a 5th year college student taking up doctor of medicine (dvm) & hopefully i graduate next year then start studying for boards (fml)
୨ৎ also i’m looking for moots because i couldn’t yap about my hyperfixations to ANYONE it’s killing me 😭 in order to survive, i need to yap about it to someone who relates KSJDKDH
୨ৎ cami’s lewis pullman characters fic recs masterlist
imagining manipulative boyfriend!michael touching you in public
warnings: 18+, manipulation (duh), public sex, creampie
“c’mon mama,” michael groans, tugging at your skirt. “lemme feeeeel you.” his hands running up and down your body.
“michael..” you whisper, the library quiet as you try to keep the attention off of you two. his hand slides higher up your thigh, fingers teasing the edge of your skirt. you whimper, pressing your lips together hard.
"shh," he murmurs against your ear, "be a good girl." his fingers slip under your skirt and slide beneath the waistband of your panties, pressing against your already soaked folds.
he breathes against your ear, two fingers slipping between your lips without warning.
you put your hand over your mouth, a moan creeping out. “s-stop.” you grab his hand, taking it out of your panties before turning around to face him.
“michael, there’s people in here!” you whisper yell at him, while fixing your panties and skirt. your legs trembling slightly and your pussy aching. he looks down at you, a smug smile plastered on his face.
he brings his glistening fingers up to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours, he pops them into his mouth. his tongue twirls around his two fingers, tasting every drop of you. “mmm,” he groans, “taste so’ good ma.” (ugh, you can’t stay mad at that..)
—
“fuuuckk,” michael moans, your legs on his shoulders as he thrusts into you. your back pressed against the cold porcelain of the library sink.
he rolls his hips slow, dragging every inch of his cock out before pushing back in deeper then before. you grab onto his arms, desperate and needy. your eyes starting to roll back.
"mmph-please-" you moan. "please what?", his voice low and mocking. he stops thrusting completely, leaving you empty and aching. "finish the thought, baby”
"please- fuck," you sob, “more, w-want more.” his lips curl into a cocky smirk, “good girl.” he slams into you once more, his dick filling you up all the way.
your legs shake violently over his shoulders, a broken cry leaving your throat. “such’ a desperate little thing” he groans, grip tightening on your hips. he slams into you harder, watching you fall apart underneath him.
his thrusts get deeper and rougher, slamming into you with wet thrusts that echo off the tiny bathroom walls. your pussy clenches around him, his dick twitching inside of you. "g’nna fill you up, mama.” he pants, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.
your tits bounce with each thrust until finally he buries himself deep inside of you. hot cum filling up your core, leaking out of you.
he slowly pulls out of you, cum dripping out more onto the bathroom floor. his dick still hard and painful. “mm, look so sexy with my cum drippin’ outta you, baby.” he murmurs, his hands rubbing against your thighs.
your legs still shaking as he helps you off the sink, handing you your soaked panties. he pats your head as you get dressed, makeup smeared (but he doesn’t care) as leads you out of the bathroom, you swear everyone is looking at you as you two walk out to the car.
note: i need more of him immediately but i hope this does you all well i’m sorry for no post in couple days ive been on holiday but thank you all for the support i love you babies <33
From the moment he laid eyes on you, stood with his sister, La Toya, introduced to the family as his sibling’s friend at Hayvenhurst for the first time, in a pretty plaid skirt and a taupe oversized sweater — he knew he loved you.
Loved you so much he’d go to the ends of the Earth for you. Travel miles just to hold you for 5 minutes. Cancel every tour, every show if you needed him, at the drop of a hat.
Especially so once you became his official girl.
He’d do absolutely anything.
Anything but make sweet love to you.
It kept you up at night — how can a man so infatuated not want to strip you bare and ravish you till the sun came up. Not want to see you, stark naked, in all your glory, writhing and whining underneath him as he took you.
Michael had his reasons.
Timidity. Inexperience. Insecurity.
But, the largest factor of all — religion.
Michael was a raised as a devoted Jehovah’s Witness — something his Mother had instilled in him from birth. A religion built on morality and modesty. A religion that forbid sexual intercourse before marriage.
Michael wasn’t as devoted as his Mother — ever since his album Off the Wall, he had slowly began parting ways with the religion. Distancing himself as the connotations of his album were subtly frowned upon due to mentions of sensuality and infidelity — however, his personal beliefs about a higher power still remained.
He still, after his parting, believed that sex was something marital and holy — something to be worshipped and protected, performed with someone you truly love and trust.
And he did. He did, wholeheartedly, love and trust you — with every fibre of his being. But, every time your hand would trickle down his body, grazing over the painfully obvious bulge that clad him beneath his slacks — he would stop you. The guilt that washed over him far greater than any aching pleasure he so desired.
As time progressed, and your relationship blossomed — that guilt diminished. Grower smaller and smaller with each tentative touch or pleading look you’d give him. Each one cracking the glass dome of restraint he had locked himself in.
You knew tonight you’d finally shattered it.
Michael was sat comfortably next to you on the sofa at Hayvenhurst, a gentle hand resting on the curve of your clothed knee, television blabbering in the background as you watched him. He looked gorgeous in every aspect, but right now — calm, relaxed, content, it took the cake.
“Watch the movie, lovey.” His voice soft and bashful, a blush creeping onto the round of his cheeks after catching you staring.
“I think my view is better.”
Michael breathed out a huff of timid air — your quick-witted flirting always got to him. “Stop. Y’know I’ll get shy.”
You giggled next to him, shuffling closer to his warm body, “I know y’beautiful, Mike.”
He laughed, turning his flushed face away from you in embarrassment, “Can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause..” “‘Cause, what, angelface?”
Michael groaned, finally returning his gaze back onto you, a smile he failed to suppress adorning his ethereal face, “‘Cause y’makin’ me think things that I shouldn’t.”
Ting!
The lustful lightbulb sparked so bright in your brain you almost saw stars.
There was your green light.
“Like what, sweetie.” Your voice now hushed, darker, deeper — an undertone of temptation that had Michael reeling inside, “Tell me.”
“B-Baby.” He was cracking — you were certain. The way he twitched as a calculated hand fell into the tense of his lap, stroking languidly along his clothed thigh, the denim scratching along your manicured nails — paired with a small knit in his eyebrows that made him look so deliciously adorable.
“What’s up, honey?” You teased, face now inches from his own bashful one, “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ mind of yours.”
Michael whined, deep from his throat, as you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mouth moved slowly — trailing to his warm cheek, to the sharp of his jawline, and ending on the smooth of his bare neck. The gentleness of your lips against his burning skin had him fluttering his eyes shut — basking in the sensation. His hands moved subconsciously, once against your knee, now hesitantly holding the curve of your waist as you pressed yourself against him.
“Wanna hear it, Michael.”
He whined again, ever so louder this time, a statement of his timidity, “Baby, please.”
Your lips left his skin to move upwards, meeting his gaze once more. He looked wrecked — torn between honouring his devout innocence or letting his dirty mouth reveal his secrets.
You made the decision for him, clambering over him to settle in his lap, legs either side of his twitching hips. His eyes shot open in surprise.
“Honey, I-“ “It’s okay, sweet boy, I know what you’re thinkin’, anyways. Someone else is doin’ all the talkin’ for ya.”
Michael knew exactly what you were on about.
His embarrassingly obvious hard-on pressed into the softness of your clothed cunt — your skirt ridden up your thighs so perfectly that the cotton of your panties now resided directly on top of the boner he was attempting to hide. Despite never seeing his gracious cock with your own eyes, you knew he was big — every ridge now digging into the slick of your covered folds, hugging his length through his pyjamas bottoms.
“Let me make you feel better, handsome.”
Heaven and hell. That was the only thought that plagued Michael’s mind in this moment. Did he remain pledged to his beliefs, or was the way your drooling cunt wrapped around him, despite the barrier of clothing, enough to make him crack?
With one flex of his grip around your waist, and a breathy whine from your lips — the restraint shattered.
His lips met yours in a feverish connection — sloppy and messy. Spit coating your lips and chin as he forced his eager tongue into your mouth — hands now splayed across the small of your back, pushing you closer. His mouth met yours in a frantic motion, quick and rushed, like he was afraid someone, or something, would stop him at any moment. Your hands slipped up his body, resting on the lean of his shoulders, before sliding into the sweetness of his curls.
He truly crumbled when your hips began moving.
A slow, tantalising rock against him — movements so precise and languid he was certain one harsh buck and he’d fill his boxers right then and there. You had played this game with him before — being in this compromising position wasn’t new to you and Michael. You had once, in a state of pleasure, picked up your speed as you rocked against him, but he quickly shut it down. Telling you, bashfully, he was soon to finish and felt wrong about it — paired with a pout and blush.
This time, though, when your hips picked up a swifter pace — he daren’t stop you.
He’d been agonisingly hard and denied an orgasm for months now — every time he’d nearly get there, the devil on his shoulder telling him to carry on and make a mess of his shorts, the angel on the other side would force him to halt your hips to a stop, apologising at the way you’d whine in disappointment.
Michael let you take what you needed — back arched, hands threaded through his curls as you fucked yourself on his clothed cock, the prettiest noises falling from your swollen lips.
“Y’look so beautiful like this.” Michael revealed quietly, hands following the liquid movements of your hips, eyes trailing over your frame, focusing on your erect nipples poking through your tank-top, the curve of your breasts becoming more visible with each bounce.
With every drag he guided along the ridge of his cock that relentlessly nudged against your puffy clit — your whines got louder, only forcing his cock to throb beneath.
Michael, all too familiarly, held you to a stop.
“Michael.” His name fell past your lips in a desperate plea, the pleasure depleting as you stilled against his crotch.
“I know, I know, sweet girl.” He reassured, leaning up to press a gentle peck to your pouting lips, “M’not stoppin’, don’t worry that pretty head. Just wanna try somethin’.”
He lifted you off his lap with strong precision — settling you down to a place you’d not explored with the temptation between your legs.
His thigh.
“There y’go, pretty.” He whispered, smoothing down the back of your hair in kind strokes, “Go’head, baby, take what’cha you need.”
Your head reeled at the sudden change in his disposition — the once shy boy had magically been transformed into a confident man as the remains of his restraint settled around you.
His new attitude sent a pulsation so strong between your thighs you ground down on his — the tense of his muscle rolling against your nub in the most sensual way. Something you’d never quite felt before.
“Oh, God.” You whined — ignoring the way Michael tched at the name used in vain, not once stopping as he dragged you along his leg, lip caught between his teeth as he ogled at you.
“D’ya feel good, pretty?” Despite his switch in confidence, he was still desperate for your praise, his voice cracking slightly as he met your glossy eyes.
“Mmhm—s-s’good, Mikey.” Your voice hit him right where he needed you most — the place between his twitching legs that had been denied touch for so long.
You didn’t miss the way his hips bucked ever so slightly upwards, chasing a grasp he undeniably craved. Your hands soothed that ache — reaching forward, ever so hesitantly, to palm the bulge in his slacks.
Michael gasped, hand flinching at your side, frantic eyes meeting yours once more, “This okay, angel?” You questioned.
Michael’s lip sucked between his teeth once again, glance flickering from your gorgeous smile to your manicured hands hovering over his crotch. An act he would once deny — but not this time.
He hummed, his voice high-pitched and needy, nodding quickly, “Please, mama.”
A curse fell from your swollen rosebud at the sound of his despair — your hand enveloping around his length beneath his bottoms.
“Oh, my Lord.”
He was done for — head falling back against the plush of the sofa, eyes rolled to his skull as the pleasure washed over him. You wasted no time in pleasing the man beneath you, never once stopping rocking your hips against him, as you slowly stroked him.
The scene was erotic — a dirty array of arousal in the way he bucked his hips unapologetically into your hand, cock throbbing under your palm, as you continued to hump the meat of this thigh, your slick staining the blue denim that had trickled from your soaked panties. It was enough for him — no direct physical contact, but just the right amount of pleasure to satisfy you both.
When your thumb swiped over the oozing head of his cock, Michael lost it. Whining so loud like he didn’t care who heard — the sudden boldness depleting faster than it had come around, now replaced by uncontrollable desperation.
“O-Oh, s-shit,” The curse fell from his mouth before he could suppress it, “G-Gonna cum, lovey.” His hips now fucking up into your hand pathetically, chasing a high he’d been yearning for for so long.
In your own state of blinding pleasure, your only response was a melodic whimper, his tensing thigh hitting the ridge of your clit that had your own orgasm building. Michael, with no prior warning, came with a cry, his milky white release soaking the material of his boxers — the neediest whines of lust filling the room. You soon followed — an exclaim of his name hitting his ears, only furthering his pleasure, as you came undone on his thigh, humping him at such a speed you were almost a blur in his glassy vision.
Michael heaved as he came down from a high that had been lingering on his mind since the moment you met him — an orgasm so strong he was twitching uncontrollably. You stilled against his leg, catching your breath simultaneously, peering down at his fucked out state.
“Thank you, pretty.”
“Ah, ah, I’m not done with you yet.”
Michael swore he died and went to heaven as you dropped to your knees beneath him — eyes hungry and dark, agenda unclear to him.
It was only when you lay your tongue flat against the rough of his jeans, the ones you had once fucked yourself on, licking up your essence that clad the denim, that Michael realised how much of a sex-hungry slut you were. The tang of your seeping arousal lingered on your tongue as you lapped up the mess you’d made on him — glancing up at him through your lashes at his knitted eyebrows and agape mouth. His suspicion that you were a cock-slut only deepening as you retracted your tongue back into your mouth, savouring the taste of yourself, and kissed your way up his leg, getting dangerously close to where he was pulsating.
“Mama, I—“ “Shhh, just gonna clean y’up, baby.”
Michael saw stars when you shoved his pyjama bottoms down his thighs and latched your greedy mouth to the wet spot that clad his boxers, a crackled groan ripping from his throat as you hummed around him. Your lips, settling right against the softening tip of his cock, suckled the cum straight from the cotton — his salty release flooding your tastebuds, colliding with the tang of your own essence in a delicious blaze on your tongue. His hand flew down to cradle your cheek as you lapped up the cum that stained him — his cock throbbing once more as your hands gripped his thighs, jeans now even more wet from your eager mouth.
“Baby—fuck, I-I’m gonn—“ With a strangled cry, another irrepressible spurt of cum shot from him once more, hands tightening ever so slightly around your flushed cheek as you greedily sucked up what he blessed you with — lapping up his second orgasm like you were dying of thirst.
Only when you pulled away, satisfied with your salty refreshment, did Michael’s breathing level out — blissed out expression meeting your devilish one.
synopsis: you can't seem to get yourself off while michael's away on tour. so when he finally comes home, he decides to teach you himself (w/ the help of a mirror and a v hands-on lesson :p)
cw: smut, fingering (f!receiving), mirror sex (?), squirting, praise kink, teasing, size kink (lil tiny bit), dirty talk, hand kink, guided masturbation, established relationship, soft dom!michael, kinda nasty (oopsies)
the drapes of michael’s bedroom were drawn tight, sealing out the bright afternoon sun and leaving the space wrapped in a warm glow.
michael was finally home.
for months, he had belonged to the world, traveling from city to city, living out of hotel rooms that all blurred together, and spending night after night giving everything to the blinding stadium lights.
and for months, you had been left with nothing but long-distance phone calls.
you had lost count of how many nights you spent curled up in bed with the receiver pressed tightly against your ear, listening to his soft, rhythmic breathing long after the conversation had run out of words.
you missed him with a desperation that physically ached – and unfortunately, he had found out exactly how much a few nights ago.
it had happened sometime after midnight.
you were exhausted, half-asleep, and michael had been teasing you in that low, sleepy murmur of his.
before your defenses could catch up, you had admitted it.
you confessed that you’d tried getting yourself off while he was away, but it never worked.
it didn't feel the way his hands did.
without him there, you couldn't get yourself over the edge, and every single attempt while he was away had left you burning and frustrated.
michael let out a soft, breathless laugh.
"yeah?" he had murmured, his voice dropping lower, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "poor thing..." his voice softened. "i miss you so much. i hate bein' away from you."
you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.
“tell you what… i’ll just have to teach you when i get home.”
by the time the call ended, the tone for his return had been set.
which was exactly how you ended up here.
you were sitting on the floor right between his legs, positioned directly in front of the full-length mirror across from his bed. your shorts and panties were gone, leaving you completely exposed to the reflective glass.
your back rested flush against his chest while his long legs stretched around either side of you, keeping your thighs spread wide so you couldn't close them if you tried. one of his arms was looped loosely around your waist, keeping you tucked securely against the heavy, throbbing hardness straining against his pants.
with only a skimpy pink tank top on, michael had you blushing and writhing in front of the mirror without even laying a finger on you yet.
you felt so exposed, so vulnerable, your chest rising and falling rapidly under the thin cotton of your top.
