“Mmh, baby m’so proud of you.” You breathe heavily. Michael’s breath hitches, face heating up as he stare at you. “Y-yeah?” His voice close to a whimper.
Michael received an honorary doctorate today for his contributions to the black education system. Oh you loved him so so much, he was so caring.
That’s why you were riding him right now to let him know just how much you appreciate him.
You lean down, moaning into his mouth as you roll your hips, giving him all of you. He moans into your mouth, hands finally leaving the sheets to grip your hips.
“Hmnh-“ he whimpers, brows furrowed and biting his lip as he runs his hands over your curves. “Love you so much..” he expresses, big doe eyes on yours.
“I love you too baby,” you hum, sitting up and pressing your hands against his chest. “You make me so proud,” you praise.
He whines in adoration, staring up at you like he was gonna melt.
“You do everything for everybody..so handsome..” you moan, rolling your hips slow. Causing him to throw his head back and grip your hips tighter with those big hands of his.
“You’re so caring Michael. So sweet, and an even sweeter soul. Y’know that Mikey?” You ask breathlessly as you tilt your head.
Tears prick his eyes from how good he feels, nodding vastly. “Yes…yes, yes, I know, I swear I know,” He cries, still focused on you. His baby. His lady. All his to love on him.
“Oh my gosh.” He groans with a cry, throwing his head back harshly as his eyes practically roll to the back of his head. He tries to suppress a whimper, but ultimately fails miserably as he moans, sending a few thrust up into your pulsing cunt til your finishing right with him.
You whine, nails digging into his shoulders as you ride out your high, collapsing against him.
After a few moments, you lift your head. Arms crossed underneath your head as you look down at him. “Congratulations ‘graduate’.” You giggle, tracing patterns on his chest.
He sits up ever so slightly, pecking your forehead with a worn out smile. “Thank you mama. I really appreciate that.”
You peck his lips a few times before he’s got a sly grin on his face and his cheeks are real high, an idea coming to him.
“Since you’re so proud of me…you wanna ride me again?” He suggests.
“Just a thought.” He quickly defends as you stare at him with a blank expression.
A/N: idea randomly came to my head, but I love this video of him sm you guys don’t understand.
taglist ৻ꪆ: @swavydadon @jeonsblackgf-writes @callmelyriic @watermielonnn @blkkbratt @szalipcombo @siighrns @angelfacediary @killathrxlla @mattbymills @angelcrescent @3leni go to post linked to join! (Any moots of mine if you wanna be tagged lmk)
pairing: mature era!boyfriend!michael x singer!reader
summary: reader loves michael’s glasses. he hates them. that’s it. that’s the plot.
word count: 613
author’s note: @roseidol did her big one with this idea, i’m serious. i was foaming at the mouth writing this drabble & it ain’t even dirty.
ps. idk what’s coming next. i no longer make promises. surprise posts only from here on out.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“No, no, no! Keep them on, please! Please.”
You grabbed Michael’s hands to keep him from pulling his glasses off, tears beginning to form in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. You were in his lap on the couch, kissing him—as you were wont to do—and the lenses kept getting fogged up.
This was the third time you’d had to stop because your laughter had spoiled the mood, but it was just too funny. And while you were in borderline hysterics, Michael was getting pissed, which only made you giggle more.
“Honey, this isn’t fu—”
“I’ll stop. I promise, I’ll stop.” You made a crossing-your-heart motion before putting both arms around his neck.
He groaned.
“Y’know I don’t like wearin’ them.” He made a face, and you took the opportunity to kiss his pouty bottom lip.
“I know, but I love them. Please keep them on? For me?”
You were begging shamelessly because you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d put on that whole “I’m Michael Jackson, I can do what I want” schtick when you’d first gotten together—and still tried to play that card occasionally—but at the end of the day, you had him wrapped around your little finger.
“I don’t want to.”
He threw his head back against the couch like a drama queen—which was good news for you, because all that did was expose his neck even more.
“Please, Michael.” You dropped your voice low, kissing down the column of his throat, and you could feel him swallow beneath your lips.
You were definitely winning this argument.
