!otw Michael x !childhoodbsf reader | wc: 4.7k
notes: smut! , mutual pining, porn w build-up plot, no use of y/n, pet names (js "mama"), lil size kink, handjob
synopsis: the season isn't the only thing changing atm... your relationship with your best friend is starting to feel different, until everything finally culminates at an innocent movie night at hayvenhurst
i hope you guys enjoy! this is my first time actually publishing one of my fics so im kinda nervy 🫣
You were fourteen when your family chose to relocate to the suburbs of Encino, California. Cranking down the passenger window, you welcomed the warm air, letting it coat your face as your parents signaled landmarks along the drive. You rested your elbows on the lip of the window, lowering your chin to sit atop your folded hands. You soaked in your new surroundings as they whizzed by. A faint smile lingered on your face, your mind wandering to all the newfound and limitless possibilities of your life here.
Your head perked up as the car turned onto Hayvenhurst Ave. Apart from it being the street you’d soon be calling home, your parents had mentioned, fleetingly, that the Jackson family also lived in your neighborhood. You had dismissed it, casually assuming that that meant a few streets over, or just somewhere in the vicinity. You couldn’t have been more wrong.
On the second day of unpacking, you’d found yourself buried alive in half-emptied boxes and clothes scattered about when the doorbell sounded. Busy herself, your mother asked you to get it. Scurrying down the steps and nearly skidding right past the door handle in your slippery socks, you took a deep breath and tugged it open, only to be met with the tender doe eyes of a young man.
Bashfully, he averted his gaze for a moment before breaking the silence. “Hello..!” He said softly.
“..Hi.” You smile, unsure of how to react. You knew exactly who he was without any introductions.
“I hope I’m not botherin’ you or anything, I- I just was walkin’ through the neighborhood and thought that I’d say hello,” he smiled back, "I'm Michael.”
“Hi,” you said again, and introduced yourself. “We moved in the other day.” You turned to gesture to the house and the towers of boxes still visible upon peering into the interior.
As you whirled your attention back to the boy standing at your doorstep, your eyes met his. They were kind, and devastatingly beautiful. You could have taken a dive right then, and let the warmth his deep brown eyes exuded to cocoon and utterly consume you. Everything about him, his mere presence, began to draw you in rapidly like quicksand.
“I was just, umm, wonderin’ if you’d want to get to know each other? Like be friends ‘n all?” Michael shifted on his feet.
You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Oh, yes! I think that’d be great.” His eyes danced at your acceptance. You gathered your courage, “Would you… want to come in?”
You led Michael, the Michael Jackson, through the foyer and into the kitchen, where your mother was pent up organizing and pacing through the clutter.
“Mother, this is Michael. His family lives down the street.” You tried to keep your voice as cool and composed as possible, despite being overcome with disbelief. She greeted him warmly, cradling her own restraint, and granted you permission to show him around the house, (nevermind how minimal the progress made with unpacking was).
“Come,” you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and gave a soft tug as you started out of the kitchen entryway, “I’ll show you my room!” Each point of contact your fingerpads made with his skin felt electric.
Michael followed close behind you, lingering in the doorway to your bedroom as you plopped yourself down on the rug. “What?” You grinned, and passed him a quizzical look.
He glanced around, smiling to himself. “You have so many stuffed animals.” Your eyes widened in immediate shame and horror before he spoke, “Oh no, no, no, I love that. I love them. I have some of my own.” He settled beside you, folding his lanky legs into a criss-cross adjacent to you on your rug.
You beamed at him, reaching into a box to pull out a film reel that was one of your personal favorites. You held it up, “do you like movies?”
And so began what would define the next several years of yours and Michael’s friendship. Seeing each other once or twice a week soon evolved into visiting at any moment he could spare in his suffocatingly-busy schedule. Late-night movies, book debates, board games, horsing around outdoors or even convincing poor Bill Bray to drive someplace only scratched the surface of the endless activities you found yourself up to with Michael. He truly was the person, the only person, who you felt you could call your best friend. The bond the two of you shared was unlike anything you’d ever known.
The prior success of the Jackson 5 was undeniable, but Michael’s fame only skyrocketed upon the release of his solo album, Off The Wall. But even with all that was going on in his life, Michael made sure to prioritize the spare time he had to spend scooping ice cream sundaes or laying on the floor in his room spinning vinyls with you. For Michael, being with you was easy in the way that it calmed the chaotic sphere he often found himself trapped in. You guided him and steadied his reeling mind when others could not. The reason for this, he could not quite place.