"mm, look at you." he caught his lower lip between his teeth, shaking his head slightly. "so pretty f’me," he murmured, his head tilted down so he could speak right against your ear.
heat rushed to your face. you turned your head away from the mirror, burying the side of your face against his chest instead.
you couldn't bear to look at your own reflection while michael sat behind you, whispering things like that into your ear.
"c'mon, be a good girl 'n look for me." one of the hands around your waist slid up your chest to grab ahold of your chin, turning it gently to bring your eyes back to the mirror. his other hand tickled at the skin below your navel, sending waves of goosebumps.
"'s embarrassing," you whined, your gaze drifting down to the plush carpet below you.
michael pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your hair. "no 's not, sweet girl. 's to help teach you." his fingers trailed lower, the heat of his palm brushing your bare thighs.
"that's all y'gotta do. just watch."
in the reflection of the glass, your eyes were drawn to the sight of his hand against your body.
michael’s hands alone stirred something inside of you.
the sheer size of them made your stomach flip with a heavy, restless ache. his palms were broad, and his fingers were long and slender.
as his hand hovered over your center, you could see the faint lines of his knuckles and the subtle swell of the veins tracing down the back of his hand.
they were large enough to completely span your hip, yet precise enough to know exactly how to ruin you.
the hand against your stomach slid a little lower, teasing just above your clit. "'m not always gonna be here to do it for you."
you knew that. you knew that michael wouldn't always be around to take care of you like this. not with the second leg of the tour right around the corner.
so, you let your eyes skim over the floor, slowly inching up the glass of the mirror.
"that's my girl," he whispered, his voice soft against your ear. "if you take your eyes off yourself... i'll stop."
you were both aching with anticipation.
every nerve in your body felt wound tight. the promise hanging between you, the warmth of his body at your back, the sound of his voice against your ear – it all left you so worked up.
you wanted him to finger you the way you needed until you were cumming around his fingers.
you needed that release from him so badly.
and michael was desperate to have you squirming in his grasp, choking out moans for him as you gushed all over his fingers.
his fingers brushed over your clit softly, circling it slowly.
he could hear your breath hitch, your much smaller hands coming to the forearm that still had a hold on your chin.
you were so sensitive, all fidgety in front of him, your body growing even hotter at his touch.
"mikey–" you spoke no louder than a whisper, just enough for him to hear you.
he let his hand slip from your chin, his fingers sliding smoothly down to the bottom hem of your pink top, his palm cupping the soft underside of your right breast. you jerked a little at the sensation, your nipple instantly hardening under his palm.
"this okay, sweet girl?" he murmured. his low voice brushing so close that you can feel the slight curve of a smirk against your ear.
you nodded quickly, your chest heaving as you bit your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a desperate whine.
but with his hand off your chin, your head dropped forward, your eyes instantly darting downward to watch his other hand hovering over your thighs.
"head, baby," he said softly, his tone was gentle but left no room for argument.
you lifted your head, your cheek brushing against his jaw as you rested back on his shoulder. his hair tickled your cheek as you settled against him.
in the reflection, you watched his fingers slide down past your navel, dipping right into the slick arousal gathered between your thighs.
"look how wet you are,” he chuckled, sliding the tips of his fingers through your heat, spreading the slick moisture. his bottom lip caught briefly between his teeth before a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "this all for me?”
his words made your face and neck grow warm, crinkling your nose, your legs attempting to close. but his own legs were in the way, keeping them pinned wide open.
"michael, this is humiliating," you muttered, pressing yourself farther back against his chest like you were trying to escape.
you weren’t.
and you knew that.
you were too riled up.
too desperate for him to fill you.
"take a lick, sweetheart," he teased, bringing his hand away from your heat and up to your face.
you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, your eyes flicking toward his hand for just a second. in the dim light, you could see the creamy, glistening slick coating his fingertips.
when you finally forced your eyes upward to meet his in the mirror, your eyes were wide and dazed.
"be a good girl 'n get my fingers nice 'n wet for you," he mumbled, a tender smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you with heavy, dark eyes.
wrapping both of your hands around his wrist, you guided his fingers toward your mouth. your tongue brushed against them before you drew them in, tasting the faint trace of yourself still lingering on his skin.
you let them rest there for a moment, coating them with your saliva while his gaze stayed fixed on you. when he finally told you to open your mouth, you obeyed without hesitation. he carefully pulled his fingers free, a thin strand of saliva stretched between them and your tongue before finally breaking.
the spit dripped off his fingers, trailing down your stomach before his hand found its way back between your thighs. his fingertips were still warm from your mouth, damp as they brushed teasingly against your entrance.
michael felt your pussy flutter against his fingertips.
"god, baby–" he muttered, beginning to tease his middle finger inside, "look at that."
"see how pretty she is? squeezin' me like that?"
your hands returned to his forearm, digging your blunt nails into the skin as his hand palmed heavily at your breast.
"please, please," you mewled, your breath catching sharply in your throat as the slick tips of his fingers parted your entrance.
your voice was all shaky as he nudged his way inside. he eased in just a little more, letting you feel the stretch until he was two full knuckles deep.
you were so tight around him, your walls clamping down on his fingers like a vice. every shift of his hand sent a jolt straight through you, causing your body to pulse helplessly around his fingers.
"shit, 'can feel you, sweetheart," he gasped out, his breath stuttering against your ear.
once he slid his finger all the way to the hilt, he kept his hand still for a moment, letting your body adjust to the thick stretch of him.
with agonizingly gentle precision, he hooked his finger upward, curling it slightly against your gummy walls and pressing it right against your sweet spot.
the sudden pressure hit you like a wave, making you let out a high, broken whimper as your head shook back and forth against his shoulder.
"michael," you whimpered, your legs beginning to tremble where they were hooked over his own.
it was pathetic.
he was only a finger deep inside you, yet you were falling apart, crumbling into a shaking mess right in his arms.
the hand cupping your breast glided upwards, his fingers grazing lightly over your raised nipple right through the thin fabric of your top.
the hit of pleasure sent your head falling back against his collarbone. your back arched off the floor into his touch, your ass grinding back ruthlessly against the rigid length of his hard cock.
"need more, please," you begged with a breathy moan.
any lingering thought of watching the mirror or trying to memorize his movements for later completely evaporated from your mind.
it didn’t matter anymore.
you knew that never, ever, would you be able to replicate the pleasure he was making you feel right now.
he slowly drew his finger out of you, making you cry out from the friction, before sliding it right back in easily.
you were sucking him back in, begging for more.
he started with languid pumps of a single finger, murmuring dirty, breathless praises against your ear as you trembled and shook in his arms.
a delicious heat coiled in your stomach at an intensity you’d never felt before.
every moment had you wound up so tight. he had you on such an edge that you truly thought you would explode.
and as he pulled back out once more, he returned with another finger.
"oh my god." you gasped, your legs clamping tightly around his own.
michael could feel your stomach tense up as he filled you even more. he could feel your breathing grow ragged and the volume of your cries become careless.
every push of his knuckles against you was sloppy and loud. you were gushing around him, slick running down his long fingers to coat his knuckles and wrist.
"makin' such a mess," he teased. "you’re close, aren’t you, sweet thing?" his lips brushed against the damp skin of your neck, his breath warm against you.
"michael! i–i’m–" your mouth fell open as your legs kicked helplessly over his thighs.
his fingers pressed deeper, curling into a spot that made you gasp out a frantic, “y-yeah–”
he adjusted his angle, pressing harder into your sweet spot until it drew a sudden burst of wetness right out of you. your walls clamped down around his fingers, his cock pulsing against you in response. he kept working that exact spot, pumping another burst out of you as he groaned against your neck.
"right there?" he murmured. "right there makes you squirt? i know it feels good right there, baby." he didn't let up, his voice soft against your ear as your thighs shook.
"uh huh...yeah?" he coaxed. "yeah, that's it. cum f’me," he murmured.
the hand on your breast slid higher beneath the hem of your top to grab your chin, gently turning your face toward him.
before you could think, he was kissing you, deep and sloppy, swallowing every sound that escaped you.
it was overwhelming.
the coil inside you finally gave way, crashing through you all at once as you gushed all over his fingers and hand.
the sudden rush of fluid soaked his fingers and stained the carpet beneath you. you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you. your body spasmed in his arms, your ass grinding up against him helplessly as he rode through his own orgasm.
just from watching you, watching how your pretty little pussy squeezed his fingers and leaked all over his hand, michael let out a deep, strangled groan into the kiss. his body locked up behind yours as he came in thick, hot spurts, soaking through his underwear as his own climax hit him.
───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───
his hands r just ugh
its always so funny talking down here normally like i didn't write allat up there
synopsis: jaafar knows he shouldn’t be fucking you while he has a fiancée — but when she’s such a bitch and you’re so perfect & so good to him — how can he not!
warnings: sexual themes, smut, 18+, cheating (sorry idec at this point sue me)
thank you all so much for 2k followers! i love you all sm<3
Jaafar knew he was in trouble this time.
It had been harmless for a while now — something reserved for behind closed doors. Something he kept under very strict control. Something he’d never admit out loud — even to himself alone in a dark room.
Harmless.
There was nothing harmless about the way he fucked you every chance he got whilst having a fiancée.
Taking you against the bathroom door, hand clasped over your mouth to conceal your whines of pleasure. Or over the kitchen counter after his fiancée left for work. Or even in the same bed his wife to be slept in after you left, legs wobbling and a familiar throb between your thighs.
He knew it was wrong — especially since you were his brother’s friend. Someone who had been in his life since he was in his early 20’s — a constant reminder of something he could’ve had if he didn’t get into another relationship.
He had loved you from the second he set eyes on you. When Jermajesty introduced you both on a casual day, his heart ignited in desire. A want, no a need, for you so strong he physically felt a visceral reaction to you every time he saw you. Alas, he was harshly reminded you were meant to be friends, his brother’s friend, someone in close knit with the family — not someone to be romantically involved with. He moved on — physically, never emotionally.
He and Maddie, his future bride, weren’t the most thrilling of couples. They were simple, basic, easy — their marriage something to just say they’d done. Often lacking chemistry and connection, and that feeling deep in your soul where you know the person you’re with is the one.
Something he’d always felt for you.
The way he felt when you’d look at him, your pretty doe eyes peering up at him like he hung the stars, he could physically feel his heart thumping in his heart every time.
The affair started on Jermajesty’s birthday.
You got drunk — way too wasted, way too quick. The liquor hitting you harder than you expected as you stumbled through the Jackson home, bumping into walls, clutching onto door frame’s as you attempted to make it to the bathroom, before colliding straight into Jaafar, fairly tipsy himself.
He had been with Maddie a little over 3 years — bought their first home, talking of children and marriage, finally settling down.
Until he decided bending you over the sink and fucking you senseless sounded like a better idea.
And from there it blossomed.
Fucking you anywhere and everywhere — no matter the time. And every excuse was made.
Late home? He was on set. Or was he fucking you in his car in an empty parking lot?
Didn’t answer his phone? He was just busy! Busy stuffing your mouth full of his cock, more like.
He hated the way he felt no remorse, no guilt, no nothing. Just the sheer thrill of it — the excitement that filled his chest at thought of when he’d next be burying himself deep inside you.
He’d tell you, as he thought himself, ‘It’s harmless sex’. Something you’d laugh at — despite the cruel reality of it.
And the sex only got better when he and Maddie started fighting. Every day it was a new argument, brutal disputes that would only bring him back into your arms every time — love for her dying, and desire for you blooming.
The thought clouded his mind on set.
Standing under the bright lights, eyes burning from the sheer intensity as well as the fatigue that plagued him — not only from his demanding career, but visions of you keeping him awake, too.
When the director called for a short break, he let out a sigh of relief, shrugging a heavily bedazzled jacket from his tired shoulders, handing it to a nearby costume designer. Raking a hand through his tussled curls, he moved sluggishly to the sidelines of the set, grabbing a bottle of water, taking a slow, much needed, chug.
“Hey, you.”
He hated the way his brain automatically associated the sound of clicking shoes against the hard floor with you — his excitement dying slowly in his chest as he turned to meet his fiancée’s frame.
“Oh, hey.” He spoke, voice flat and uniform.
Maddie hesitated before speaking, eyebrows furrowed neatly into her forehead, “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” He brushed off, shaking his head, taking a firm seat in a chair with ‘J.Jackson’ neatly embroidered into the back, with a sigh, “What you doing here anyways?”
“Glad to see you too.” She huffed sarcastically, “Thought I’d bring you lunch.”
She handed over a brown paper bag, heavy in his hand as he took it from her. Jaafar peeled it open, stomach rumbling as the sudden reminder to eat filled his now conscious brain.
“Oh.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
Jaafar peered up at her apprehensively, “I just—nothing it’s fine. Thank you.”
Maddie’s expression fell, “No. What’s wrong?”
He sighed, “I just don’t like turkey.”
“What?” She hissed, snatching the bag quickly, staring down at the bleak sandwich sat sadly inside, “You do.”
“I definitely don’t.” He breathed out a laugh, “You have it. I’ll grab something from the vending machine later.”
“You loved turkey when we first started dating.” She fired back, attempting to win back her pride.
“Yeah, 8 years ago.”
Maddie scoffed, “Fine. I’ll eat it. Go eat your shit vending machine food, and not the meal your fiancée worked so hard to make for you.”
Jaafar laughed in disbelief, “Maddie, it’s a sandwich. No offence, but I sincerely doubt you worked that hard.”
“What the hell, Jaafar? Honestly, I can’t with you sometimes, I just feel—“ “Jaafarrrr.”
Maddie noticed the way he perked up at the sound of your voice.
She rolled her eyes at the sight of you — a tiny, black mini skirt and a white blouse clad to your frame, kitten heels clicking against the floor as you sauntered in. You looked good without needing to try — something Jaafar always admired about you.
“Hey!” He beamed, rising from his chair, heading straight for you without a second thought, that dangerously beautiful smile adorning his face, “What are you doing here?”
The tone difference in the same question he’d asked to you and to Maddie was clear — something hard to miss.
He met you halfway across set, pulling you into a tight embrace, large arms wrapping around your frame, as you laced your arms around his neck. When you pulled away, Jaafar’s heart raced as you looked up at him — there were those pretty eyes.
“I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you some lunch.” You admitted, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you handed him a gorgeously packaged box.
The smell hit him before he opened it — perfectly cooked steak, with freshly steamed greens and a side of mac n’ cheese. He groaned in delight.
“Your favourite.” You added.
If it wasn’t for the Jaafar blocking your view — you would’ve been met with the coldest, most seething gaze Maddie could muster.
She had been jealous of you from the start — she hated how much Jaafar loved being around you, how you got on like a house on fire, and proven just in that moment, how well you knew him.
“Oh, my God, this smells incredible.” Jaafar admitted, eyes flickering from your own to the food, “Thank you, princess.” He whispered, his voice low enough for you only to hear, “I wanna kiss you so badly right now.”
“Contain yourself, handsome.” You returned the hushed tone, “Later.”
Jaafar’s eyes darkened at the thrilling idea of getting to kiss you in secret later — visions of ravishing you filling his mind. A different kind of hunger fuelling in his heart.
“I already made him lunch.”
You heard her before you saw her — Maddie’s stern voice from behind Jaafar, gaze still sharp.
“Oh, man.” Your voice a teasing disappointment, “Sorry, J, I didn’t know. What a waste.” Your faux frown hit his face, heart twisting at the idea of your upset.
“No, no. It’s fine. Maddie’s gonna have the other one, right?”
“No, I sai—“
“Aw, thanks, Maddie!” You grinned, excitable voice hitting both of their ears once again, smiling so innocently that your intentions seemed so pure, “At least you can have your favourite now.”
Jaafar smiled down at you, grabbing the plastic fork laid neatly next to his glorious meal, before digging in, “Oh, wow, this is amazing.”
“Made it myself.” You admitted, “Worked very hard for you, Jaaf.”
“You’re so good to me.” Jaafar couldn’t contain the way he smiled as you giggled proudly, walking alongside, mouth full of the food you kindly prepared for him, back to where he once sat, “Whatcha’ got planned for today then?”
“Figured I’d sit around all day and watch you sweat.”
Maddie clenched her jaw at the way you both laughed loudly — a real, genuine laugh falling from Jaafar’s lips.
“Sounds like a riveting day.” He teased, resuming back in his seat.
You grinned, “Oh, definitely. A real thriller.”
“Nice play on word—“ “Jaafar, can we talk?”
Maddie’s harsh voice cut your laughter short — a sudden intense atmosphere blossoming. Jaafar’s smile fell quickly, eyes meeting hers for the first time since you arrived as if her presence wasn’t recognisable.
“What?”
“Alone.”
You bit back a grin — every argument they had brought Jaafar closer to you. Sick, but you loved it.