“Please?” You kissed back up towards his ear, gently tugging the lobe between your teeth. “Please, please, please?”
“...fine.”
You grinned victoriously. “Thank you, pretty boy.”
The pet name was enough to make him cut out the grouchy act, and he let you pull him back into a kiss.
It went well for approximately thirty seconds.
Then his glasses fogged up again, and you burst into a laugh so suddenly you almost bit his tongue.
“I’m not doin’ this.” He growled with frustration, yanking them off his face and tossing them onto the coffee table.
You’d never heard him growl before—that was hot, file that away for later—but right now, you were more concerned about the glasses clattering on the hard surface.
“Hey! If you break those, I’m breaking up with yo—”
He cut you off, taking your face in both hands and pulling you back down to meet his mouth before you could protest.
“Stop. And no more laughin’.” His voice was almost stern, and without the glasses in the way, you could see how dark his eyes had gotten.
Okay, maybe taking them off was just as sexy as having them on.
“Gettin’ me all worked up and then makin’ me stop like it’s funny.” He grumbled so low you thought he might be talking to himself.
“I didn’t think you were actually—”
He didn’t respond with words. He slid his hands down to your waist and lifted you off his lap, laying you back on the couch beside him.
Oh. He was really trying to shut you up.
“—mad.”
“Honey. Please be quiet for five minutes.” He looked as annoyed as he ever got with you—which wasn’t very—but that didn’t seem to discourage him from slipping off the couch and onto his knees on the carpet.
“Sorry! Sorry, I’m sorry.”
You pretended to lock your lips and throw away the key, watching him drag your shorts down your legs and kiss your inner thigh.
“But hey, Michael?”
“Hm?” His mouth was too preoccupied to talk anymore.
“Can you put the glasses back on when you’re done?”
summary: you just can’t handle how good your husband looks before court so you give him a good luck charm.
contains: smut, p in v, cowgirl, dirty talk (duh), car sex
A/N: I’m getting to those requests promise guys! And I’m getting to that Jermajesty fic for the 200 followers, enjoy ;)
“Can you give us like 30 mins please? Alone” you asked the chauffeur. He nodded, existing the car, leaving you and Michael alone.
Michael looked at you, "Whatcha planning baby?" he asks a smirk tugging at his lip. He already knew what you were planning.
He knew since he saw your eyes fill with nothing but lust when he showed his outfit. Michael's court fits have been feeding you more than ever.
And he was loving every reaction he got from you. "Mmm want you mike.." you whispered in his ear as your manicured nails traced his jawline.
His smirk being put on full display now, you bring your right leg over his lap. Turning your body to face towards him, your back leaning against the car door.
Michael catches a glimpse of your white laced panties, wet patch right in the center, clear enough for him to notice your sweet spot.
"You see how much I want you baby? Just real quick yea?" you say out teasingly, biting your the tip of your pointer finger.
Michael bites his bottom lip, watching your right foot hover over his manhood, as it grows a tight tent in his pants.
"C'mere mama" he says grabbing your foot dragging you on top of his lap. You settled on top of his lap, finding yourself already grinding on top of his dick.
"Mama I still have things to do, can't mark me today" he says sliding your panties to the side.
He rubs his middle and index finger up and down your slit, feeling how wet for you.
"Mmm so wet for you Mikey" you moan out leaning back slightly letting him see the wetness he's caused.
He hums at the beautiful sight. "I can see that angel. Let take care of you baby" he says slipping down his zipper of his trousers.
You nearly drool at the sight. You don't know if you were ovulating but once he freed himself you immediately felt heat in your core.
Michael helped you slide down his girth. "Ohhh mmm mikee.." you moan out watching his expression.
His face filled with nothing but pleasure, his bottom lip hidden underneath his teeth, grinning, "my pretty baby loves when I fill her up huh?" he asks brushing your hair behind your ear.
You nod instinctively, you bring a hand to the middle of his chest. You roll your ass up and down slowly then speeding up your pace.
Moaning loudly like you two are at home, Michael bringing his lips to yours covering your moans. "Come on mama, gotta be quiet for me" he says in-between kisses.