When his father deployed him to do the Triumph Tour with his brothers, you were devastated, but gave your earnest effort in concealing that from Michael. You knew he was already disappointed about being coerced into touring, and the last thing you wanted to do was to make him feel worse by throwing your own discontent into the mix. No one understood you quite like Michael did, and that’s what made his going away so difficult. Of course, you had other friends to surround yourself with in his absence, but it just wasn’t the same. They weren’t Michael, and they weren’t your best friend.
Although this tour wasn’t the longest Michael had ever been away, it certainly felt that way. For two months you yearned for the phone to ring, each time hoping it was Michael, just so you could hear his gentle voice and giggles from the other end of the line.
The way you felt about Michael had always been more or less stagnant; he was your best friend, like the brother you never had. However, increasingly over the past year or so, things have seemed off. They weren’t inherently wrong, or awkward, or anything less than usual, but different. There would be the off-chance that reaching for the same item, your fingers brushed, or one of you caught the other staring, things of that nature, that momentarily left the room and the space in and around you charged. Something was changing, is changing. It’s a persistent, nagging thought in your brain, one you have mulled over again and again until you were sure you could scream.
In early October, the tour was finished, the leaves were turning, and the day you’d planned to see Michael had finally come. You had run into him at their final show’s after-party, but not for very long. Tonight would just be the two of you, just like always.
You are packing some necessities into your overnight bag when the phone rings. You run over to your bedside table, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder.
“Hi Michael!” You knew who it was.
“Hello! Aah, oh, Bubbles!”
The chimp’s shriek sounds through the receiver, and you chuckle. “Is this an okay time?”
Banging, clattering, and rustling is the reply from the other end of the line, before a hurried, “No, I mean, yes, everything’s good. Now’s good.” He exhales, “I know you haven’t been by in a bit, is there anythin’ you want me to pick up?”
“Ah, um, well, just the usual, I suppose,” you pause to zip your bag, “ice cream, popcorn, you know.”
“Oh, well, that’s all here already.” He replies cheerfully. You smile, because why wouldn’t it be? It’s Michael.
“I’m walking over now, I’ll see you in a min—” Before you can finish, Michael interrupts. “No need. Bill is outside.”
“But Michael, you practically live next door..!” Your protesting is futile. Michael sits quietly before simply saying, “You deserve only the absolute best,” and the line clicks.
He isn’t kidding, Bill really is outside waiting for you. Bill spots your approach, and steps out to open the door. “Hiya, Joker!” A part of you is always happy when Bill extends his sweet nickname for Michael to you, as well.
Bill insists on carrying your bag to the front door of the Jacksons’ Hayvenhurst home before driving off. You take a deep breath through your nose as you knock. It opens almost instantly, and there he is. As his smile grows, his eyes light up along with it. He lunges for you, wrapping you in a tight squeeze.
Your name escapes his lips, picking you up quickly before setting you back down, and he steps back. It doesn’t take long before his typical flush creeps across his face. You chuckle, “Hi Mike.”
The moisture of his curls catches the warm light bathing the entryway, and he is clad comfortably in a white tee and pajama pants. His shirt is ever-so-slightly snug, exemplifying the leanness and elegance of his body. For a moment, you’re lost in a daze.
A wave of quiet nestles itself in the space between you, making you keenly aware of the way your heart is pounding in your chest, and the way Michael’s eyes are darting all across your face. The silence feels like a challenge.
“Come on, I’ve got the perfect movie ready!” Michael’s tender voice shakes you back to reality. He skips a few steps ahead and leads the way to his living room.
Your head is spinning. What is happening? That’s rhetorical; of course you know, but you just can’t admit it to yourself. You watch as he settles onto his usual spot on the sofa, furtively gazing at, and admiring how, the glow of the television illuminates his face. Did he feel the same way, just now? You cozy up into your own nook, covering your lap with a blanket. You scan the setup; your customary spots have been claimed, bowls of popcorn and snacks are strewn across the coffee table, and a sleeping bag is laid out a few feet away. All is normal. It’s just another movie night at Michael’s. Just like always. You exhale, and a welcome distraction enters as the film Michael had picked begins to play.
Though, even as the movie continues, the weight of the air around you is still making its presence known. You and Michael had never been ones to talk during films, but the quiet bothered you today.
“Do you want to make sundaes?” You blurt out, smiling apologetically as he jumps at the sudden interjection.
“Yeah!” He grins at the promise of one of his favorite delicacies, and you’re amused by the haste with which he scrambles to the kitchen. He spins and taps his feet to some internal melody, and hums as he fetches the ice cream.