“I’ll go wait in your dressing room, J.”
To Maddie, she was silently thankful for your departure, however, completely missing your sensual undertone — alluding to the very man, she was subconsciously pushing further away from her and more towards you, that you’d be waiting for him in a quiet, secluded place where he could take you like he always did.
You parted from the tension quickly — sauntering away, hips swinging involuntarily, your back facing the upcoming argument you knew would arise.
Maddie didn’t miss the way Jaafar watched you walk away.
“Are you fucking serious?”
Her voice forced a foul expression onto Jaafar’s face, “What now?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Jaafar.” Maddie snapped, finger pointing accusingly at him, “What is her problem?”
Jaafar feigned innocence quickly, “What do you mean? She just brought me lunch.”
“So did I, but you turned that down real fast. But, when she does it, it’s like she’s moved fucking mountains for you?” Maddie’s voice got icier with each sentence — and louder, forcing passing members of staff to side-eye the growing dispute.
“Lower your voice.” He hissed, eyes darting around, “You brought me something I didn’t like. Sorry if that offends you.”
“It’s not about that, Jaafar, it’s about how fucking weird you are around each other.” She snapped, voice refusing to lower, “Is there something I don’t know?”
Jaafar hid the way adrenaline thumped through his veins at the idea of her possibly finding out well. The thought of filling you to the brim with his thick cock suddenly polluting his brain — blood rushing between the very manhood he wanted to stuff you full of.
“Hello?” Maddie sassed, face an unyielding frosty expression.
“No, of course not. Stop asking me this.” Jaafar lied straight his teeth, a lie told so many times it felt natural now, “You always paint her out to be a horrible person, but she’s always so good to me. I don’t know why you can’t just be nice to her.”
“Because she’s all up on my fiancé every five seconds.”
“We’re just close.” Jaafar spoke, a statement not entirely untrue, “Just leave her alone for once.”
“Maybe tell her that.” Maddie spat, “Tell her to leave you alone.”
“I’m not gonna do that.”
“And there we go. Always at her defence.” She laughed in aggravation, “I’m your fiancé, y’know? It’s me you’re marrying.”
I wish it wasn’t.
The sentence hit his brain faster than he expected — a subconscious response to the argument and his secretive infatuation with you.
“I can’t deal with this right now.” Jaafar shot back, rising to his feet quickly, “Just go home, I’ll talk to you later.” He wasted no time walking down the hallway to his dressing room, following in your footsteps
“Jaafar, what? No.”
“Do not follow me.”
His voice, a usual calm and collected tone, was now snarled and bitter — a declaration of his frustration. He meant every word he said.
Jaafar stormed through the hall — feet stomping against the ground harder with each step. His anger bubbling over the edge as his chest heaved.
He slammed open the dressing room door — agitation oozing from him like no other. His eyes immediately landed on your relaxed frame, longing on the sofa that was pressed against the back of the room. You met his furious gaze.
“You okay, baby?”
Your sweet, calming voice flooded his frenzied brain — the nickname hitting him straight between the legs. He strode towards you quickly, hands immediately cradling your face as he smashed your lips together in a frantic kiss. You squeaked in surprise at the sudden connection — hands grasping at his tensed arms, before melting into his mouth.
“Need you. Now.” He mumbled against your lips, “Need to feel you.”
“Jaaf.” You whined, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over your mouth had a familiar tingle radiating up your spine at the anticipation.
His lips worked magic against yours once more — moving with calculated precision as he pulled you to your feet. Tongues and teeth clashing as the passion intensified in your lip-locking — spit and swollen lips the only thing evident on your mouth as he moved his kisses down your neck. His hand, once pressed against the warm of your cheek, splayed across the nape of your neck, as he worked his way down your exposed chest.
“This gotta come off.” He muttered, flicking the buttons of your top open with ease, pulling it off your body and throwing it to the floor, your plump breasts filling his gaze.
His name fell from your mouth in a desperate plea as his lips attached to your bare tits — an erect nipple swirled around his tongue as he sucked. Your head thrust back — whines now filling the room as your back pressed into the makeup counter.
Jaafar pulled away from your breasts, lips colliding with your own once more as his eager hand travelled down your body — fingers nestling right where you needed him. His fingers slipped under your skirt, finding comfort in the dip of your slit, collecting your essence on his fingers from where you drooled through your panties.
“Jaafar, please.” You whimpered, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.
“Tell me how much you want it, pretty.” Jaafar whispered against you, face now flush against your own, “Tell me all about it, baby.”
His fingers rubbed tight, precise circles over your clothed clit, slick with your arousal, eliciting the sweetest noises from your pretty mouth — ones that hand Jaafar twitching in his slacks.
“Mm—Need you—Aah! so bad, J,” You cried, hands clutching at the thick of his bicep, “M’Wanna feel you so bad.”
“That’s it, sweetie, talk to me.” He coaxed, mouth suckling at the exposure of your neck, marking up your skin with the graze of his teeth.
Jaafar continued to work his fingers onto you — nimble digits rubbing the painful ache between your legs away as he relaxed you, arousing you ready for his length. His supple lips pressed soft, delicate kisses to any piece of your skin he was unveiled to — only adding to the gorgeous whines of pleasure that flooded his ears.
You leant over to press a sweet kiss to the sensitive skin beneath his ear, “Please, Jaaf, need to feel you.”
Jaafar didn’t give you time to change your mind.
He ripped his body from yours in a hurry — trembling hands from adrenaline and anger unbuckling his slacks, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers. He hissed as the cold air hit the warmth of his cock, large hands instantaneously coming to wrap around the sheer length of him, pumping himself in relief.
“Turn around.”
You obeyed immediately — swiftly pressing your stomach to the counter, poking your half-exposed ass to him. He pushed your skirt further up your backside, now bunching at your hips.
“I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby.” He revealed, looking up at you from the mirror before both of you, revelling in the way you gasped as the fat of his cockend slid between the wetness of your folds, “Too fucking angry.”
“It’s okay, baby.” Your sweet, deliciously soft voice calmed his fury ever so slightly, the eyes that had him weak in the knees meeting his own in the reflection, “Use me. Take me. Just fuck me, please.”
The erotic admission had him pushing into you faster than he ever does — a loud cry falling past your lips as your vision blurred, hand slamming against the glass in a fist as he stretched you. Jaafar usually would take his time with you — work you open with his fingers, make you cum a few times before entering you. But not now. The flaming anger than burst inside of him had him selfish — not wanting to waste a single second before filling you to the brim.
And that he did. Your cunt throbbed around the size of him — girth and length forcing your slick little cunt open for him so briskly it had you biting on your lip so hard you tasted blood.
“That’s my good girl.” Jaafar growled out, a large hand stroking the plush of your hips that he gripped with the pad of his thumb, “Look so fuckin’ beautiful full of me.”
“Jaafar, please.” You mewled, tears brimming in your twinkling eyes.
“I know, I know, baby.” He reassured, dragging his cock out of you slowly, “Just feel me.”
He set a brutal pace — one that rendered you speechless from the first thrust. Only blabbering moans of undeniable pleasure releasing from your mouth as his tip kissed the smooth of your cervix, his cock rammed so deep you forget how to speak.
Jaafar grunted wildly behind you — his usual gentle love-making a distant memory as he fucked you as if you were a cock hungry slut. Something he could use for his own personal pleasure.
Right now, you were absolutely that and more.
“Fucking hate her.” He seethed behind you, grip tightening around your hips, before sliding up your back and taking your hair in a tight grasp, pulling you flush against his heaving chest, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”
The nefarious admission had your cunt clenching around him — knowing he was fucking you brainless whilst badmouthing his fiancée, who you also despised, had arousal coursing through your veins more so than before.
Jaafar noticed, “Oh, you naughty girl.” He breathed, breath hot against your ear, “You love fucking a taken man, huh?”
“Only you, Jaafar.”
Jaafar couldn’t suppress the whimper that fell from his lips, head falling into the crook of your neck, mumbling a curse under his breath at your huffed submission to him — cock throbbing inside you. Every drag of his dick had you whining underneath him — eyes rolling back as he repeatedly abused the sweet spot inside your gummy walls.
“Oh, that’s the spot, huh, princess?” He coaxed, “Look at me.” His large hand gripped your cheeks in a harsh grasp, before pushing two fingers into your agape mouth, “Suck.”
You willingly did as he pleased — suckling at the thick of his digits, the tang of your essence still lingering on his fingers flooding your tastebuds, whining at the taste of yourself. Your tongue swirled around him, eager to please, earning a hum of approval from the heaving man behind you, his pace never faltering.
“Jaafar.” Your voice muffled, mouth still stuffed full of him, a desperate, needy tone in your words, “Harder, p’wease.”
“Y’sound so fuckin’ sexy with your mouth full.” Jaafar groaned, eyes locked on the way tears slipped from your wide eyes, cascading down your face, a collecting of wetness of your tears and spit pooling at your chin.
Jaafar pulled out of you swiftly, ignoring the way you whined at the loss of fullness, before briskly shifting you to face him, pulling your body on top of the counter. He entered you once more, a blissful moan falling past your lips. His hands splayed against the fat of your hips against, pulling you down onto the hardness of his cock — bottom lip pulled between his teeth as you marched every thrust with an erotic whinge.
“‘Gonna cum, Jaaf.” You revealed, eyes glued to the milky white essence that pooled at the base of Jaafar’s cock as it disappeared repeatedly into your sex.
“Give it to me, princess.” He coaxed, fingers flying to your swollen clit, rubbing tight, fast circles around the aching nub, “Cum with me, baby.”
Your orgasm crept down your spine, settling in the low of your abdomen, the relief of a much needed climax arriving, a loud, demanding moan leaving your mouth as you chased your high at full speed. Jaafar wasn’t far behind you — pace now quickening as he too chased his orgasm, wanting nothing more right now to fill you to the brim with his fertile seed.
Slam!
“What the fuck?”
The door to the dressing room swung open — an aggressive bang that had both of your heads spinning towards the noise.
Now you were truly fucked.
Maddie stood in the door way, utterly mortified and shocked to her core at the sight of you — pussy stuffed full of her fiancée’s cock — sweat glistening off of both your bodies, chests heaving.
In a blacked-out state of intense arousal, your wicked mouth betrayed
“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Jaafar.”
And he listened.
In his own personal lust, the sound of his distraught fiancée’s shouting, catching him in a comprising act fell on deaf ears, his hips, that had once stilled, resumed once more.
Your head fell back once more as his pace picked up — your orgasm climbing back up quicker now, pure thrill and adrenaline coursing through you like an addict snorting a fresh line.
Your nails dug into the plush of his bare ass, moans hitting an all time high as you clenched around him, completely unaffected by the furious woman in the doorway — climax washing over you harder than it ever had.
“Oh, Jaafar!” His name rang out through the room, alongside the squelch of your juices with each harsh thrust Jaafar fucked into you, a subconscious twist of the knife to the disbelieving Maddie watching in shock.
Jaafar groaned into your rising chest, cumming with a cry, his own orgasm hitting him as he doubled over, folding into you as he stuffed you full. The sensation of his spurting load filling you to the brim had your toes curling around his waist, a whine hitting his ringing ears. He didn’t stop — fucking his hot cum deeper into you, hips stuttering in overstimulation, the intense feeling of his electric orgasm still flooding through him.
In your mutual state of blind pleasure, you hadn’t noticed the absence of Maddie — the room deafening silent as you caught your breaths.
Jaafar softened inside you, face still pressed into the crook of your neck, eyes fluttered shut.
Synopsis: You wanted to know who’s bad, so he showed you.
Pairing: Husband!Michael Jackson x fem!reader (bad era)
Warnings: MDNI, porn without plot, p in v (unprotected sex but it’s ok because you’re married to him), bondage, slapping, fingering.
Word Count: 1.9k
Drea's note: Requested by my beautiful @thatoneliberiangirl. Forgive me for posting this so late omg I am sorry🫠🫶🏻
The editing crew murmured amongst themselves as you entered the room, eyes watching your every move as you walked towards an empty seat near the closest television screen. They had been working on the final touch-ups for the upcoming ‘BAD’ music video and needed a fresh set of eyes to make sure everything was in order. However, they weren’t expecting Michael’s wife to be the one to take on this responsibility.
“Uh, Mrs Jackson! So nice to see you here today.” The lead editor spoke up with professional enthusiasm, stretching his hand out across the video equipment to shake yours.
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing the video. Is it ready?” You get straight to business, shaking the man’s hand with a subtle sense of pride.
“Of course.” He responds and slips a copy of the music video into the television before you.
The sound of static fills the room before the short film begins. You’d been there when Michael was filming, having been personally invited by him to watch his work. Now, it was time to see if the short film fully encapsulated his vision for the song.
You watch intently as Michael acts, smiling softly at how adorable he looks portraying Darryl. You lean forward around the scene where Darryl has had enough with being pushed around and smirk at his words.
“You wanna see who's bad? You wanna see who's bad?”
You shift in your seat, crossing a leg above the other and squeezing them to suppress the sudden feeling between them.
“Can you rewind to that last part? Before the push?” You whisper, and the editor obliges.
There are those words again: “You wanna see who's bad? You wanna see who's bad?”
You don’t even notice the words slip out of you when you speak just loud enough for the editor to hear you, “Yeah, I wanna see who’s bad.”
The editor looks away in slight chagrin after hearing your sultry comment. He clears his throat as the film continues before you.
When the film ends, you get up and bid everyone in the room goodbye, having given the ‘ok’ to publish that tape as the final cut. The editor nods with a bashful smile, your previous words still ringing in his ear. A part of him wonders if that was a subtle way to say you weren’t pleased with the acting, so when you finally leave the room, he picks up the phone and dials your home number to contact Michael about his concern.
When you finally make it back home, you slide out of your heels and toss your purse on the table near the entrance. The house is quiet. Maids have left after a long day of cleaning, leaving you and Michael, wherever he is, alone.
“Michael? I’m back! I watched the film,” You shout into the void, not certain whether he’s even close enough to hear you as you make your way upstairs to your shared bedroom.
The door opens on the other side, revealing your lean husband. He’s dressed in a simple grey sweater and denim pants. He stands with his arms crossed, eyes squinted in subtle anger. He fixes his gaze on your lips, then your eyes, then they travel down your dress.
“Come here.” Michael pulls you into the bedroom before slamming the door shut behind you both. He practically drags you towards the king-sized bed, gently pushing you onto it.
“What’s gotten into you?” you whimper softly as you watch his hands work on his jeans, unbuckling the belt around them. Your dress is hiked up just above your knees, revealing the once-hidden small tear in your stockings. You attempt to straighten yourself, but Michael stops you.
“Ah ah. Stay there.” He slings the belt off, tossing it next to you. He unbuttons and unzips them next. “I want’a show you something.”
Your heart beats faster, chest heaving in anticipation. A familiar shiver of lust rushes down your stomach straight to your core. Michael licks his lips, taking a step closer. He nudges your legs apart with his knee, standing directly in front of you.
“I heard about what ya said at the film viewing today,” he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. His hand runs up and down your leg, squeezing every inch of flesh he can reach as he ducks his thumb under your dress, “heard you wanna see who's bad.”
A soft moan escapes you. The room feels warmer, smaller even. Michael leans back, his thumb brushing over your sensitive bud. He tilts his head when you whimper from the slight contact.
“You want’a know who's bad, huh?” He speaks just above a whisper.
“Yes,” you whisper back, hands gripping on his arm as his thumb presses soft circles to your clit, “please.”
Michael chuckles, his voice chills your chest like a cold glass of water on a summer’s day. He lowers himself again, pressing your foreheads together again.
“Say it again. Say ‘please’ again and I’ll so ya, bad.”
“Please, Michael. Please show me.” Your hips grind to match the friction between your legs.
In one swift motion, Michael flips you over, positioning you so that your cheek presses against a pillow, ass up and back arched. You hear his belt buckle swinging behind you as he chuckles, then he grabs your hands, holding them behind you before tying them up tightly.
“Are you sure?” He asks mockingly, pulling down his jeans behind you. His weight disappears off the bed, and he fully rids his pants, underwear and sweater, exposing his thick and hardened length.
“Show me who’s bad.” You nod, resting out the restraints on your hands. “Please, Mike.”
Michael hands pull your dress over your butt, hugging your knees to arch your back a bit more. In the deepened doggy style, he rips your leggings right where your underwear is, running his index finger between your soaked panties. He presses his thumb to your clit again and flicks his index finger over it, making you flinch in lustful anticipation.
“So wet already. Needy thing.” Michael teases you in a sultry voice. He dips his fingers underneath your cotton panties, groaning as he slips a single finger into your wet hole.
You shudder at the sensation, your butt instinctively pushing backwards to match the slow pump of his finger into you.