"nghh—can't baby, filling me up so deep" you moan out, your head leaning backwards looking upwards to the roof of the car.
Michael feels you clench, causing him to thrust up in you. "Oh Mike! I'm ther-there" you whimper out. "I hear you angel, show me whose dick this is" he says out.
His words pulling you to the edge, "Oh baby" the last thing you say before your release washes over you.
You look over at the watch, 26 mins has passed, leaving you two four mins to make sure you look presentable for the press.
4 mins later you two exit out the car, hand in hand. Cameras flashing already, you feeling your panties already sticking to your core more than before.
Michael notices in the way you walk with your legs together. Entering with nothing but a straight smirk on his face.
warnings: bad grammar, dom!michael, slight dirty talk, smut, literally just filth, reunion sex, makeup sex if you squint, no use of y/n, slight angst, edging, fingering, !MNDI!, p in v, no protection, SLIGHT choking, public sex
synopsis: after eight years of separation and an engagement call-off, you and your ex-fiance, Michael, finally reunite at the 1993 Grammys.
a/n: loosely inspired by one of @devochkanextdoor 's posts (can't find it but go check out their blog!) this is barely proof read, sorry (•́ ᴖ •̀)
…
as your stylists did your stunning makeup and hair, you tried your hardest to convince yourself that Michael's presence at the 1993 Grammy's tonight wouldn't affect you.
you really thought you'd stay strong, too. you two haven't seen each other since you called off your engagement eight years ago.
every time you two were in close proximity after that, like for award shows or charity events, the tension felt absolutely suffocating.
so, you took it upon yourself to cancel your attendance at every event if there was even a slight chance he’d be there.
a lot went on eight years ago when your relationship ended.
Michael had just gotten done with the victory tour and began filming for Captain EO, all while working on his Bad album and preparing for that tour, too.
safe to say, he had no time for you. when he started to come home late every night, claiming that he was working in the studio, you completely shattered, maybe thinking he was cheating on you.
all those nights of falling asleep alone and being utterly neglected, physically and emotionally, really took a toll on you.
so, in the heat of the moment, you threw your ring at his feet, swearing that you'd never speak to him again.
and that had been true, at least until tonight. because as Michael took the stage to claim his award presented by Janet, you felt as if your breath was stolen from you.
he was wearing a gorgeous white blazer, black pants that fit him perfectly, and a pair of black gloves that matched with the rest of his outfit. his outfit looked almost as beautiful as he did.
you'd almost completely ignored him ever since you called it off. when he called late at night, you'd pull the phone cords out of the walls.
when he'd showed up on television, you wouldn't hesitate to snatch the remote and turn in off.
and when his music came on the radio, which was constantly, you turned it all the way down.
it took a lot of effort to ignore him, because the man was everywhere. and no matter how much you hated it, you had to admit that he was addicting.
Michael gave an surprisingly emotional speech, which was followed by a huge applause. He sat down quickly afterwards, a huge, humble smile on his face.
the only reason you came to this award show tonight was because you were nominated for Song of the Year with your newest single.
so, when your name was called, you stood up, hugging your producers and friends, and took the stage. you embraced the announcers before thanking your loved ones and everyone who made the song possible.
while giving your short speech, you accidentally locked eyes with Michael, causing you to stumble over your words slightly.
your legs nearly gave out, and it felt as if your brain fogged up for half a second as memories you shoved away long ago flood your mind uncontrollably.
in a large crowd of famous, talented people, your eyes somehow still managed to find his, even eight years later.
so, you sat back in your seat a minute later, award in hand, feeling a little more unraveled as a familiar yet terrifying feeling begins pooling in the core of your chest.
it was harder to breathe at this point, so you quickly excused yourself from your friends and bolted to the bathroom.
when you got there, after what seemed like forever, you leaned against the sink after locking the door, looking at your reflection in the mirror.
the reflection showed a distraught woman with flushed cheeks and blown pupils. you resist the urge to splash cold water on your face to calm you down.
the bathroom was oddly warm and comfortable for a public space. it was lit by warm candles and a beautiful chandelier above your head.
as soon as you began to calm down, your heart rate slowing to a normal level, you heard the doorknob rattle slightly and then a soft knock on the door. you took a quick deep breath before calling out,
“just one moment!"
you washed your trembling hands before unlocking and opening the door, only to see Michael.
you froze for a moment, eyes wide, as you scanned his face for the first time in eight years. his features had turned more masculine, specifically his jaw. his hair was longer and straight. he was a little taller, his shoulders broader.
but his eyes looked the same as they did all those years ago. those doe brown eyes that never failed to make you smile and blush.