You dig your spoon into the solidly frozen core of the carton, but to no avail. The ice cream won’t budge. Michael notices your struggle, and before you have even a moment to protest, you feel the heat of his body as he comes up behind you. “Here,” he chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through your body, appearing right at your ear. He places his hand atop yours, tentatively at first, assessing before adding the force to help you. You hold your breath, hyper-aware of every point of touch he has with your hand and wrist. He releases a few scoops into your bowl, then lets go. A drip of ice cream snakes down his finger, and before you can stop yourself, you watch as he slips his finger into his mouth and innocently sucks it clean. You hold each other’s gaze, chests heaving. You search his face, looking for something you weren’t sure you wanted to find. You clear your throat quietly, “Well, you need some too, Mike.”
At that, the trance-like state you were both in mere seconds earlier dissolved away as suddenly as it had come. Your heartbeat quickens as you stand off to the side, Michael getting his own share while you swirl whipped cream and a dashing of sprinkles into your bowl. Surely, he could hear it; your pulse was nearly deafening in your own ears.
“Ready?” Michael calls to you, meeting your eyes and flashing you a soft, genuine smile. If only he knew how beautiful he truly is. You nod, running up behind him to poke him playfully where you know he’s most ticklish. He yelps, and chases you as you flee back to the safety of the couch. Guarding your equally-as-ticklish body with your sundae, peering around the bowl to smirk tauntingly in his direction, he surrenders with a laugh, and resumes the movie. Spoons clink on the ceramic, giggles erupt from your mouths, and the dimly-lit room is filled with the flickering colors of the television, and everything feels okay again. You tell yourself that over, and over, and over as the movie continues and the credits start to roll, but a small, intrusive glimmer in the back of your mind whispers the complete opposite.
You help clear the dishes and tidy the living room, doing so with Michael in a weaving of comfortable silence and dually-hummed melodies and silly songs. You find yourself yawning into the palm of your hand, and you traipse your way back to the sofa. You start to collect your things to switch over to the sleeping bag, when Michael reemerges.
“No.” He says flatly. “You’re sleepin’ on the couch. Please. I want to be sure that you’re comfortable.”
He was so earnest in his words that you couldn’t argue. You sigh in lieu of your objections, and nestle back into your spot, shuffling beneath the blanket as Michael tugs the sleeping bag closer to the foot of the couch. He looks up at you from his position on the floor, his Bambi eyes poised to draw the air right from your lungs.
“I told you earlier,” Michael grins, “you deserve nothin’ but the best.”
He couldn’t be more handsome in this moment, you thought, his curls perfectly disheveled, and his face bathing in the warm glow of the lamp across the room. It’s almost painful to have to just sit and stare, not able to feel the touch of his lips or to caress his skin–
You look up out of your haze to find his brow softly furrowed, worry clouding his expression. His hand came up to rest on the cushion, fingertips meeting the skin of your thigh through the fluff of the blanket.
Fervently, you nod. “No, yeah, I’m okay. Just… lost in thought I guess,” you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile, but Michael only holds your gaze. You feel his fingers slowly begin to wander up the side of your thigh, intently observing you for any sign of unease. Your breath is lodged in your throat, your heart hammering against your chest, but you don’t move. You don’t protest. His nimble fingers start to dance in gentle, scattered movements on your thigh, seemingly absentmindedly on Michael’s part, yet that couldn’t be further from the truth. He loves the contact, he has been craving it all night thus far. He tilts his head, his doe eyes looking up at you through his lashes. You could just die right there. You feel your stomach flip on itself, landing where a plume of warmth expands through your core.
Almost imperceptibly, you lean forward, able to reach out to gently cup the side of his face. You thumb the sensitive skin of his cheek, smiling faintly.
His breathing quickens. “Tell me you want me to stop. I will, and we’ll just go right to sleep and–”
You cut him off, “Michael…”
He freezes, searching your face as you’re searching for the courage you so desperately need. You shift off of your knees, lowering yourself further into the cushions, eyes nearly aligned with each other now.
“Mike…” You breathe. You don’t know what to say, or do, but Michael did, Michael understood. He leans forward, closing what space was left between you, and places a slow, chaste kiss to your lips. He pulls back, looking into your eyes for confirmation that you gave immediately.
You tugged at the collar of his shirt, pulling him back into you and your lips found his again. The kiss erupts, and you groan as you feel his tongue pushing the precipice of your lips, posing an unspoken question. You open, heat coursing through your body as your tongues slide deliciously against one another. You tear yourself away from the kiss, both of you bursting into giggles as you urge him up onto the sofa.