“Mike…” you sigh wistfully. Your hands clenched around nothing behind you, subconsciously trying to free themselves from his belt’s hold.
Michael holds your panties to the side and angles his tip to your entrance. On any other occasion, he would have given you more prep time, but not today. Without warning, he pushes himself into you, stretching your walls as far as his large member needs.
“Oh, Fuck!” You scream into the pillow beneath your cheek, eyes already watering from the feeling. He pulls his hips back, almost slipping completely out of you, before slamming back into your warm cunt with a harder force than the first time.
“Tch, babydoll,” Michael breathes out, voice thick and dark with need. He keeps a harsh pace, hips snapping back and forth as if chasing a high already.
Your moans fill the bedroom, bouncing off the walls, straight to your husband’s ears. Each sound you make sounds painfully beautiful. The feel of his dick in you is too much, too good all at once. He’s huge, stretching your tight pussy with every thrust of his hips. God, it’s tantalising. You squeeze your eyes shut, and your mouth falls slack as the mindless moans and whimpers escape you. It seems to egg him on more. He leans forward and whispers into your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your earlobe.
“Can’t handle it, hmm? Can’t handle how I feel inside you?” Michael grips the soft flesh of your hips, pulling you onto him as he pushes deeper and deeper. “Is it too much for you, babydoll? Am I too bad for you?”
You don’t respond. Words fail you in this moment. All you can do is nod vigorously against the pillow, crying out to him like life itself depends on it.
“Michael! Oh, Michael! M-m-ah!”
“Fuck, babydoll, say my name like that again.” He commands, smacking your plump butt. His large palm surely leaves a mark. He smacks it again before rubbing the point of impact in an ironically sweet manner.
You comply and moan his name like a prayer. The letters webbed into each other, making his name sound like gibberish. Michael pulls on your hair, his grip sweetly arousing along with his relentless fucking.
“I can feel it, y/n, can feel you getting closer,” he groans into your ear, slapping your ass again — the other cheek this time. “What if I just…stop?”
You gasp and cry out in lustful pain, begging him not to. The sight of you like this, tied up, whimpering in unrestrained arousal, mascara running down your hot cheeks; it’s all bringing him closer and closer to release. God, he wants to just finish inside you without giving you your own release, but the gentle part of him won’t let him completely ruin you for himself.
“You should see yourself, such a mess, y/n.” He whispers, pulling your torso up to press your back to his chest in an aching arch. His toned arm wraps around your neck, holding you up while he brings you to your climax.
Your walls begin to pulse around his length, eyes rolling back in blissful pleasure. Your breath comes out ragged, huffing out your senseless words. Michael’s belt is still tightly tied around your wrists, keeping you helpless to his thrusts. In a matter of seconds, you fall apart, juices squelching around your husband’s thick, dark cock in pure ecstasy. Each wave of your climax is accompanied by a deep moan or weak whimper, enticing Michael’s own moans as he nears release. You press your palms against his bare torso behind you, panting as if you ran ten miles in an attempt to catch your breath after your climax.
“Ah, tch, mmm.” Michael’s thrusts grow sluggish, his breath against the back of your neck coming out uneven. His hand grips your neck now, long fingers pulsing around it. In one uneven motion, Michael fills your warm core with his thick seed. He doesn’t stop thrusting, coating your velvet walls in his warm, creamy cum in short pumps.
When his strength falters, he releases you from his grip, letting your chest fall to the mattress, face pressing against the dark pillow again. His body falls beside you, back hitting the mattress in a soft thud before he turns his gaze to you. You’re still tied up, hands lying loosely on your back. Michael’s belt has left a soft ligature mark on your wrist, but none of you cares in that moment.
“You alright?” He presses a gentle palm to your face, cupping your damp cheek with a lopsided smile.
“Yeah…” you answer weakly, completely fucked out.
You smirk and wiggle your hands behind you. Michael shoots up in newfound bashfulness and quickly unties you, watching you wiggle your wrists in a shot to twist the stiffness out of them.
A pause.
“I wanna know who's bad.” You giggle, and Michael rolls his eyes, helping you turn over onto your back.
“Woman, we just finished.” He chuckles, helping you out of your ripped stocking, then your dress.
“I.Want. More.” You quip.
Michael exhales with a sly grin, preparing himself for a long afternoon of pleasing your insatiable desire. It’s safe to say you’ll need to air out the room for the entire night…and definitely change the bedding.
imagine telling !mature era michael to keep his glasses on while he fucks you,
Michael absolutely hated the way his glasses looked on him, said they make him look old. You'd walk in on him reading something in private with his glasses on & as soon as he'd see you, he'd take them off.
You'd always tell him how sexy he looked with them, attempting to put them back on his face as he'd try to pry them off again.
"Makes me feel like you're dating a grandpa, I don't like it." He'd complain.
But of course, anything you begged or pleaded for him to do, he'd do in a heartbeat. So when you told him you wanted him to keep them on while he fucked you, he had no choice but to go along with it, anything for you — he was a gentleman after all.
He'd be gripping onto your fleshy hips a little rougher than usual as he fucked into you on his king sized mattress, having you on all fours. His frustration with your request showed through the way he handled you. You felt the shift, he's never usually this rough.
Yet you weren't complaining, you were in pure ecstatic joy. Your eyes would slowly roll back to your head as you mewled & cried like a slut. You'd try look back at him through forceful thrusts, your eyes half lidded n' your lips pouty as you tried to get a glimpse of how he looked, the reason you're here in the first place. His glasses seated neatly on his nose, his hair down & damp, sticking to his temples. He looked as if he was trying to appear angry, yet little did he know his own guttural groans would betray him.
He'd lean over you, cupping one of your breasts as he'd drop his head on your shoulder, drowning in his own pleasure as he'd continued to abuse your pussy from behind. His glasses would start to slip down his nose more & more with each searing thrust.
You'd push them back up, giving him a little light kiss on the lips.
— tags : historytour!michael, reader is a fan, singer x fan, fluffy asf, cute interactions, mike is so sweet
— a/n : cried while writing this because he’s just sooo precious i love him sm
ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ michael realizes that the fan he brought to the stage wasn’t just a normal girl and can’t help but think about her…
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
the bass was vibrating right through the stadium floor, shaking her chest with every single beat. everywhere around her, thousands of people were screaming, waving their hands, and completely losing their minds, but she could barely focus on anything else except the stage. the energy in the air was absolutely electric, thick with sweat, excitement, and pure euphoria. this was it. it didn't feel real. it felt like a total dream, a moment she had replayed in her head a million times over, but actually being here in the crowd was entirely different.
then, the lights shifted, casting a deep, dramatic glow across the stage, and there he was. michael. right there in front of her own eyes. he moved with so much effortless grace, commanding the entire stadium without even trying. her heart skipped a beat, and for a second, the deafening noise of the crowd completely faded into the background. looking at him, she felt an unbelievable wave of happiness wash over her, a feeling so intense it made her eyes sting with tears. she was actually sharing the same space as him, watching him perform live, and nothing else in the world mattered.
the music kept building, and she exchanged a wild, disbelief-filled look with her friend next to her. both of them were in absolute ecstasy, jumping up and down and holding onto each other's arms just to stay grounded. they were so incredibly proud of themselves for actually making it here, completely overwhelmed by the sheer joy of the moment. her friend screamed something over the noise, her face lit up with a massive smile, and they both just laughed, completely swept away by the magic of the night. they had actually done it; they were standing right in front of the king of pop, and the feeling of pure happiness was completely unmatched.
the soft, familiar intro of "you are not alone" suddenly started playing through the massive speakers, and both of them instantly froze before letting out the loudest screams yet. they were absolutely ecstatic, clutching each other's hands as a wave of pure excitement rushed over them. it was their absolute favorite song, the one they always listened to together, and hearing those first few chords live felt completely surreal. their hearts melted as michael's soft voice filled the stadium, and they looked at each other with wide, emotional eyes, unable to believe they were actually about to watch him perform it right in front of them.
they were right there in the pit, standing at the very front of the crowd directly against the barricade. being all the way at the front meant they had an absolutely flawless view, with nothing and no one blocking their sight of the stage. they could see every single detail so much better now—the sweat glistening on his skin, the intricate details of his outfit, and the intense emotion in his eyes as he looked out at the crowd. being this close made the whole experience feel insanely personal, as if he was singing just for them, and they couldn't take their eyes off him for even a second.
as the song finally reached the iconic chorus, the atmosphere in the stadium shifted into something even more intense and magical. right at that exact moment, a few burly security guards and crew members started stepping down into the small gap between the stage and the front barricade, right in front of the pit. she watched them attentively, her heart pounding against her ribs as she realized what was happening. they were searching the crowd, scanning the faces of the frantic fans at the very front to find the one lucky girl who would get to go up on stage with michael for the song.
at first, she felt a sudden wave of skepticism wash over her. she looked at the sea of beautiful, screaming girls surrounding her, all of them waving their arms desperately, crying, and begging to be noticed. there was absolutely no way it would be her. she told herself to stop dreaming, mentally forcing herself to stay grounded because the odds felt completely impossible. she was just one face in a crowd of thousands, and she didn't want to get her hopes up only to be crushed.
but then, out of nowhere, a man from the production crew walked straight down the line and stopped right in front of her section. his eyes locked onto her face, cutting right through her doubts. he leaned over the barricade, shouting slightly over the roaring music and michael's powerful vocals, and asked her directly if she wanted to go up on stage.
her breath hitched, her mind going completely blank for a split second as the reality of the question hit her. all of her skepticism vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by pure, adrenaline-fueled excitement. a massive, ecstatic smile broke across her face, and without a single shred of hesitation, she leaned forward and yelled back, "hell yeah!"
her friend standing right next to her completely froze, her jaw dropping open in utter shock as she processed what had just happened. for a split second, she looked absolutely stunned, unable to believe that the crew member had actually picked her best friend out of the entire crowd. but within a heartbeat, that disbelief turned into pure, unadulterated joy. she started jumping up and down even crazier than before, screaming at the top of her lungs and shoving her forward toward the security guard with a massive, ecstatic smile. she was so incredibly happy for her, totally thrilled that her friend's ultimate dream was coming true right before her eyes, and she gave her one last frantic, encouraging squeeze on the arm as the guard reached out to help her over the barricade.
the second her hands gripped the cold metal of the barricade, a massive rush of pure adrenaline surged through her veins, making her heart beat so fast it felt deafening in her ears. as the security guard grabbed her waist to help pull her over, her feet left the ground and her stomach completely flipped with a mix of intense excitement and disbelief. the roaring crowd behind her suddenly sounded like a distant blur, and her entire body was tingling with a wild, electric energy as she stepped into the gap and made her way toward the stairs.
and then, she saw him. michael was standing right there at the edge of the stage, waiting for her eagerly with his hand extended and a warm, welcoming smile on his face. he was looking directly at her, completely ready to welcome her into his world for the next few minutes. she absolutely could not believe her eyes. seeing him from the pit was one thing, but seeing him stand there specifically waiting for her made her brain completely short-circuit. it felt totally surreal, like a movie playing out in slow motion, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing as she took those last few steps toward his outstretched hand.
the moment her sneakers hit the smooth stage floor, all her remaining restraint completely vanished. instead of walking nervously, she broke into a full-on sprint straight toward him, her face lit up with the biggest, brightest smile. as she ran, she lifted her hand and gave him a rapid, super cute, and incredibly excited little wave, her whole body practically radiating pure joy.
michael watched her rush toward him, and a huge, genuine smile broke out across his face. he let out a soft, delighted laugh, completely charmed by how sweet and energetic her reaction was. he found her bursting excitement absolutely adorable, and his eyes crinkled with pure amusement as he opened his arms wide, ready to catch her.
she didn't stop her sprint until she completely collided with him, burying herself straight into his arms for a super soft, incredibly warm hug. she wrapped her arms securely around his torso, hiding her face against his shoulder and just breathing in the moment, completely melting into his embrace. it wasn't a frantic or aggressive pull; it was a deeply gentle, tender embrace that showed just how much this moment truly meant to her.
michael immediately wrapped his long arms around her in return, holding her close with a protective, soothing grip. he swayed slightly with her from side to side on the massive stage, his touch incredibly soft as he leaned his head down near hers. the fabric of his stage jacket felt real against her hands, and the warmth radiating from him instantly made all the chaos of the stadium disappear. she squeezed him gently, pouring all her love and happiness into the hug, while he just held her securely, giving her all the time she needed to realize that she was finally safe in his arms.
she pulled back just a tiny bit, looking up at him with a wide, starstruck look, and asked him comically, "are you actually even real?"
michael let out another soft, melodic laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners because he found her absolutely adorable. she didn't stop there, though; she kept going, looking at him with a playfully suspicious expression and asking him if he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure that he was real and not just a figment of her imagination. michael's shoulders shook with amusement as he looked down at her, completely charmed by her sweet banter. he chuckled warmly, tightening his grip on her waist just a little bit to prove his point, and told her, "yes, i'm really real, i promise," laughing softly at how incredibly cute she was being.
"are you actually even real?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly with a mix of laughter and complete disbelief as she looked up into his eyes.
michael let out a soft, melodious chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "yes, i am completely real," he replied, his voice incredibly gentle as he looked down at her.
"no, but are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure?" she pressed on, looking at him with a comically suspicious expression, her hands still resting on his shoulders. "because i feel like i'm definitely dreaming right now and i'm gonna wake up in my bed any second."
michael's shoulders shook with amusement, a bright, genuine smile breaking across his face because he found her reaction so incredibly cute. he tightened his grip around her waist just a little bit, swaying her slightly on the massive stage. "i promise you, you're not dreaming. feel this? i'm right here," he laughed softly, his voice warm and reassuring.
she let out a breathless little laugh, finally accepting that the king of pop was actually holding her. her expression turned completely soft, full of pure emotion as she looked at him. "i just... i need you to know how much you mean to me," she whispered, her voice full of sincerity. "i love you so incredibly much, michael. but really, truly with all of my heart. your music, your heart, everything you do... it changed my life."
michael stopped swaying for a moment, his entire face softening as her heartfelt words sank in. the playful laughter in his eyes turned into something deeply touched and emotional. he looked at her with so much warmth, genuinely affected by how pure and sweet she was being. "thank you so much, sweetheart," he murmured softly, leaning his head down slightly closer to hers. "that means the world to me. truly. it's because of beautiful souls like you that i do this."
"your music is just so beautiful," she continued, her eyes shining as she looked at him, completely unbothered by the thousands of people watching them. "the way you create melodies, the lyrics, the energy... it's like you put your whole soul into every single song. there's literally no one else in the world who can make people feel the way you do."
michael smiled warmly, his cheeks flushing slightly at her words. "thank you, genuinely. i really do try to put all my love into it," he whispered back.
"but it's not even just the music," she pressed on, her voice filled with deep admiration. "it's your whole way of being. you are just so incredibly kind, gentle, and humble, even though you're the biggest star on earth. the way you treat people, your generosity, your heart... you're just a truly beautiful person inside and out, michael."
michael's eyes softened even more, completely overwhelmed by her sweet sincerity. he pressed a hand to his chest, looking down at her with immense gratitude. "you're going to make me cry up here," he chuckled softly, his voice thick with emotion. "thank you so much, sweetheart. your words mean more to me than you'll ever know."
down at the edge of the stage, one of the security guards was watching them closely, waiting for the right moment to intervene. he finally caught michael's eye, subtly lifting his hand and making a quick, questioning gesture to ask if he should step up and escort her back down to the pit.
michael glanced over at the guard, but instead of nodding, he quickly shook his head. he lifted his hand, flashing a subtle, reassuring gesture that clearly communicated give us five more minutes.
he turned his attention right back to her, a genuine smile still plastered across his face. truth was, he was completely captivated by her sweet energy and honesty. he was genuinely beginning to enjoy her company, finding her presence incredibly refreshing and comforting amidst the chaos of the massive stadium, and he wasn't ready to let her go just yet.
down in the front row of the pit, her friend was absolutely losing her mind. she was screaming like a complete lunatic, her hands pressed against her cheeks as she watched the entire interaction unfold right in front of her. she was completely shocked, her eyes wide with total disbelief as she looked back and forth between her best friend and michael jackson.
every time michael laughed or leaned in closer to listen, her friend would let out another frantic shriek, jumping up and down and grabbing the arms of the random fans standing next to her because she literally couldn't contain her excitement. she couldn't believe her own eyes; her actual best friend was up there completely charming the king of pop, staying on stage way longer than anyone else ever did, and she was so overwhelmingly hyped and proud she felt like she might faint right there against the barricade.
michael smiled down at her, the warmth in his eyes growing as he gently kept his hand on her shoulder. "i've been so swept away by everything you're saying," he murmured softly, his voice full of genuine curiosity. "but i don't even know who this beautiful soul is. what is your name, sweetheart?"