"Michael..." you whispered in disbelief, eyes roaming his body.
"you seemed a little sick up there... i wanted to come check on you," he said, his voice low yet gentle.
"you wanted to check on me?" you repeated, your voice laced with slight sarcasm.
he nodded, as if there was nothing weird about this situation. "why now? after eight years of silence?"
then, his brows furrowed, eyes narrowing slightly. "silence? i called you. you're the one who never spoke to me again after that night," he shot back defensively.
you scoffed. "and you're the one who cheated on me!"
then, without warning, Michael's long fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging you back into the bathroom. he slammed the door behind you, locking it quickly before turning back to you.
"i never cheated on you. you know that," he said, his voice dangerously low now.
your eyes widened in surprise as a tense feeling began to form in the pit of your stomach. subconsciously, his hands found your waist, gripping softly.
“no, i don't know that," you nearly whispered, your voice much less confident than before.
he pushed you even further in the bathroom, your lower back now pressing against the counter of the sink. his body trapped you in; you had nowhere to go now.
"how? i was working my ass off constantly to give you a good life as my wife. and you— you just threw it all away!" he exclaimed in a hushed tone.
"and all those late nights? what about those, Michael?"
"i was working! i was always working for you. how could you even think i was cheating?"
"you never made time for me!" you said, your voice louder.
apparently, too loud for Michael's liking, because he immediately flipped you around, bending you over on the counter, ass against his bulge.
you gasped at the feeling of him. even through his pants and your dress, he felt bigger than you remembered.
"Michael! what are you—" you get cut off by the feeling of his finger slipping under your dress, feeling your wetness through your panties.
he groaned softly behind you before pulling aside the fabric, your arousal coating his fingers. "you're already wet?" he asked in disbelief, almost mocking you.
you groaned, too, when he began rubbing controlled circles on the most sensitive part of your body.
you shuddered, gripping the edge of the counter for balance. "Michael— the award show," you moaned as he slides a digit in your tight, neglected core.
"i know, baby," he said, a sliver of fake sympathy in his tone as he began slowly stretching your cunt.
“you've missed this, haven't you? ‘can feel how tight you are."
you moaned in response, already losing yourself in his touch. you can't help but revel in his unfamiliar, new confidence that came with maturity.
"tell me," he whispered in your ear, sliding another finger in your hole. "tell me you missed me."
"i—oh god," you whimpered when he hit that tight, sensitive spot deep in your core. you felt your legs begin to tremble, but you continued to speak. "i missed you."
and when you were nearly at your most vulnerable spot, he pulled away completely, leaving you bent over the counter, shaking, and pathetically needy.
you looked back at him, seeing his chest rising up and down quickly, his hard-on straining in his pants, and the undeniable lust flooding his dark eyes.
"that's not even a piece of what i felt that night. the night you left me," he said, slightly breathless.
you looked at him; really looked. you saw a different person from that night eight years ago.
that night, you stood in front of a tear-streaked boy, begging you to stay, making empty promises. but now, you saw a man who had a newfound confidence. he didn't need an apology from anyone, even you.
it was... incredibly attractive.
"do you really want this?" he said after a moment of tense silence, his voice laced with desire.
all he needed was a tear to fall down your cheek and a nod from you to step forward, connecting your lips in a messy, passionate kiss after years of hatred and miscommunication.
his hands found your waist before bending you over the counter again, positioning you exactly how he liked.
you heard his belt unbuckle behind you before he bunched up your dress, pushed your panties aside, and lined himself up with your entrance.
you felt his tip slide against your folds, eliciting a moan from your mouth.