He claims the spot beside you, quickly slipping his hands snugly around your waist. You feel his pull, an attempt to guide you where he wants you: his lap. You eagerly oblige, suppressing what probably would have been a squeal of delight. You settle onto him, situating your legs on either side of his own. You rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as neither of you can control the mischievous and joyful grins toying across your faces. Pushing him back against the sofa, the length of his neck and the expanse of his gorgeous jawline become immediately more accessible to you. Michael whines ever-so-softly as you place slow kisses across his collarbone, trailing up his neck, stopping to linger and suck on the sensitive skin at the pinnacle of the tip of his ear and his jaw. The sounds escaping his mouth gradually become more unraveled, leaving your body practically trembling in response.
Michael captures your lips in another kiss, filling the room with soft sighs and the sound of your wet lips colliding in an endlessly hungry rhythm. Michael’s hands remain firmly at the plush of your hips, holding you exactly where he needs you.
You feel him start to smile into the kiss, and you pull back. You study him for a moment. His lips are parted in a slight pant, his cheeks flushed, and his beautiful big eyes threaten to devour you in an instant. A grin spreads onto your face, tilting your head, “What?”
You can sense him starting to become bashful, flustered as he replies, “I just— I don’t know what to say,” he huffs amusedly, “I can’t tell y’ how happy this makes me.” You open your mouth to speak, but Michael beats you to it. He pulls you flush against his chest, positioning his lips just shy of your ear. “Oh God, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He speaks so tenderly, and with such intimacy that you think you might melt. You hum gently in response, placing more delicate kisses to his temple, his cheekbones, his jawline…
“Me too, Mike,” you whisper, “you have no idea.”
Michael groans softly at your words, at the affirmation of your mutual pining. He dives back into you, ensnaring your lips in a sensuous and impassioned kiss. Your tongues explore and dance in the slick warmth, your body shivering with desire, sparks roaming across your skin. Readjusting your position on Michael’s lap, you gasp as you release your weight back onto him. The hardening bulge of his erection pushes up into you oh so pleasurably, and he stiffens, opening his eyes to meet yours. His fingers thrum at your hips, squeezing once before he slowly thrusts up into your aching core. A lewd sound escapes your lips, one that only encourages Michael.
He pants, his hot breath fanning your cheek. Ecstasy envelops the room and the space you share. Without even thinking, your hips start to grind in tandem with his own, chasing the contact you crave. The kiss grows sloppier, thick spit slipping out from the corners of your mouths, as a cacophony of needy moans exemplifies just how much the both of you have been holding back. You are completely content with losing yourselves in one another, exploring the uncharted, once entirely restricted territory that is now limitless and unrestricted.
Michael’s fingertips curiously begin to trail up your back, the looseness of your shirt allowing him to easily reach and caress your skin. His touch is tender, a soft grazing as his hands travel up, and down, rising to your shoulder blades and then once more gliding to your waist. You shudder, enamored with the way Michael’s gentle affection is almost worshipful. Your need for him is planted like a seed in your belly, every kiss and touch pushing it to sprout and blossom, churning and persistent in your core. Your hands toy with the rim of his shirt, making contact with his heated skin beneath. You drag your fingers up his abdomen, hooking the piece of clothing onto your wrists so as it rises with your movements. His alluring dancer’s physique is revealed inch by inch, and you think you could collapse just feeling it through your fingertips’s exploration. He really is beautiful.
The contact is making Michael begin to squirm, overwhelmed and quietly anxious for more, to feel you. Your hips continue to rock into him, rhythmically nudging just the spot you need him to, but for you, it’s not enough either.
“Michael…” You whine, breathlessly, so softly it is nearly imperceptible.
He can’t take it anymore. You gasp into the kiss as Michael smoothly flips you to lay on your back, flush against the cushion as he settles himself between your legs. “Mama…” He whispers, a gravelly edge to his voice, “can I? Is this–” His fingers wander, leaving sparks in their wake as he drags them to rest just below your waistband, “Is this okay?”
You nod, and a dazzlingly handsome smile spreads across his face, but he has never been more serious about a matter in his life. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.”
Without a second thought, you reach up to grab his wrist, holding his gaze as you lead his hand down, down, down. He takes a sharp inhale; the fabric is damp, no, sopping. His eyes widen for a split second, a smirk playing on his lips. He pushes his fingertips into you, rubbing agonizingly slow circles into the fabric of your panties. A lewd whine escapes you at the sudden intensification.
“Are you– you’re wet,” Michael breathes, groaning as he watches you and your body contort under the pleasure.
“Mmmph, mhm,” is all you can muster, your mind utterly fogged by arousal. “Mi-Michael, let me…” you extend your free hand, reaching to delicately start to palm him. Michael releases a terribly delicious moan at the sudden contact.