"my name is y/n," she replied, her voice soft but filled with absolute joy as she looked up at him.
michael's smile widened, and he repeated her name slowly, letting the syllables roll off his tongue with a gentle, melodic tone. "y/n... that is such a beautiful name," he murmured softly, his eyes filled with pure warmth.
hearing her own name spoken by his iconic voice made her heart completely swell, and before she could even think about it, she wrapped her arms around him once more. she threw herself into another huge, tight hug, burying her face into his chest and holding onto him with everything she had, completely overwhelmed by how sweet and perfect the entire moment was.
michael held her tight for a few more seconds, but unfortunately, the time had finally come for her to return to the crowd. the security guard stepped back up onto the stage, approaching them gently since michael had already made it clear she was special. michael looked a little disappointed, a subtle shadow of sadness crossing his face because he was genuinely enjoying her company so much. as the guard reached them, michael looked the man straight in the eyes and gave a firm, protective nod, signaling for the crew to be incredibly gentle with her as they escorted her back down.
she felt a little pang of sadness in her chest too, knowing the dream was coming to an end, but the overwhelming happiness completely outshone it. she backed away slowly, looking at him with shining eyes, and began blowing him a flurry of sweet little kisses through the air. she didn't cause a scene or try to cling to him; she left the stage just as respectfully as she had arrived, waving one last time. michael watched her go, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across his face as he blew a kiss right back, completely captivated by her grace and sweetness until she disappeared into the front row.
just before she dropped back down into the crowd, she turned around one last time, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled out, "bye mike!" over the roaring music.
hearing the sweet, casual nickname made michael's smile grow even wider, his eyes crinkling with absolute delight. he gave her one final, enthusiastic wave, completely charmed by her until the very last second.
as the music swelled and the heavy bass kicked back in, michael turned back toward the center of the stage, but his heart was beating wildly in his chest—not just from the intense choreography, but from the lingering rush of that beautiful encounter. he felt an overwhelming wave of pure happiness wash over him, a deep, radiant joy that completely energized his entire body.
a massive, unstoppable smile stayed glued to his face as he launched back into the performance, his movements lighter and more electric than ever. every spin, every sharp glide, and every note he sang felt infused with the sweet, genuine love he had just received from y/n. he kept glancing back toward her section of the crowd, his heart completely full, feeling incredibly grateful for the beautiful reminder of exactly why he loved being on that stage.
the second the final curtain dropped and the roar of the stadium began to fade, michael hurried off the stage, his heart still buzzing from the incredible night. as he walked down the dimly lit backstage corridor, sweat glistening on his face, he wasn't just thinking about the show—his mind was completely fixed on y/n.
as soon as his styling team and managers converged on him with towels and water bottles, he looked around at everyone, his expression intense but filled with a hopeful energy.
"listen, the girl from earlier—the one i kept on stage during the performance," michael started quickly, his voice urgent as he wiped his face. "y/n. did anyone catch which section she went back to? we have to find her."
his main manager blinked, surprised by how determined michael looked. "michael, there were eighty thousand people out there. she just went back into the pit."
"no, please, you don't understand," michael pressed, turning to his head of security who was walking right beside him. "she was so incredibly sweet, so genuine. it wasn't just a regular fan moment. i really, truly want to talk to her again. can we check the front row barricade? her friend was right there with her, screaming and wearing..." he paused, trying to recall every detail. "we have to look. please check with the gate staff or see if she's still near the venue. i really want to find her before she leaves tonight."
he was practically pacing up and down the dressing room now, his hands moving frantically as he tried to explain. "no, you don't understand, you guys aren't listening to me! please, we can't just let her walk away into the city. she’s going to leave, and then she’ll be gone forever!"
his manager tried to calm him down, putting a hand on his shoulder. "michael, the concert ended twenty minutes ago. the stadium is already clearing out. it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"i don't care about the haystack, find the needle!" michael pleaded, his voice cracking slightly with a desperate, heavy sigh. he looked at his head of security with wide, almost begging eyes. "please, frank, you saw her! she was right by the center barricade. her friend was wearing a bright outfit, they were right there in the front row. can't you send a team out to the parking lots? or the subway gates? she calls me 'mike'—just ask the staff if they saw a girl named y/n who was just on stage!"
he pressed his hands against his face, feeling a sudden wave of panic that he had missed his only chance. "she told me she loved me with all her heart, and she was so gentle... i can't just let that be a two-minute memory. please, do something, call the stadium security, check the cameras, anything! I just... i really, really need to find her tonight."
seeing how frantic and genuinely desperate he was, his security team realized this wasn't just a fleeting thought—michael was completely consumed by the need to find her. frank immediately grabbed his radio, his voice sharp and urgent as he started barking orders to the entire stadium security network.
"all units, all exits, listen up," frank spoke quickly into the mic, pacing the hallway. "we are looking for a female fan named y/n. she was the one on stage tonight. she was in the front row center barricade, likely accompanied by a female friend. check the vip exits, the main gates, and the parking lots immediately. if you spot her, do not let her leave the premises. hold her politely and notify me right away."
back in the dressing room, michael couldn't even sit down to have his makeup wiped off. he was standing by the door, chewing on his lip, his eyes darting back and forth every time the radio crackled with static.
"did they find her? what are they saying?" michael asked, his voice breathless and trembling slightly as he gripped the edge of the table. "please tell me they didn't lose her already."
"they're checking the main plaza right now, michael," his manager said, trying to soothe him while frantically texting the venue coordinators to check the closed-circuit security cameras near the stage. "the crowd is massive, it takes time to filter out, but we have guys at every major bottleneck."
"tell them to hurry, please," michael whispered, his hands shaking slightly as he pressed them together in a silent prayer. "she has to still be out there. she just has to be."
meanwhile, out in the concrete exit tunnels of the stadium, y/n and her best friend were shuffling along with the rest of the exhausted crowd, completely trapped in their own little bubble of pure euphoria. they were practically leaning on each other for support, laughing so hard they could barely breathe as the sheer shock of the night finally started to hit them.
"i’m literally going to throw up, y/n, i am not kidding!" her friend shrieked, slapping y/n's arm repeatedly as they walked. "you were up there for like, a whole lifetime! he literally told his security to back off for you! do you understand that?! michael jackson looked at the guards and went 'no, she stays'!"
y/n let out a breathless, dizzy laugh, her hands flying up to cover her face as her cheeks burned red. "i don't even know what happened! my brain is completely melted. when he repeated my name, his voice sounded so close, and he was just... he was so incredibly soft and gentle..."
"you called him mike!" her friend yelled, drawing stares from a few nearby fans who were also shuffling toward the subway gates. "you literally cupped your hands and yelled 'bye mike' like you guys went to high school together! and he smiled so huge! oh my god, y/n, your life is officially peak. it’s never getting better than this."
"i didn't know what else to say!" y/n squealed, hiding her face in her friend's shoulder as they walked past a row of stadium pillars, completely unaware that just a few hundred yards away, the entire backstage security force was frantically looking for them.
back in the dressing room, the walls felt like they were closing in on him. michael couldn't sit still. he paced the floor frantically in his loafers and white socks, his hands trembling as he ran them through his damp hair.
"anything? frank, please, tell me someone saw her," he pleaded, his voice sounding small and breathless as he turned to his head of security. he hated feeling this completely helpless. eighty thousand people had been out there, and the only soul he desperately wanted to connect with was slipping away into the dark.
every time the walkie-talkie on frank's belt crackled, michael's heart leaped straight into his throat. but it was just static and random chatter. nothing.
"michael, the outer gates are almost clear," frank said, looking at him with a heavy, sympathetic sigh. "most of the crowd is already in the tunnels heading toward the subways. it's complete chaos out there right now."
"no, she wouldn't just disappear, she's with a friend," michael insisted, stepping closer to the large man, his wide eyes practically begging. "they're probably still walking slowly, laughing, talking about the show... she called me mike, frank. nobody just calls me mike on stage like that. she was so real. please, tell your guys to check the concrete corridors. the exit tunnels. if she gets to the subway station, i'll never see her again."
michael pressed his forehead against the cool surface of the dressing room mirror, staring at his own reflection but only seeing her shining eyes, hearing her soft voice say *y/n*. he felt a physical ache in his chest, a desperate, nagging panic that he had let something incredibly rare and beautiful just walk right out of his life.
"dear god, please," he whispered under his breath, closing his eyes tightly and pressing his hands together in a fervent prayer. "just let them find her. don't let her leave yet."
deep in the crowded exit tunnels, y/n and her friend were still laughing when three massive, heavily built men in dark clothing suddenly stepped directly into their path, cutting them off from the rest of the moving crowd.
y/n's heart instantly dropped into her stomach. her friend froze right beside her, her laughter cutting off in a sharp gasp. for a terrifying second, they both thought they were in massive trouble—maybe they had broken a stadium rule, or maybe yelling "bye mike" had crossed a line and they were about to get kicked out or worse. y/n's mind raced, completely convinced they had done something completely wrong.
but before either of them could stammer out an apology, the largest of the three men stepped forward, his expression serious but his tone surprisingly polite.
"are you y/n?" he asked, checking a small note in his hand.
y/n blinked, completely stunned, and nodded slowly. "yes... why?"
the three big guys exchanged a quick, relieved look, and the man nodded back toward the restricted backstage doors. "mr. jackson is looking for you. you need to come with us right now, please."
back in the dressing room, the tension was so thick it was almost suffocating. michael was still pacing, chewing on his thumbnail, his eyes locked onto frank’s walkie-talkie as if he could force it to speak through sheer willpower.
suddenly, the radio burst to life with a sharp crackle of static.
"alpha unit to base, we have a visual. repeat, we have the target."
frank immediately snatched the radio off his belt, pressing the button. "alpha, confirm. did you secure y/n?"
"affirmative. center exit tunnel. she’s with a friend. we have them both, and we’re escorting them back to the secure dressing area now. they are cooperating."
the second those words echoed through the small room, michael stopped dead in his tracks. the suffocating panic that had been twisting his stomach for the last half-hour vanished instantly, replaced by a rush of pure, dizzying relief. a breathless laugh escaped his lips, and he threw his head back, running both hands through his hair as a massive, ecstatic smile broke across his face.
"oh thank god," michael breathed out, his voice cracking with pure emotion. he looked at frank, his eyes shining with absolute gratitude. "thank you, frank. thank you so much."
he didn't even wait for them to arrive. michael immediately rushed over to the door, opening it just a crack so he could peer down the hallway, his heart hammering against his ribs in frantic anticipation as he waited to see her face appear around the corner.
down the long, quiet backstage corridor, the heavy footsteps of the three security guards echoed against the concrete walls. locked in the middle of them, y/n and her friend walked in a state of absolute, dazed shock, their eyes wide as they were led deeper and deeper into the restricted area. y/n’s heart was hammering so loudly she was certain the guards could hear it.
michael was practically glued to the door crack, his breathing shallow, his eyes scanning the empty hallway. and then, there she was.
the moment her small figure rounded the corner, michael didn't even care about keeping his distance. he threw the door wide open and stepped out into the hallway.
"y/n!" he called out softly, his voice a mix of breathlessness and pure, unfiltered joy.
she stopped dead in her tracks. she looked up, and her breath completely caught in her throat. standing just a few yards away was michael, completely out of his stage jacket, wearing just his simple white shirt, black trousers, and those iconic white socks. the frantic, worried look that had been on his face all night completely melted away, replaced by the biggest, most radiant smile she had ever seen.
"you found her," michael breathed out to the guards, his eyes never leaving y/n's face as he took a few hurried, eager steps toward her. "thank you so much, you guys. you can leave us now."
the large guards nodded and stepped back, leaving y/n and her friend standing there in the middle of the hallway. y/n looked at michael, her mouth slightly open, completely unable to process that the biggest superstar in the world had literally deployed his entire security team just to find her.
seeing them standing there, michael gently gestured toward his private dressing room, giving a warm, welcoming nod. "would you... would you like to come in? just for a little bit?"
y/n stood frozen, her mind completely blank, but her friend suddenly nudged her hard in the ribs. her friend leaned in close, her eyes wide with frantic excitement, and whispered fiercely in her ear, "girl this is your moment ! go, i'll wait right here!"
with one last encouraging push, her friend stepped back, grinning from ear to ear and signaling to the security guards that she was perfectly fine staying in the hallway.
she took a hesitant step forward, and michael’s smile softened into something incredibly sweet. he escorted her inside, gently closing the door behind them and shutting out the rest of the chaotic world. Suddenly, the massive stadium felt miles away, leaving just the two of them in the quiet room.
"i am so, so glad they found you," michael said, his voice dropping to that famously soft, gentle whisper. he walked over to a small couch, turning back to look at her with complete undivided attention. "i was so worried i’d never see you again. when you left the stage, i just... i couldn't stop thinking about how sweet you were. you really had my heart beating wildly out there."
y/n swallowed hard, trying to find her voice as she looked at him. "i... i can't believe you looked for me. i thought i was in trouble when the big guys stopped us!"
michael let out a soft, melodic laugh, shaking his head quickly. "oh, no! no, never. i’m so sorry if they scared you. i was just desperate to talk to you. you called me 'mike' right before you left, didn't you?" his eyes crinkled with absolute delight at the memory. "nobody ever does that. it felt so real. so genuine. i just really wanted to know who you were, y/n."
she flushed a little, looking down at her hands as she realized what she had actually yelled out in front of thousands of people.
"i'm so sorry," she stammered softly, her voice trailing off a bit. "i think i just got so caught up in the moment... it was probably way too familiar of me to just shout 'mike' like that."
michael immediately shook his head, stepping a little closer to her with an incredibly warm, reassuring look on his face.
"oh, no, please don't apologize!" he said quickly, his voice filled with genuine sincerity as he reached out to gently touch her arm. "you have no idea how much i loved it. honestly, everyone always calls me 'mr. jackson' or 'michael' like i'm this untouchable thing, you know? but when you said 'mike,' it felt so warm. it felt like you actually saw me, not just the performer on stage."
he smiled softly, his eyes completely locking onto hers. "it made me feel like we were already friends. so please, don't ever feel bad about it. i want you to call me mike."
y/n smiled, her eyes lighting up as she looked at him. "i've actually been a fan of yours for a really long time. i've always, always loved your music. it's just so incredible."
michael’s hand moved to his chest, his fingers pressing against his white shirt right over his heart. a soft, incredibly touched expression washed over his face, his dark eyes softening completely as he looked at her.
y/n chuckled softly, the last of her nerves completely evaporating. "honestly? it's so hard to choose just one. but there's this one song... every single time it plays, my mom and i just burst into song together, no matter what we're doing."
michael’s eyes lit up with absolute delight, and he let out that soft, melodic laugh of his. "oh, really? that is beautiful! which one is it? you have to tell me!"
"i can't help it, we sing it every single time!" she laughed, waving her hands in the air.
"i love that so much," michael said, his smile spreading so wide his cheeks cracked. he shifted on the couch, pulling one leg up under himself and completely abandoning any formal posture. it was like a switch had flipped; the superstar persona was entirely gone, replaced by a warm, familiar energy. "you know, that’s exactly how it should be. music is supposed to bring family together like that."
they ended up losing all track of time after that. the minutes bled into a full, beautiful hour as they just sat there talking about absolutely everything. the huge stadium outside was completely silent by now, but inside the dressing room, it felt like their own private world where the conversation never hit a single dry spell.
they talked about the sheer madness of the history tour, and y/n found herself teasing him about his dramatic stage entrances, making him bury his face in his hands while giggling uncontrollably.
they were sitting close now, gesturing wildly, interrupting each other, and sharing inside jokes as if they had known each other since childhood. michael looked at her, his expression deeply content and incredibly relaxed, completely forgetting about his managers or the time. he just felt an instant, deep connection, completely comfortable in her presence.
but eventually, the ticking clock pulled them back to reality. the sheer exhaustion of such an emotional night was slowly starting to catch up with them, and michael glanced down at his watch. his expression softened with a touch of gentle regret. it was getting incredibly late.
"i can't believe a whole hour has passed already," he whispered, a slightly sad but sweet smile playing on his lips as he turned to face her. "i really hate to admit this, y/n, but i think it’s getting late.."
he stood up gracefully, offering his hand to help her up. a deep, protective look filled his eyes; he wanted nothing more than to ensure she made it back home completely safe and sound, without taking any risks at such an incredibly late hour.
"the streets are going to be so empty, and the subways aren't safe this late," he added, his voice dropping to a concerned, gentle murmur as he lightly held her hands. "i need to know that you're safe, okay? that's the most important thing to me. i’m going to have frank and my security team drive you and your friend directly back to your house in a private car. please, promise me you'll take care of yourself."
y/n looked up at him, her heart swelling at how genuinely worried he was about her. she smiled softly, her voice dipping into a very sweet, tender tone as she squeezed his hands back.