Michael kissed below your earlobe before thrusting in you slowly, making sure you felt each and every inch of him.
your head fell forward, your forehead almost hitting the counter due to the pure bliss coursing through your body.
he set a rough, devastating rhythm as his hand moved to your neck, gripping slightly.
"god, ‘y perfect," he moaned in your ear.
"hate how we were apart for so long. pro’lly fucked other men, didn't you? but i fuck you better, right?"
you sobbed softly, because of course you had.
you had multiple boyfriends since the breakup, trying to numb the pain of losing Michael.
every time you guided those men to your bedroom, drunk and heartbroken, you knew deep down that Michael always made you feel so much better.
and now that time had done its thing with Michael, you wished you had been there throughout the years to see it.
to witness as he slowly changed, slowly gained that beautiful, attractive confidence.
but you hadn't been there, and it was your fault.
as your sobs and moans grew louder, his hand moved from your neck to your mouth. he hushed you, reminding you of the hundreds of people just a hall down.
his other hand stimulated your bud, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive area.
"Mike—," you moaned loudly, the old nickname slipping from your mouth, even surprising yourself.
sex with Michael before was good, but now, you felt so deliciously full and different than before. usually, he had you ride him, too shy to take control.
and now, he was practically telling you to shut up while fucking you in the bathroom of a public award show. you felt so pathetic for loving it.
you felt fresh tears develop in your eyes as Michael hit that gummy, perfect spot deep inside you repeatedly, and before you knew it, you fell limp in his arms, body convulsing violently as waves of pleasure coursed through you.
“i got you, baby," he groaned, feeling your walls clench around him as your orgasm washed over you.
and with a final moan and grunt from Michael, you felt his seed spill in you as you stared back at him with dazed, half-lidded eyes. he collapsed over you, catching his breath, trying to regain his composure.
your eyes fluttered closed, remembering late nights at Hayvenhurst with Michael. you were so happy back then, before everything fell apart.
another tear slipped from your eyes, falling down the curve of your inner eye and nose before landing on the counter.
Michael saw this, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips and brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. he stared at you for a moment, memories maybe coursing through his mind, too.
"i still love you," you whisper, voice slightly hoarse from orgasm.
he froze for half a second before smiling softly, as if he knew that all along. "i'll always love you."
you shared one last kiss before Michael grabbed some paper towels, doing his best to clean you up with the surroundings available, all while mumbling soft praises.
“did so well, baby,” “felt just as good as i remembered,” “missed you so much.”
Michael left the bathroom first.
you stayed back for at least ten minutes as to not draw attention to the two of you coming from the same place.
god knows the filthy things tabloids would say about you two if rumors spread.
you looked in the mirror and saw your flushed appearance. your makeup was close to ruined due to the tears and sheen of sweat on your face.
however, you couldn’t help but feel… different. content, even.
with shaking, weak legs and a dazed consciousness, you left the bathroom and made your way back to your seat.
the show was already almost over, and you ignored the pointed looks you got from your friends around you.
you spent the rest of the night practically daydreaming about Michael. you would have felt embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good.
maybe now, at least, when you two see each other, there will be tension for a different reason.
…
banner credits: cursed-carmine (not tagging incase they aren't comfortable)
the toy piano filled the air as your daughter slammed her little fingers into it. you sat on the couch, her princess bag filled to the brim with her stuffed animals next to you. “mommy’s gonna miss you, baby.” you whispered, leaning down so you were closer to her.
“i gonna’ miss mommy.” she mumbled, not paying much attention to you. you brought your hand down to her head, twirling one of the pigtails in your fingers.
knock knock
just then, two faint knocks came from the door. you sighed as you got up to open it. “daddy’s here.” you groaned, your daughter sprinting to the door behind you.