The air is hot and thick with uncaged lust, enveloping both of you with desire and mutual arousal so palpable it is practically a cocoon. This moment is almost tender in its intimacy. The pining suffered by Michael and yourself for many gruesome years is now obsolete, marked by the euphoric feelings of pleasure rocking your bodies, even just by touches through a layer of clothing.
The fabric of your underwear begins to shift to the side, unintentionally at first, that is, until Michael feels the hot, slickness of your center, now exposed to his curious fingertips. In an instant, he tugs the rest of the panty over, dragging three long fingers agonizingly slowly over your soaked core. Your jaw goes slack as you tremble from the vehement waves of pleasure.
You pull at the strings of his pants, a wordless signal to him of what you are planning to do. He retracts his hand for a moment, and you promptly notice your arousal coating his fingers. His eyes lock onto yours, with a salacious new intensity that makes your thighs clench. His pajamas fall down his legs, revealing a bulge and seeping dampness on the fabric of his boxers that has you salivating. You look to him for permission before reaching behind the waistband to free his stiff and leaking length.
Arms entwined, hands exactly where each other need them most, Michael leans down to reconnect his lips with yours. The kiss is slow and voluptuous compared to the pace your hand and his are moving.
Your shorts are still around your knees, your panties snug to your hips. “Slide these down for me, please, Mama,” Michael purrs. You nod, lifting up to help as he tugs the rest down, and off completely, leaving you entirely bare to him. His dick twitches in your grasp, and he delves downward to cover your cheeks and neck in hurried, wet kisses. You maintain gentle strokes along him, marveling at the numerous veins that trail his length, his arousal gliding down.
“What..?” Michael looks at you inquisitively, yet he’s also terribly amused. Horror momentarily strikes a chord of fear as you realize what you’ve said aloud, but lust soon clouds your mind again. You swallow, a slow smirk playing across your lips, “You- you’re big, Mike.”
Michael’s eyes widen, followed quickly by a deliciously sultry expression, his brows furrowing as he groans softly, “Oh God Mama…”
He presses his hips into yours, the slick from your core adding to a euphoric new friction as his erection rubs against you. Each grind, each thrust up into him, brings him increasingly closer to slipping into you. The wetness from your arousal dribbles down your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging your sensitive nub just perfectly. Your lips collide with his, messily, dragging your tongues along the other with intensifying ardor.
Without warning, his length suddenly catches on the cavity of your entrance, the tip slipping part-way inside. You gasp, overlapping with a heady groan from Michael. He freezes, eyes full of alarm as he realizes what just happened. You reach up to cup his cheek, nodding, “It’s okay, Michael.”
He doesn’t wait another second. Slowly, carefully, he pushes further into your aching, sopping core. Michael’s moan is low, and intoxicatingly rhapsodic, the stretch swiftly transforming into unrivalled pleasure. Your body is squeezing him so tightly that he looks to be in ecstasy. He is beautiful this way: his curls tousled, a sheen of sweat on his skin, and an impassioned lust that you’d only ever thought to dream of from him. Each inch sliding deeper and deeper inward makes your entire body shake, overcome completely by this feeling. Michael lets out a throaty exhale the moment he bottoms out, hips meeting yours at the hilt.
“Y’ alright?” Michael asks reverently, placing a sweet peck onto your forehead. You reach for the nape of his neck, tugging him toward you to capture him in a hasty kiss, wordless confirmation passing between you. Michael eases his hips back, the sensation overwhelming. He picks up a rhythm, inducing a stretch so snug that you can feel every ridge, every vein, grazing your walls. Your lips clash deeply, sensuously, tongues swirling and brushing slowly, taking all the time in the world to explore one another in this new way. Michael runs his large hands up the plush of your thigh, then wandering up the curvature of your lower back, worshipping you. Venerating you.
“So pretty,” He murmurs in breaths between kisses, “my girl.”
You whine, invigorated, his words crawling like sparks of electricity on your skin. The endless ooze of your arousal echoed in the space you occupied, interlaced with both of your needy, drawn-out cries. Saliva pools from the corners of your mouth, Michael’s easy thrusts combining gloriously with the sloppy kisses to cocoon the two of you in utter euphoria. It’s perfect, in every way.
Your once-held fears about losing the connection with your beloved best friend all faded away. Though in one evening, so much seems to have changed, it really hasn’t. Your love and passion for one another has been omnipresent since the very beginning, and this new revelation isn’t going to destroy a thing. Looking into his beautiful doe eyes, you know one thing for certain: What’s between you and Michael has been, and will eternally be, just like always.
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