"it's you who should be taking care of yourself, mike," she said softly, a playful but deeply caring glint in her eyes. "you just gave everything you had to eighty thousand people out there, and here you are, still worrying about me. promise me you'll get some rest, too."
michael's eyes widened slightly, completely melting at her words. a soft, incredibly touched blush crept up his cheeks, and he let out a shy, breathless little giggle, ducking his head for a second before looking back at her with absolute fondness.
"i promise," he whispered, his smile warmer than ever.
she looked at his sweet, blushing face, and before she could let her overthinking mind stop her, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder.
michael gasped softly in surprise, but within a split second, his long arms wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. he held her so tightly, his chin resting against the top of her head as he breathed in the scent of her hair. the hug was warm, desperate, and filled with a deep, silent understanding.
"i'm so scared for this to end," she whispered into the fabric of his shirt, her voice cracking slightly as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. she squeezed him even tighter, completely letting go of her filters. "i wish i could just stay with you like this for the rest of my life."
michael’s grip on her tightened instantly at her words, his heart hammering wildly against her chest. he closed his eyes, a wave of intense emotion washing over him as he rocked her gently back and forth in the quiet dressing room, wishing with everything he had that he could make time stop completely.
still clinging to him, her voice muffled against his shoulder, she took a soft, shaky breath and looked up just enough to meet his eyes.
"do you... do you think it would ever be possible?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his face. "for us to just meet up and talk like this again? like real friends, without all the madness around us?"
michael's eyes softened completely, filled with a deep, quiet sincerity. he reached up, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his touch incredibly tender.
"i want that more than anything, y/n," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "i don't want this to be just for tonight. to me, we are real friends now."
he tightened his grip on her, pulling her even closer into the hug as a wave of pure relief washed over the both of them. the lingering sadness of having to say goodbye completely dissolved, replaced by this intense, overwhelming happiness. knowing that this wasn't just a fleeting moment—that they were actually going to stay in each other's lives—changed everything.
michael buried his face into the crook of her neck, letting out a long, contented breath that he felt like he’d been holding all night. y/n wrapped her arms even tighter around him, the warmth of his chest pressing against hers making her feel completely safe, grounded, and incredibly reassured.
when they finally, slowly pulled back, neither of them could stop smiling. michael’s dark eyes were absolutely glowing, his cheeks flushed with a bright, joyful energy that completely erased all his exhaustion. she looked up at him, her heart bursting with happiness, feeling a profound sense of peace knowing that their connection was completely mutual and real.
summary: you and michael get into a fight about you working with someone he no longer associates with, and he avoids you for six weeks... then his team has the audacity to ask you to be at an awards show you were already going to attend
themes: horrible communication, begging, intimate sex, slightly sub michael, teasing with fingering, masturbation
author's note: yes this is inspired by when michael ignored elvis jr for 6 weeks after she went on vacay with her ex hahahaha
1995
new york
You were pissed.
Not the kind of anger that flickers and fades, not the kind that cools with time or distance. This sat heavy in your chest, constant, simmering, alive. It moved through your body like a current, sharp and electric, making it impossible to sit still on the private jet from Los Angeles to New York. Every shift in your seat, every restless adjustment of your hands in your lap, every tight inhale felt like it was barely containing it.
Your husband had been gone.
For six weeks, a little over a month, he was gone, and you had no idea where he was. That was the part that didn't settle, the part that never stopped feeling wrong, no matter how many days passed. It wasn't just that he needed space; it wasn't just that he left after the argument, it was that he disappeared in a way that shut you out completely. There was no location, no real explanation, nothing that grounded his absence in something you could understand.
And the worst part? He hadn't even spoken to you. Not once.
Every message, every update, every piece of information you'd gotten had come filtered through his team, passed along like you were just another person on a list of obligations instead of his wife. It made your jaw tighten just thinking about it, made your fingers curl slightly against the armrest as you stared out the window, the clouds stretching endlessly beneath you.
A little over a month ago, the two of you got into an argument, and when you got back to Neverland later that evening, Michael was gone. The memory of it lingered with a sharp clarity that hadn't dulled over the weeks, the way the house had felt too quiet when you stepped inside, the way something had immediately felt off before you even knew why. A note that barely gave any explanation at all sat in his place, small and insufficient for what it represented.
Needed space. Be back later.
Those words had stayed with you in a way you hadn't expected, not because of what they said, but because of everything they didn't. You had stood there longer than you meant to, staring at it, reading it again and again like it might change if you gave it enough time, like it might reveal something hidden underneath its simplicity.
And you had initially thought later would mean later that night, or even potentially the next day, because that has happened before. Because there had been moments where things got too heated, where he needed distance, where the best thing either of you could do was step away and come back when it wasn't so raw.
But no.
It's been six weeks, and you still haven't seen him or spoken to him.
Six weeks of waking up without him. Six weeks of going to sleep in a bed that felt too big, too empty in a way that made it impossible not to notice. Six weeks of conversations that never happened, of apologies that never came, of tension that never had the chance to be resolved because he never gave it the space to.
What started it all was Quincy Jones reaching out to you and asking for a favor.
Even thinking about that now felt complicated, tangled up in everything that followed, even though at the time it had felt so simple. He is the executive producer of the sitcom The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and he asked you if you wanted to guest-star on the show as yourself because they've had a lot of musical guest stars on the show. It had felt easy to say yes in your head, easy to imagine yourself stepping into something fun, something different, something that wasn't heavy or complicated.
Michael wasn't entirely happy or comfortable with Quincy asking you for a favor because of how things ended between them after the Bad album.
You had expected that. You had known that before the conversation even started, you could feel it the moment Quincy's name came up in the context of anything that involved you. Michael had wanted more creative control and felt like Quincy was stifling that, and you had seen what that frustration looked like up close, had heard it in his voice, had watched it build over time until it became something he couldn't ignore anymore.
Quincy felt like he was owed more because of how successful all three of Michael's albums that he helped produce, Off the Wall, Thriller, and Bad, were.
And that difference in perspective had never really resolved itself. It just... ended.
But to you, it wasn't even about Quincy.
You loved Fresh Prince, and guest-starring on it was something you didn't want to pass up at all. It was yours. That was the part that mattered. It wasn't tied to history, or ego, or unresolved tension. It was something you enjoyed, something you wanted, something that felt like it belonged to you and your own career.
But Michael couldn't see past it.
He couldn't separate Quincy from the opportunity, couldn't look at it without seeing everything that had happened between them layered over it. It felt disrespectful that Quincy would treat him the way that he did, but then have the nerve to ask you, his wife, for a favor, and you understood that.
You and Michael went back and forth about it for days.
It wasn't one conversation. It wasn't something quick and resolved. You argued for days about it. The same points, the same frustrations, the same inability to land anywhere that didn't leave one of you feeling unheard. Every time it came up, it carried more weight, more tension, more of that underlying frustration that neither of you knew how to soften without giving something up.
You understood where Michael was coming from, you really did.
That was the part that made it harder. Because you weren't dismissing him, weren't brushing off his feelings like they didn't matter. You supported Michael's decision to separate creatively from Quincy because you also felt that Quincy was stifling him creatively, and you had seen firsthand what that freedom had done for him. Dangerous and HIStory were proof of that. They were bold, different, entirely his in a way that felt undeniable.
And you didn't like some of the comments Quincy had made about Michael, especially when it came to his vitiligo.
That wasn't lost on you. None of it was.
But you tried to explain to Michael multiple times, it wasn't about Quincy; it was about guest-starring on your favorite show, getting your music out there in a new way. It was about doing something that made you excited, something that felt like growth in a way that was separate from him, even if your lives were so deeply intertwined.
You're a successful artist.
That mattered. Even if it looked different. Even if it didn't carry the same scale, the same level of attention, the same weight that his name did. No one is on Michael's level, and you honestly don't want the level of fame your husband has; you get enough elevated fame from being his wife, along with being a musician in your own right.
Your two hit singles I'm Your Baby Tonight and I Will Always Love You were still in heavy rotation on the radio stations.
You heard them everywhere. In passing. In cars. In rooms you walked into unexpectedly. Little reminders of something that had come from you, from your voice, from your experiences. Both of those songs you had written about Michael, and there was something that twisted slightly in your chest when you thought about that now, about how much of him existed in your work while he had removed himself from your life so completely.
And I Will Always Love You was the song Quincy wanted you to sing on the show. The same song that had spent 14 weeks as number 1 on the Billboard charts, the same song that was used for Whitney Houston's movie, The Bodyguard.
It meant something. It carried weight. It was yours.
After days of arguing about it, you told Michael that you were sorry that he didn't like Quincy asking you for a favor, but you weren't going to pass up the opportunity to guest star on your favorite sitcom because of Quincy Jones.
There had been a finality to that moment, something that settled into the space between you that neither of you moved to fix. You told Michael you were going to the set for a meeting with Quincy Jones and the other executive producer, Benny Medina.
When you got home after the meeting, Michael was gone.
The quiet had hit you first, the kind that didn't feel natural, didn't feel like a home that was lived in, even though everything was still there. Nothing had been disturbed. Nothing had been taken. It was just... him that was missing.
You haven't heard from him since.
He didn't come home, his side of the bed remained empty, and the bed itself remained cold. It wasn't just something you noticed once and adjusted to; it was something you felt every single night, the untouched sheets on his side holding their shape like time had stopped there, like he had simply stepped away and never returned. The cold wasn't just physical; it settled deeper than that, sinking into the routine you had built together, turning something that was once familiar into something that felt incomplete every time you lay down.
He didn't call; only his team did, their voices always careful, always measured, never carrying the weight that his voice would have, never sounding like someone who belonged to you. Every message passed through them felt wrong, like a conversation that should have been yours being filtered and controlled before it ever reached you, and eventually, you stopped answering, because if Michael wanted to tell you something, he needed to do it himself. You weren't going to accept distance disguised as communication, not from him.
But yesterday, something had told you to answer the phone when it rang.
Your hand had paused before picking it up, that split second filled with hesitation you hadn't felt in the beginning, because at first you had expected him, had hoped it would be him, but now you didn't expect anything at all. Still, you answered.
His representatives from Sony called and told you that Michael wanted you to be at the VMAs, to which you told them that if Michael himself had ever bothered to pick up the phone to call you, you would've told him that you had to be there anyway because you were presenting a few awards in different categories.
The words came out steady, but there was something sharp beneath them, something that didn't need to be raised in volume to be felt. It wasn't about the award show, not really; it was about the fact that even now, even after everything, he still wasn't the one reaching for you.
And then you hung up and called your manager, Amelia.
The second she answered, everything you had been holding in found its way out, not uncontrolled, but no longer contained either. She let you vent because she knew you were pissed at Michael's behavior to begin with, so for his team to call you and tell you that he wants you at an award show you were already going to be at, pissed you off even more, because it felt dismissive, like he hadn't even thought about the fact that you had your own career, your own obligations, your own presence in that space without him.
You were already going. You didn't need him to tell you.
And then you packed your stuff, each movement deliberate, controlled, like putting everything into place was the only thing you could manage when everything else felt so unresolved. Someone from your and Michael's security team brought you to the airport for you to board your private jet, and now you were in New York, the transition happening so quickly it almost felt disconnected from everything that led up to it.
You were taken to the hotel that Michael would be staying in, and you were brought up to his room so you could get ready, but he wasn't there, and you knew he wasn't going to be. The space felt temporary, impersonal, despite belonging to him, like it was just another place he had passed through without staying long enough to leave anything behind.
You knew you probably weren't going to see him until you got to the award show, so you might as well take your time.
You take a long bath, trying to scrub away some of the stress you're feeling, letting the heat wrap around you until your muscles finally begin to loosen, until the tightness in your chest eases just enough to breathe through. It doesn't erase anything, but it gives you a moment where the anger isn't sitting quite so close to the surface.
You had intentionally picked your dress before you and Amelia left Neverland.
You wanted—no, needed to make a statement, to let Michael know that what he did wasn't okay. Not something subtle that could be overlooked, not something that could be misread or ignored, but something undeniable, something he would see and feel without you having to say a single word.
You've been married for ten years, together for 13 years in total. That kind of time wasn't surface-level; it wasn't fragile; it was built on years of knowing each other in ways no one else did, years of arguments that had always ended with resolution, even if it took time to get there. You've argued before, but those moments had never turned into this, had never stretched into silence, into absence, into something that left you alone to sit with it for six weeks without a single attempt to fix it.
It wasn't okay, and he needed to know that.
Once you stepped out of the bath, you dried yourself off before putting on your robe, the soft fabric settling around you as you stepped back into a room that was already moving with quiet urgency. Your glam team was already waiting in your room, ready to do your makeup, their presence filling the space with purpose as you sat down in front of your makeup artist.
Amelia is keeping track of time, keeping everyone on track, her attention sharp, her voice steady as she moves through the room. Your styling team is steaming your dress so it's not wrinkled, the gold fabric hanging under the light, shimmering even before you've put it on, every detail catching softly as steam lifts around it. It already looks like a statement before it's even on you.
Your makeup artist, Lauren, is asking you what kind of look you want to go for, and you tell her you want a golden smoky eye since your dress is gold.
"You okay?" Amelia asks as she watches you.
She's been watching your body language, which is relaxed, thanks to your bath, but still very much controlled, like she knows what you're trying to conceal. There's a stillness to you that isn't natural, something held too tightly beneath the surface.
"I'm fine," you say, and Amelia doesn't press because she knows you're not going to say.
You're completely focused on making sure you're ready and on the carpet on time. You weren't walking the carpet with Michael; you already knew that, and that knowledge sits quietly in the back of your mind, something you don't allow yourself to dwell on. But you knew that you would be seated by him, and that's unavoidable, something waiting for you whether you're ready or not.
After your makeup is finished, your stylist helps you into your dress.
The fabric settles against your skin like it belongs there, the gold catching the light immediately, every movement sending a shimmer across the surface. The halter neckline draws the eye upward, clean and strong, while the deep cut adds just enough edge to make it impossible to ignore. The beading is intricate, precise, laid across the fabric in a way that makes the entire dress feel alive under the lights, hugging your body through your waist and hips before falling straight down in a sleek line that elongates you completely.
And then the black feather wrap.
It drapes over your arms, soft but dramatic, the contrast against the gold sharp enough to shift the entire look. It isn't just an accessory; it changes the energy of the dress entirely, adding something darker, something more controlled, something that feels less like softness and more like armor.
Your hair, long and flowing down your back, looks glossy under the lights, shining in a way that's hard to miss, and parted in the middle, the way you like it.
You looked hot, and you knew you looked hot, and you knew Michael would know it too.
Within the hour, you were pulling up to the red carpet, the city alive outside your window in a way that felt almost electric, flashes already visible in the distance before the car had even fully come to a stop. Amelia would be meeting you inside, but for now, it was just you, the quiet interior of the car, and the weight of everything waiting on the other side of that door. She looks at you as the car stops, her eyes scanning over you one last time, not for the dress or the makeup, but for you—for whatever you were holding beneath it all—and you take a slow, steady breath, letting it fill your chest before releasing it carefully.
"You ready?" she asks, and you nod.
There's no hesitation in the motion, even if there's something tighter sitting underneath it, something you don't let surface, something you keep tucked behind the composure you've been holding onto all day.
"I'll see you on the other side," you say as the door opens for you and your driver helps you out.
The second your heel hits the pavement, the world shifts.
Flashes explode around you instantly, rapid and blinding, cameras going off in waves as voices rise over each other, your name being called from every direction. The energy hits all at once, loud and overwhelming, but familiar, something your body knows how to step into without thinking, even when your mind is somewhere else entirely.
You don't rush. You never do. You move with intention, every step measured, your expression perfectly set as you turn just enough for the cameras, giving them angles, giving them exactly what they came for without giving anything else away.
A few questions from the press do catch your ear.
"Why didn't you walk the carpet with your husband, Michael?"
"Are you and Michael having issues?! You've both been spotted separately for weeks."
"Have you seen Michael yet? Seems like you both wanted to be the hottest in the room."
The words reach you, clear enough to register, sharp enough to land, but you don't react to them. You ignore them and smile as they take their pictures, the expression effortless, practiced, the same one you've worn a hundred times before. To them, to the cameras, to the press, nothing is different. Your smile is bright, your movements fluid, your presence commanding in a way that looks completely natural, completely untouched by anything happening beneath the surface.
They don't see the control it takes. They don't see the way you're holding everything in place.
After you walk the carpet and they get the pictures they need, you're escorted inside and to your seat, the noise of the outside world fading behind you as the atmosphere shifts into something more contained, more focused. The lights are lower, the energy still buzzing but quieter, concentrated.
Now you start to feel it: the nerves, because you know you'll be seated next to Michael.