“daddy, daddy!” she yelled, jumping up and down as you opened the door and michael came into her view. as soon as he saw her, he kneeled down embracing her. “hi, princess.” he muttered into her hair, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.
he then lifted her up effortlessly, holding her on his side. “you know, you’re 16 minutes late.” you scolded, your arms crossed as you watched him roll his eyes playfully. “pfft. you counted exactly?” he scoffed, before sliding past you and letting himself inside.
you shut the door behind them, watching him bring your daughter back to the living room. she was going on and on about how ‘mommy wouldn’t buy her any more stuffies.’ he listened to her, his head nodding and his face filled with fake sympathy.
as he set her down and she started to grab her toys he turned to you. “wowww, such an evil mommy.” he grinned, you rolled your eyes, “you know, michael, she’s like that because of you-” you pause, turning to the couch to grab her backpack. “-you spoil her to much.”
you toss him the backpack, a stuffed bunny flying out as you do. “were back on first name base?” he questioned, leaning down to grab the bunny. “we never weren’t.” your arms crossed, a thick invisible barrier set between you two.
“cmon’, mama, don’t be like that.” he walked a little closer, causing you to back up. “michael.” you mutter, your daughter still distracted by her toys. his face fell, looking genuinely hurt that you were trying to get away from him.
he quickly recollected himself, turning to look at your daughter on the floor. “you almost ready to go, baby?” he called to her, she looked up and shook her head, standing up, her little arms filled with toys.
you walk to the door, michael following behind you. “i’m sorry- baby. i really am.” he whispers behind you. you turn around, opening the door for him as he grabs your daughters hand. “not right now, please michael.” you whisper back, he sighs.
you kneel down, getting on your daughters level. “i’m going to miss you, baby, be good for daddy.” she nods, bringing her face to yours. you kiss her cheek, before standing up again. “i’ll see you, sunday. okay?” michael nods, coming to you, kissing your cheek softly. “okay, mama.”
the two of them walked out of the door, as they headed to the car. “bye mommy!! i love you!!” your daughter yells, waving at you. michael turns around, mouthing ‘i love you.’
“i love you guys.” you call back, watching them head down the sidewalk. michael buckles her in the car seat, his eyes meeting yours one more time before getting into the car.
“oh boy..” you mumble, shutting the front door.
a/n: i rushed… i’m sorry babies. i haven’t been feeling well, i think im sick. this is one of my few times writing angst so i hope i did good. if this sparks interest ill write a part two. i love you babies<3
through every era, him. 18+ (cassie as singer claim)
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Addicted.
That was the only word to describe the way Michael felt about you.
Like a junkie hooked on white powder or burning liquor — he craved you like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
He was spellbound.
He knew it was heavily frowned upon, to be completely and utterly infatuated with you, due to his martial loyalty to another woman — but there was something so tempting and dangerously fascinating about you that he couldn’t deny. A feeling that lingered deep in his soul from the moment he heard your gracious voice, let alone your face.
The crazed obsession started on a bleak, icy morning in November of ‘95, the air had grown colder with each passing day in the winter month, forcing Michael to wrap up in a thick coat as he slipped into the back of Bill Bray’s car. Although Bill, his life-long Head of Security and the embodiment of a father figure, had reduced his day-to-day personal contributions to Michael’s bustling life — he was always there to provide Michael a lift like the good old days.
“Hey, son.” Bill spoke first, turning to face the now older man he had helped raise, a calming smile spread across his face, “Lisa’s?”
“Yes, please, Bill.” Michael replied, his voice soft and gentle even in his adulthood.
Bill started the car, the engine rumbling to life as he slotted it into gear and rolled slowly forwards. Silence consumed the car as the radio played familiar, popular songs of the mid-90’s in the background, Michael eyes transfixed on the blurs of the streets as they sped by.
“How are things with you two?” Bill qiestion, his voice tentative as he raised the obvious question on everyone’s lips.
Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of the famous Elvis Presley and now wife to Michael Jackson himself, hadn’t made their marriage easy. Vacations with ex-lovers, fighting at award ceremonies, silent treatment games back and forth — it was becoming a toxic relationship, something Michael wanted no part in. Everyone in Hollywood, and across the globe for that matter, was relentlessly hounding the pair with questions regarding the state of their marriage — and the answer was simple.
Destroyed.
Michael sighed, “I don’t know,” He started, voice quieter, a tone of sadness evident, “Not good, I think.”