The thought settles in your chest, heavy and unavoidable, but you don't let it show. Not in your face, not in your posture, not in the way you carry yourself as Amelia meets you in the aisle. You gently grab onto her arm as you two are led to the front row, your touch light but grounding, something to anchor yourself to as you walk forward.
Because when Michael is at award shows, he's always given a seat in the front row. There's no avoiding him tonight.
You thank the usher who brought you to your seat, your voice soft but polite, and you let out a quiet breath when you see that Michael isn't there yet. The space beside you sits empty, untouched, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something you don't quite let yourself name: relief, maybe, or just the absence of immediate tension.
You take a seat, smoothing your dress slightly as you settle, the gold fabric pooling perfectly around you, catching the light even in stillness. Amelia takes a seat in the row behind you, where her reserved seat is, close enough to feel like support, but far enough that you're still on your own in this.
The seats soon start to fill up, people moving around you, voices blending in low conversation, but Michael's remains empty. You hear others talking around you, their voices casual, unaware of how closely you're listening. They say that Michael is opening the show with his performance.
And soon it was starting.
Once all the seats were filled, the lights went down, the room dimming until the stage became the center of everything, and Michael came on stage.
And just like that, your breath catches.
You hated how even when you were angry, he managed to take your breath away, how it wasn't something you could control, something your body did before your mind could catch up and remind you why you were pissed in the first place.
He had cut his hair; it was short, his curls defined and framing his face, softer in a way that made him look almost unreal under the stage lights. He looked angelic, and it pissed you off even more, because it didn't match what he had done, didn't match the frustration you had been sitting with for six weeks.
The opening notes of Don't Stop Til You Get Enough start, and Michael is immediately in it, his energy snapping into place like it always does, effortless and consuming, and so is the crowd, the reaction instant, loud, completely drawn into him.
But his eyes find yours. Out of everything, out of everyone in the room, they land on you like it was inevitable. You don't give anything away. Not in your expression, not in the way you sit, not in the way you hold his gaze for just a second before letting it go.
And neither does he.
However, seeing that you did take his breath away a little, he almost stumbled over the lyrics. It's subtle, something most people wouldn't catch, something that blends into the performance so easily it could be dismissed, but you see it. You recognize it. Because you know him.
Seeing you in that dress, your hair glossy under the lights, you looked breathtaking in the most devastating way because he knew you were pissed.
Your face was controlled, composed in a way that gave nothing away to anyone else, but Michael knows you better than anyone, and he knows your body language. He knows the difference between calm and contained, knows the way your shoulders hold just a fraction tighter, the way your stillness isn't ease but restraint.
He knows you have every right to be pissed, but he also feels validated in his feelings. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, something unspoken passes between you, something that doesn't resolve anything, doesn't soften anything, just exists.
But he knew he shouldn't have ignored you for six weeks; that was too far.
Michael performs Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough, The Way You Make Me Feel, Scream, Beat It, Black or White, Billie Jean, and Dangerous, moving through each song like he always does, completely immersed, completely lost in it, like nothing else exists once the music starts.
And you sit there and watch him the entire time. You hate how it affects you. You hate how flustered it's making you feel, because you're pissed and you want to stay pissed, you want to hold onto that anger, that clarity, that sense of control you've had all day.
But you can never control how your body reacts whenever Michael performs.
The way he loses himself in the music, giving himself over to it completely, it's always been one of your weak points, something that has never changed, no matter how much time passes, no matter what's happening between you. There's something about the way he moves, the way he exists in that space, that pulls at something deeper than logic, deeper than anger.
It's always turned you on. It's always made you want him badly. And you didn't want to feel any of those things right now, not when you were still carrying everything he had done, not when you hadn't even spoken to him yet.
But your body was reacting to what was familiar without your permission, responding to him in a way that had been built over years, something instinctive, something ingrained.
And you couldn't do anything to stop it.
The opening notes of You Are Not Alone start, and your breath hitches, the reaction immediate and completely out of your control as the sound settles into the room. It's familiar in a way that feels too close, too personal, because this isn't just another song to you. It never has been. Michael had always told you, since he started recording this song, that it was for you, and that truth sits heavy beneath every note, threading itself through your chest in a way that makes it harder to separate the performance from what it actually means.
He had asked you to be in the music video with him, and the memory comes back without effort, warm and vivid, the kind that still feels real when you think about it: the laughter between takes, the way he stayed close to you even when the cameras weren't rolling, the ease of it, the way nothing felt complicated back then. And you know he's performing it because it's a big hit right now, you can't turn on any R&B station without hearing it every hour, the song everywhere, constant, unavoidable in the same way he is.
Towards the end of it, a choir comes out to sing the chorus while Michael sings over them, their voices rising together and filling the space in a way that almost feels overwhelming, layered and powerful, pressing into you from all sides. He walks to the edge of the stage as the choir is singing, "I am here with you," they sing, and Michael sings the line as well, his voice slipping through theirs, distinct enough that you feel it more than hear it, like it's meant to land somewhere specific.
"I'm here with you," Michael sings, and then he does it; he points directly at you, and then he winks... well, attempts to wink. Michael has never been able to wink, and the second it happens, something in you shuts down just as quickly as it had opened. The softness that had been building, quiet and dangerous in the way it threatened to undo everything you've been holding onto, disappears completely, like it was never there at all, leaving nothing behind but the sharp, familiar edge of your anger snapping back into place.
How dare he?
The thought hits hard enough to settle into your body, because it isn't just the gesture, it's everything behind it that makes it feel wrong. He disappears and ignores you for six weeks and then shows up to this award show, has his team tell you that he wants you to be there, and something about him pointing to you during this performance made you even more mad, because it isn't private, it isn't real in the way it should be. It's something he's doing in front of everyone, something that looks like closeness without actually being it, and that contrast sits wrong in a way you can't ignore.
When Michael finished his performance, you stood up with everyone else and clapped, your hands moving in rhythm with the rest of the room while your expression stayed exactly where you wanted it: neutral, composed, completely unreadable. You don't give anything away, even though you knew the camera would be on you since you are his wife and he had just done a 15-minute opener, and you can feel that awareness sitting just beneath your skin, keeping everything in place.
When Michael comes back to his seat, right next to you, he's in all black, sunglasses on, in place, and he sits down in his seat. The space beside you shifts the second he's there, his presence immediate, impossible to ignore even without looking at him. You don't turn to him, you keep your focus forward, but you can feel his eyes on you, steady and waiting, like he's trying to catch something you're refusing to give.
The camera pans past you guys, and when it gets to him, he points and smiles, slipping back into that ease effortlessly, giving them exactly what they expect from him, and as soon as it passes, as soon as the attention moves on, he turns back to you.
Just as he opens his mouth to say something, one of the stagehands comes to your seat and tells you that it's time for you to go backstage to get ready to present the award for Best Dance Video. The interruption cuts through the moment cleanly, stopping whatever he was about to say before it can reach you. You nod and rise from your seat without turning to Michael, your movements smooth, controlled, like none of it affected you at all, and follow the stagehand backstage to wait for your cue.
The distance between you resets the second you step away, but the tension doesn't leave with it.
You were presenting the award with Notorious B.I.G., and you were a fan of his. When the two of you were announced, he offered you his arm, and you smiled, taking it and letting him lead you out to the podium. The contact is brief, simple, but grounding in a way that steadies your step as you walk back into the lights, the room opening up in front of you again.
The first thing you did was look at Michael, and you see how his jaw clenches when he sees you with your arm looped through Biggie's, the reaction quick but unmistakable, tension flashing across his face before it settles again. It's subtle, easy to miss if you didn't know him as well as you do, but you catch it instantly.
You let go of his arm when you two reach the podium, the movement easy, deliberate, and he goes to the microphone first.
"Yeah, uh, we up here to present the award for the Best Dance Video," he says, and you smile.
"And those of you at home are probably wondering, how do you find the best dance video? Personally, I think it should just be whichever one I like the most... but then again, given who the nominees are, you all might call me biased," you say, and that sends a laugh throughout the room because everyone knows that Scream is nominated.
"I mean, I'd say the same thing. I should give it to whoever I want to give it to, and I think we might want to give it to the same video," he says, and you turn to him with a smirk.
"This is how we do it?" you tease, and the crowd laughs again, and so does Biggie.
"Damn, you're cold, Ma," Biggie teases you, and you laugh while shaking your head, the sound coming easier than you expect, light and effortless in a way that contrasts sharply with everything sitting underneath your skin. You glance at Michael again, instinctively, and the reaction is immediate, the second your eyes land on him.
His hand is tight around the arm of his seat, knuckles tense, the grip controlled but unmistakable. He doesn't like this. It's written all over him in the way his posture stiffens, in the way his jaw sets just slightly, in the way his attention doesn't leave you for even a second.
He doesn't like how close Biggie is to you, doesn't like the ease of it, the casual way you fit into that space beside someone else. He doesn't like how Biggie is making you laugh, how that sound comes from you without hesitation. And he definitely doesn't like how you're playing into it, how you're letting it happen without pulling back, without softening it for him.
"Here are the nominees for Best Dance Video," you say with a smile as the video montage plays of all the music videos that are nominated for the category, your voice steady, smooth, slipping back into that practiced rhythm as the screen lights up behind you.
The room shifts its attention forward, but you can still feel it, that awareness of him sitting out there, watching, taking everything in, whether he wants to or not. When the montage ends, you turn to Biggie. "Do you want to read the results?" you ask as you hold out the envelope to him.
"By all means, it's all you, Mrs. Jackson," he says, and you give him a look while everyone laughs, the title landing with a weight that feels deliberate tonight, something that sits differently now than it usually does. You turn to the crowd and smile, letting the moment pass without lingering on it.
"And the winner is..." You trail off as you open the envelope, the paper sliding smoothly beneath your fingers, and when you read the name, something soft flickers across your face before you can stop it. "Michael and Janet Jackson, Scream," you announce. Everyone stands to applaud, the room rising in a wave of sound and movement while Michael and Janet get up from their seats. You were actually surprised Janet was seated on the opposite side of the room from you and Michael, the distance between all of you something you hadn't noticed until now, something that feels oddly intentional in hindsight.
Michael comes to the stage first, accepting the award from Biggie, shaking his hand with that same composed ease he carries everywhere, and when he steps toward you, you let him hug you. It's automatic, expected, and necessary. You know the press is going to talk about it if you don't, know that every movement is being watched, interpreted, dissected, and you're not giving them anything they can twist into something bigger than it needs to be. The contact is brief, controlled, nothing like what it used to be, but it's enough to satisfy what's expected.
Then Janet joins you all on stage shortly after, her presence warmer, more familiar in a way that feels grounding. She and Michael hug, and then she hugs you tightly, her arms wrapping around you in a way that feels genuine, not performative, like she's holding onto you for just a second longer than necessary. It settles something in you, just slightly.
You take a step back to allow Janet and Michael to take the podium, shifting your weight subtly, giving them the space that belongs to them in this moment, and once they are done giving their speeches, all of you are escorted backstage, the noise of the crowd fading behind you as the energy changes again. You loop your arm through Janet's, the movement easy, familiar, and the two of you fall into step together, smiling and giggling as you make your way backstage, the lightness between you real in a way that feels almost like relief after everything sitting heavy in your chest.
"I knew you guys were going to win," you say to her, and Janet smiles at you, her expression soft, knowing, before she silently gestures to Michael. It's subtle, just a small movement of her eyes, but you know exactly what she's asking without her needing to say it out loud. Have you talked?
You shake your head and roll your eyes, the motion small but telling, and she laughs, a quiet, understanding sound that carries just enough sympathy without pushing you to say more than you want to. Biggie congratulates them both again before he leaves the three of you alone, his presence fading out of the space as the moment shifts again.
Michael turns to look at you, taking his glasses off, the movement slower than usual, like he's giving himself a second before fully stepping into whatever this is about to be. Janet clears her throat, the sound light but purposeful, and excuses herself, leaving just the two of you standing there.
Now you and Michael are alone.
The space changes immediately, the air between you heavier, quieter, everything that had been held back now sitting right there, waiting. You don't speak. You've already endured six weeks of silence; what's a few more minutes? The quiet doesn't feel unfamiliar to you anymore, but it doesn't feel comfortable either. It just exists, stretching between you.
Michael isn't really sure what to say, and it shows in the way he hesitates, in the way his eyes move over you instead, taking you in like he's trying to understand something without words. Your dress catches his attention again, the gold shimmering under the backstage lights, reflecting softly against your skin, and he can't look away from it.
He knows every single curve of your body, every line, every detail, and he notices immediately how the dress accentuates all of it, how it sharpens everything, how it makes you look just out of reach even when you're standing right in front of him.
"Hi," Michael says, and you scoff, the sound sharp, immediate, your anger rising so quickly it almost feels like it's been waiting for that exact word.
"That's all you have to say to me?" You ask, and Michael shakes his head, the movement small but certain.
"No... but I can tell you're not in the mood to listen," he says, and you nod as you laugh a little, the sound lacking any real amusement.
"I was ready to listen six weeks ago, Michael... but you never came back home," You slightly snap, the words slipping out with more edge than you try to control, because they've been sitting there for too long. Michael sighs as he rubs behind his neck, the gesture familiar, almost automatic, and takes a deep breath like he's trying to steady himself before speaking.
"I know... I'm sorry, I just—" you cut him off.
"I'm not in the mood for your excuses. If you had something to say, you should've picked up the phone and called, not had your team call our home... or better yet, you should've just come home," you snap while rolling your eyes, the frustration breaking through more clearly now as you move to walk past him.
Michael catches your arm and turns you around, the contact quick, instinctive, but you react just as fast, pulling back from him like the touch itself is something you don't want.
"You don't get to touch me," You say.
"Baby, please," he says, the word slipping out rougher than he intends, his voice dropping as he stops himself from reaching for you again, his hand falling back at his side as he takes a breath that doesn't quite steady him.
"No," You respond, the word firm, leaving no space for negotiation, and Michael takes another breath, deeper this time, slower, like he's trying to keep himself grounded.
He knew this wasn't going to be easy. He knew you were going to be pissed, and he was going to have to work extra hard and give more than verbal apologies to get your forgiveness.
"Just tell me what I need to do, I'll do anything," Michael says, and you nearly roll your eyes, the reaction instinctive, but you stop yourself before it fully shows, holding onto that control even now.
"You should've come home... weeks ago," you say before walking off, your voice quieter this time but heavier, the weight of it landing differently than the anger did.
And this time, Michael doesn't try to stop you, because he can hear it, the other part that's lying underneath the anger, the part that doesn't need to be said out loud for him to understand. He hurt you.
And he knows he hurt you deeply, and there's not going to be an easy fix to it.
♡
After the award show is over, you don't feel like going to the after party, the thought of more cameras, more people, more pretending sitting wrong in your chest in a way you don't have the energy to push through. You want to go back to the hotel, somewhere quieter, somewhere you don't have to perform.
You're sitting in the car, Bill in the front, as you're both waiting for Michael, the interior dim, insulated from the noise outside. You're looking out of the tinted window at the night sky, the city lights blurring past in reflection, when you hear the door open, and you feel Michael's presence in the backseat before you even register the shift in weight beside you. Bill pulls off a few moments later, smooth and practiced, and you don't turn to him.
During the rest of the show, you and Michael sat next to each other, but didn't speak. The silence hadn't been accidental; it had been held, deliberate on both sides, stretched thin between you with everything that hadn't been said. You didn't even smile for the camera, not once, even when you could feel it lingering on you, waiting for something to soften. You knew the press was going to run stories tomorrow, speculating about what was going on between you and Michael, but you didn't care. Let them. None of it came close to what it actually felt like to sit next to him after six weeks of nothing.
You were angry, and your anger was giving way to the hurt you felt underneath it, something heavier, something that didn't flare as sharply but lingered longer.
You were hurt for every night that you cried yourself to sleep because Michael wouldn't call or come home. The memory sits too close, too easy to reach, your chest tightening slightly at the thought before you push it back.
Every time you tried to call him, a member of his team made up an excuse as to why he couldn't come to the phone; their voices polite, rehearsed, always just enough to end the conversation without giving you anything real, until eventually you stopped calling, because there were only so many times you could hear the same distance repeated back to you before it stopped being worth it.
You think about how you spent a short period of time feeling guilty for going on Fresh Prince, even though you knew you didn't do anything wrong, the doubt settling in quietly before you forced yourself out of it, because you refused to let his silence rewrite something you had every right to do.
Because you hated how Michael was using his silence to punish you.
And now Michael wanted to make it up to you, but you wanted to punish him. The thought doesn't come with hesitation; it settles in cleanly, sharp, and certain in a way that feels almost grounding after weeks of feeling like everything has been out of your control.
And you had an idea of how you were going to do it.