Bill laughed despite the sensitive topic, “You think? Son, that definitely can’t be good.”
“Yeah.” Michael breathed a reciprocal laugh, “It’s not.”
Silence consumed the car once more as Michael’s brain flooded with thoughts of his wife. If you’d even class as her one, as she hadn’t been acting as such. Fights, brutal screaming matches, happening every day — like clock work. Whether it was over the phone, in person or even through their own personal management — there were arguments. Ones that grew so volatile that it had Michael shaking in anger. He didn’t want to grow to hate her, to resent his own wife, but his heart was sure going that way. He was getting older, and ready to settle down, not spend his days in a whirlwind of cuss words and shouting.
It was only the sweet voice of a blissful symphony that dragged Michael out of his depressive trance.
The beat was slow and fluid — the type you’d involuntarily sway your hips to. The backtracking beat was low, something you could easily groove to, paired with a high-pitched, yet not unpleasant, ding! that flowed beautifully with the music.
And then your voice sounded out — and Michael’s heart stopped.
You sounded angelic, like the gates of heaven had opened and dropped you straight into a recording studio, opening your pretty lips and blowing everyone away with your utterance. You sang with such incredible delivery and talent that Michael’s breath hitched in his throat as he listened intently to each words that came through the radio.
‘One touch can bring us closer,
Don’t want this to be over,
You know that you complete me,
Your love is what I need,
Don’t rush to say you’re leaving,
Stay with me while I’m sleeping,
‘Cause you know what you do to me,
I’m weak and you know my heart is beating,’
Michael hummed — hands tapping against his clothed thighs as the fluidity of the beat took control of his body, leg bouncing and head nodding in time.
“Want me to turn it up, Mike?” Bill spoke as the music flowed quietly into the car.
“Please do.”
Once the dial of volume control was turned to the right, your voice now a perfect decibel to hit his delighted ears as you reached the chorus — Michael was a goner.
‘One, two, three, kiss, that’s when I know that we,
Four, five, six, kiss, have the right chemistry,
You don’t have to hold back or be shy,
I can tell you want me in your eyes,’
You repeated the catchy chorus once more, unaware to how besotted Michael was becoming with the sound of your voice and your musical talent — now complete submerged in the effortlessness of your sound.
‘Feels so good ‘cause I know that you’re mine,
Boy I got my eyes closed ‘cause you know that I,
Love it when you kiss me,
Love it when our lips meet,
You intoxicate me,
I barely can breathe,
I love when you kiss me.’
Now, he was hooked.
Mumbling a silent curse of blissful disbelief under his breath, a wild smile splayed across his face, lip coming between his teeth as he attempted to suppress the grin — but failed to prevail, teeth shining in the morning light as your beautiful vocals continued to bless his ears.
“Bill,” Michael sounded out as the song finished, only allowing silence for when you were singing, “Find out who that girl is.”
And that he did — Michael was informed you were an up-and-coming, young singer from LA, born and raised. At first, he was let down, assuming you were going to portray yourself like every other Californian singer — but alas, not. He watched every interview and concert you provided to his willing eyes — you were a sweetheart, always appreciative of your parents for bringing you into this world to provide music, and for selflessly paying for your singing lessons and vocal coaches. He was similarly enamoured by the way you would thank God for helping guide you through the hard, starting years where your career didn’t take off, stating his patience and commitment to your success was forever indebted to them. His heart would flutter, like a small boy with a crush, each time your delicate, gentle voice would hit his ears with a girly giggle.
But, it wasn’t just your lovely, down-to-earth nature or perfect voice that really got him good — it was that face. And by God, that body.
He hated himself for being such a lewd man — but whenever your gorgeous complexion would cloud his vision, he’d physically feel his heart rhythmically fall into tachycardia in his chest. In mind, body and soul, as well as voice and face, you were truly an angel — a truly heavenly being that had swept him off his feet from the moment he fell deep into your orbit. He had grown to love every part of you — the way you talked with such delicacy, the nude lipgloss adorning your plump lips glistening in the bright light of the interview recording he’d been watching, or the way your skin glistened like a glazed baked good begging to be devoured, or the way your slender fingers adorning a fresh manicure moved as you talked, or how your hips moved with experienced precision when you danced to the beat of one of your beautiful songs, hair flailing behind you as you grooved — every part of you had him transfixed, willing to be at your mercy if you so needed him to.