The car ride was silent; you didn't speak to Michael, and he didn't try to push you into conversation either. The quiet between you feels different now, heavier, aware, like both of you are sitting in it on purpose. He knew how badly he had messed up. It shows in the way he stays still, in the way he doesn't interrupt, doesn't push, doesn't try to force anything out of you before you're ready. He just wanted the chance to explain and apologize to you, because he knows he shouldn't have stayed away as long as he did.
Bill parks in the back and leads you and Michael through the hotel's private back entrance, the transition from the car to the quiet interior quick and controlled, away from the crowd, away from the noise. He takes you both straight to the elevator and presses the button for the penthouse floor. The elevator ride also passes in silence, the soft hum of movement the only thing filling the space as the numbers climb, the reflection of the three of you faintly visible in the mirrored walls.
When you finally make it to the top and the doors open, the men let you step out first, then Michael, and then Bill. The hallway is quiet and empty, like the rest of the world has been shut out completely.
You turn to Bill with a smile. "Goodnight, Bill," you say, and he smiles back at you, giving you a nod.
You use the keycard you were given upon arrival to unlock the door, the soft click sounding louder than it should in the quiet, and you and Michael walk inside. The room is dimly lit, still, untouched, and you move through it without hesitation, going straight to the bed and sitting down, the edge dipping slightly beneath your weight as you start to take off your heels.
Michael walks over before kneeling in front of you, the movement immediate, instinctive, like he doesn't want the distance between you to stretch any further now that you're finally alone.
"Baby... please, let's talk about this," Michael says, and you scoff, the sound sharp, cutting through whatever softness he's trying to bring into the moment.
"Oh, now you're ready to talk? Are you sure you don't need to get your representatives in here to do the talking for you?" You ask as you toss one of your heels to the side before unfastening the other, the small action giving your hands something to do, something to focus on that isn't him.
"I know I should have called you myself... I'm so sorry that I didn't," he says, and you nod, not because you accept it, but because you already knew that.
You toss your other heel to where the first one was, the soft thud barely registering, and only then do you look down at Michael, kneeling in front of you. The pleading was behind his eyes, clear in a way he isn't trying to hide, something open and vulnerable that you haven't seen from him in weeks. He wanted to do whatever he could to fix this, and you could tell.
"Okay," you say, the word coming out easier than it should, because you don't want to talk about this, not right now. Not when your head is still filled with everything from tonight, everything he stirred up without even trying.
Right now, you couldn't get how crazy he was driving you all night out of your head.
From his shorter curls to his performance, the way the stage lights caught every movement, the suit, his outfit change, the way he looked in his glasses, the way he carried himself with that quiet, effortless confidence, it lingers in your mind in pieces, replaying whether you want it to or not. It pulls at something familiar, something instinctive, something that doesn't care that you're still pissed at him.
You were losing yourself in your desire for him, despite being pissed at him.
Michael wraps his arms around your legs, the movement sudden but not forceful, grounding himself there like it's the only place he knows to go. He lowers himself, resting his head against your lap, the weight of him settling in a way that feels familiar, too familiar for how much distance has been between you.
"Please, mama... just tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I'll do whatever you want," he whispers as he presses kisses against you over the fabric of your dress.
The nickname hits first.
It lands deeper than anything else he's said tonight, slipping past your defenses in a way you weren't prepared for, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep your reaction contained. His lips follow, soft and insistent even through the fabric, and it takes more effort than you want to admit not to respond, not to let your body lean into something it recognizes so easily.
"I can't stand you ignoring me, especially when you look this good," he whispers.
There's something raw in the way he says it, something honest and stripped down that doesn't feel practiced, doesn't feel controlled, and it makes it harder to hold your ground, harder to stay exactly where you've decided to be.
"So now you know how it feels to be ignored... try again in 5 more weeks," you say, your voice unsteady despite the words themselves being sharp.
Michael's hand moves along your leg, slow, absent-minded at first, like he's not even thinking about it, just following instinct, and the sensation pulls at you immediately, familiar and dangerous all at once.
"Stop," you say. His hand stills the second the word leaves your mouth, no hesitation or pushback. He lifts his head from your lap, the shift immediate, his attention snapping fully to you as he searches your face. "You think you can ignore me for six weeks and get to touch me?" You ask.
The question lands heavier than your tone, and you see it register in him instantly, his eyes widening slightly as the reality of it settles in. His arms loosen around your legs, and he lets go, pulling back without being told again.
"Baby..." he says, quieter this time. You don't let him finish. You point to the cushioned chair across from the bed.
"Go sit over there," you say.
Michael's eyes are still wide, and when he stands up, you can see the bulge pressing against his pants. Sitting in front of your lap, touching you, and kissing you has already made him hard. When he gets to the chair, your voice calls out again before he sits down. "Take off your pants and boxers," you say.
Michael's hands are already on his belt, unbuckling it, and he tosses it to the side before pulling his pants and then his boxers down. He had already taken his shoes off as soon as you two walked into the room. You resist the urge to bite your lip when you see Michael's length lightly slap against his stomach when he frees it. "Now sit down," you say.
Michael does what you say, sitting down in the chair, and you stand up from the bed. "Touch yourself," you say, and he sputters over his words as he speaks.
"W-What?" he asks, and you tilt your head to the side.
"You heard me... You don't get to touch me yet... so touch yourself," you say. Michael swallows, as he feels himself get harder, his dick pulsing almost uncomfortably at your commands. He grabs himself, slightly hissing under his breath as he does, at how sensitive he is to the touch. "Start slow," you say.
Michael nods as his hand slowly starts to move along his length. You watch his hand, slowly sliding the straps of your dress off your shoulders before reaching behind your back and unzipping your dress. You let it pool at your feet and step out of it. Michael, watching you the whole time, stills his hand, and you turn to him.
"Did I tell you to stop?" You ask. Michael swallows again and resumes his movements, his hand slowly stroking himself as his eyes are glued to you. You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, letting your breasts spill out, and your bra falls to the floor. Michael bites his lip as his grip on himself tightens, and his entire body is pulsing.
You reach for the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs before you step out of them. Your movements are slow and deliberate, drawing it out because you know Michael is watching. "A little faster now," you say. Michael nods, increasing the speed of his hand down against himself, and you hear him whimper.
You stand fully bare in front of him, and then you move to the bed. You adjust the pillows before propping yourself up on them. Michael swallows as your legs slowly spread, your glistening folds exposed to him, and you won't permit him to come to you. You place two of your fingers in your mouth, coating them before reaching down and rubbing your clit, keeping your pace the same as Michael's.
His breath hitches when he sees you touch yourself, his hand almost stilling, but he doesn't. Instead, he whimpers again, desperate to join you on the bed, desperate to touch you. You shiver at the sensitivity of your clit, but you keep rubbing, running your fingers along your folds to slick them in your wetness, a soft moan slipping out of you.
"Faster, Michael," you say as you look at his hand again, moving against his length. Michael swallows, speeding up his hand, and you match his pace, speeding up the pace of your fingers against your clit. You close your eyes and moan louder this time, and Michael feels himself twitching. He's aching to touch you. He keeps stroking himself, his movements getting faster as he watches you pleasure yourself.
"Mama, please," Michael whimpers, and you look at him, your fingers speeding up against your clit when you see his hand moving faster. You're both watching each other, feeding off of each other. When your movements against your clit slow down, Michael's movements speed up. Every time you moan, he squeezes his dick, trying to keep himself under control, and every time he whimpers, you move your fingers faster, letting the sounds of him bring you closer to the edge.
Your hips buck as your back arches, and you move your fingers faster. Michael whimpers as he watches you, moaning and writhing on the bed, knowing that it should be him making you fall apart like that, but he doesn't get that he is making you fall apart like that. Watching him jerk himself off was wildly turning you on.
"A little more, Michael," you say, and Michael goes faster; he feels his release coming, and he wishes that he were spilling himself inside of you, and you also feel your orgasm building. "I'm so close," you moan out, and Michael is aching to have his mouth on you to help you finish. "Faster," you moan, and Michael obeys, stroking himself faster, his whimpers and moans coming quickly.
The orgasm hits you fast, your body convulsing against the bed as a moan pours out of you. Michael can't stand it, seeing an orgasm hit, and he's not connected to you to feel it. He loves the way you feel when you fall apart as your orgasm hits. He loves to feel your legs shaking around him, how tightly you grip him, how his name falls from your lips in a sob because of the pleasure.
You sink back against the pillows, your breath still quick and shallow as you try to regain it. You look at Michael, he's still stroking himself, his whimpering filling the room, and you can feel his desperation. "Come here," you say. Michael is up immediately. He walks over to the bed and stands over you at the side, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.
You slowly sit up, turning over until you're on your hands and knees. "Sit down... watch," you say. You don't have to turn around; you feel the weight of the bed dip as Michael sits down behind you. He swallows as he licks over his lips, seeing your glistening pussy in his face, still dripping with your release.
You reach behind yourself, pressing your fingers into your release and spreading it around your folds. Michael bites his lip as he watches. He whimpers again, trying desperately to control the urge he has to grab your hips and fuck you senseless until you speak to him again. You sink deeper onto your knees, spreading yourself more, and Michael whimpers again as more of you is exposed.
You rub your clit again, rolling your hips in the air. You can almost feel Michael inside of you, and you want him badly... but you also need him to feel the way you've felt for weeks. Your fingers rub your clit faster, and Michael bites down on his lip. Watching you play with yourself is making his dick twitch. He's so hard it's almost uncomfortable.
More of your cum from your first orgasm slips out of your hole, and Michael desperately wants to lap it up. "Mama..." he whimpers.
"Be quiet, Michael," you respond as you rub yourself harder, a louder moan coming from you as your legs shake. Michael watches intently, wanting nothing more than to press his face against you and fuck you with his tongue until you're shaking against him.
You slip one of your fingers inside of yourself, and Michael groans. You slip it back out, feeling it coated in your own cum, and you rub alongside your folds, purposely parting them, and you hear Michael swallow. He grabs his length again. He needs to feel the relief, the release of everything that's pent up inside of him. When you moan again, he squeezes himself, hissing under his breath.
You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes are locked on you. He's waiting for your permission to move. "Get behind me," you say. Michael gets on his knees behind you immediately. "You can touch me to line me up, and then you do nothing," you say. Michael swallows again as he nods, gently grabbing your hips to line your entrance up with him, and when you feel him let you go, you press back, feeling yourself sink against him as he fills you.
You moan on contact, and Michael stiffens as you continue to press back until he's filled you. You start to move, rocking yourself back and forth, feeling Michael moving in and out of you. You feel Michael's hand go to your hip, and you slap it away, shaking your head as you continue to move against him. Michael throws his head back. He hates that you won't let him touch you, but he will let you use him to take your pleasure.
You spread more, pressing your upper body more into the bed as you continue to move against him. Your ass slapping against Michael every time you move back, and he whimpers. Feeling your heat wrapped around him, sliding in and out, he's fighting the urge to hold you down and thrust into you until you can't remember why you're mad in the first place.
Your movements suddenly stop, but you keep Michael inside of you. Without turning to look at him, you speak. "Fuck me," you say.
Michael doesn't hesitate.
He grabs your hips and pushes you more into the bed. He pulls fully out of you before slamming back into you with one powerful stroke, making you cry out, and he groans. He keeps both hands on your hips as he fucks you, fast and relentless. Both of you are taking out your pent-up anger on each other. You reach down and rub your clit as Michael's movements get faster. Tears prick your eyes as you feel him deep inside of you, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
Wet sounds of skin slapping together, squelching sounds of Michael's thrusts inside of your slickness fill the room. "Just like that, mama... You take it so good," Michael says as he squeezes your hips, fucking you harder. You cry out, gripping the pillows tightly as your legs start to shake.
Michael lifts one of your legs, holding it so he can fuck you deeper, his body trembling against yours as he moves. "Come on.... come on," he practically growls as he fully pulls out and slams back into you again, rocking you forward.
His name spills from your lips in a choked sob as your orgasm hits you hard. Your body is shaking hard against his, and Michael doesn't slow down his thrusts to bring you through it. He keeps going at a relentless pace. His balls slapping against your swollen clit when he buries himself fully inside of you. Your vision blurs from the tears of pleasure as a second orgasm rips through you, your body still sensitive from the first one.
Michael's name spills from your lips as a scream. Michael leans down, pressing kisses against your back as he keeps fucking you. He doesn't want to stop; he can't stop. His arms wrap fully around you as he continues to move inside of you.
"M–Michael... I can't take another one... I–I can't," you whimper as he pulls you upright, your back against his chest as he keeps thrusting into you.
"You can take it, mama... keep going," Michael growls into your ear, his thrusts getting more erratic as he gets closer to his release. You're shaking, your full body is shaking against him, as a third orgasm hits you hard. The sheets beneath you are soaked as Michael's thrusts push through your juices, making them spill all over. "Look at the mess you're making," Michael says as he reaches in front of you to rub your swollen clit.
You twitch against him, your eyes falling closed as your head falls against his shoulder, the pleasure and ecstasy feeling like too much, and you genuinely think you're going to pass out. Your body twitches again as Michael keeps fucking you, every thrust pushing deeper, every stroke drawn out so you can feel it. Michael whimpers in your ear as his dick twitches inside of you.
You feel the warmth as it hits you, and your body twitches again, Michael still rubbing your clit as he fucks you through his orgasm. His cum mixes with yours, squelching out of you and dripping more onto the sheets. You cry out as a fourth orgasm hits, your body completely spent as you shake against Michael.
He slows his thrusts and slows his fingers against your clit, bringing you through the orgasm. He pulls out, pressing you back down into the bed, keeping you on your knees. He spreads your folds apart, watching as your combined orgasms spill from your spent hole.
Michael attaches his lips there, licking and sucking the release, and you start shaking again. You know you can't take another orgasm, and you feel on the verge of passing out from the overwhelming pleasure. Michael lightly slaps your pussy, making you shake again, before he attaches his lips back to your folds, licking up your full release before he pulls back. He turns you around and lays you back on the bed, his breathing heavy and erratic as he looks at you.
"Don't you ever do that to me again, Michael," You say as you look at him, and he knows what you mean, not just from the words but from the way you're holding his gaze, from everything still sitting underneath them. Don't ever leave you like that for that long ever again. He nods, the movement immediate, serious, before he leans down and kisses you, slower this time, like he's making sure you feel it. You taste yourself on his lips as you kiss him back, and it pulls something deeper out of you, something softer than the anger you were holding onto before. You missed him, you ached for him, you needed him, and now that he's here, that absence feels almost unbearable in hindsight.
You're the first to pull back, needing the space for just a second, and Michael leans his forehead against yours, keeping close anyway, like he's not ready to let any distance settle back in. "I promise I won't. I'm so sorry... I love you so much," he says, and there's nothing guarded in it, nothing held back, and you nod, taking it in even if you're not fully ready to let it settle.
"You have six weeks' worth of making it up to me to prove it," you say, and Michael laughs, the sound softer than usual, like the tension is finally easing out of him.
"Mama, I just made you cum four times," he says, and you shrug, your expression shifting just enough to let him know you're not letting him off that easy.
"That only covers one day. You still have 41 more to make up for," you say. Michael laughs again, more relaxed this time, and he leans in to kiss you again, the contact lighter, easier, like something has shifted between you. Your chest loosens for the first time tonight, the tightness that's been sitting there finally easing just enough to breathe through it without effort. You knew that this didn't fix everything, but you were willing to work through it with him, willing to meet him somewhere in the middle now that he was actually here.
You pull back and lay your hand on his jaw, your thumb gently rubbing across his skin, the gesture slow, absent-minded, something that comes naturally after all these years.
"I love you, too," you whisper.
Michael lies down next to you, pulling you into his arms, your back settling against his chest as he fits around you like he always has, like nothing about that part has changed. He buries his head in the nape of your neck, kissing the soft skin there, slower now, softer, and you feel him let out a deep breath, like he's been holding it in for weeks. The tension that had been sitting between you all night fades into something quieter, something steadier, and the two of you lie there, wrapped up in each other, until you fall asleep.
🐆💋 — imagining michael being teased by you relentlessly, your lips rubbing over his tip, tongue licking up the base of his dick. you’ve been doing it for the past two minutes, just so you could hear his whimpers. or, michael finally inserting himself in you, your pussy taking him in while you call him sweet names. your hands are dragging down his back. or, maybe he’s lying on the bed, you on top as you ride him slowly, purposely teasing the tip of his dick with your wet pussy before sliding down and rocking into him. your nails drag down his chest, leaving marks on his skin as he begs you to continue, he’s so close to cumming, almost embarrassed at how fast he’s reaching. also, adding the fact both of you have a breeding kink so he really becomes a whimpering mess when your pussy drips out a mixture of his cum and yours, only for him to slide his dick back in you to fill you up.
𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑨 ♡ྀི.ᐟ @castielsb1tch - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