He spent the next few months, his affection for you bleeding into December, completely in love. With his wife, barely. No, he was dangerously in love with you. Something he deep down hated himself for — a thought he’d push to the back of his mind, hiding his guilt behind his fleeting, boyish crush.
He attended a routine interview, one he was bored of the second he arrived, growing increasingly more fatigued as he was grilled about impersonal and inappropriate questions — not once attempting to ask him about his musical career or inspirations, just about his private sexual life and his failing marriage.
It was only when your song, the one he had fallen deeply head-over-heels for, began playing softly in the background of the interview did he perk up — the radio softly crackling as your angelic symphony filled his ears. He hummed, an undeniably wide smile spreading across his face at the sound of your vocal heaven, hand tapping in time along the arm of the chair he was say comfortably in.
The reporter picked up on it — “Do you like this song, Michael?”
Michael really couldn’t hide his grin now, “Hm? Oh, yeah,” He breathed, the mere thought of you in his dazed brain flushing his cheeks burgundy, “I really do love it, yeah. She’s so talented. Truly an amazing, notable artist of this generation.”
“And beautiful too, right?”
Michael knew what the pressing interviewer before him was trying to do — attempting to force him to make a mess of himself on camera after making subtle hints to the decline of marriage, and then admitting he found another woman attractive.
Michael laughed, the answer ‘Oh God, yes’ hitting the forefront of his brain, as he just nodded in agreement, requesting the next question, pushing the thought to the back of his mind, cheeks now scorching hot.
You had heard the interview yourself — wanting nothing more than to watch it over and over again a thousand times as Michael’s words hit your ears. You had squealed so loudly your throat burned — cheeks flushing in admiration at the King of Pop complimenting you wholeheartedly and alluding to your beauty. You were, unbeknownst to Michael, in a similar state of infatuation with the said man — your heart hammering in your chest every time he would appear on your television, or play through the radio, his own beautiful, unlike-no-other voice hitting your ears having a familiar affect on you like you did to him. You had admired him for years — him being one of the main inspirations for starting your music career due to his passion and strong leadership in the artistry — that and he was gorgeous, truly a godly statement of handsome in the industry.
You had responded swiftly at an award ceremony, one that he regretted instantly not attending — talking jovially with a reporter when they asked you about him.
“Oh, yes, I saw that.” You giggled, suddenly shy at the reminder, “He’s so lovely, I’m truly thankful for his kind words. He’s been an idol of mine for many years.” You paused, winking as you spoke your next words, “And I think he’s pretty beautiful too.”
Michael had to practice his breathing after he watched what you said — his heart hammering violently in his chest as you spoke flirtatiously with ease. You had noticed him — yes, he was Michael Jackson, arguably one of the most famous men in the world, but you had acknowledged him, and he was spiralling, unable to wipe the smirk off his face for a good two days afterwards.
But, that smile was soon wiped clean off his face as the latest hot gossip that was revealed to the media.
You had got yourself a boyfriend.
One Michael decided he absolutely despised without even meeting him, let alone even meeting you — he knew he had intense, undeniable feelings for you, growing more so as his marriage declined further, and this idiotic, teenager-looking loser wasn’t about to take you away from. Not that he even had you — you had acknowledged him a few weeks ago, and to him that meant everything, his heart only swelling further, practically begging for you. But, he wanted you, badly — so badly that every chance he got to talk about you, or listen to your new single’s or even the incredible album you released, he did, your name on his lips constantly.
Lisa noticed this — questioning him constantly about your affiliation. He’d reassure her, despite the ache in chest, that he hadn’t even met you in person before — that you were just two artists in the same musical category and had acknowledged one another’s talent. Nothing more, nothing less. Technically, to his dismay, it wasn’t a lie — but, he knew, a thought that constantly plagued his mind, that the way he felt about you wasn’t professional, it was full-blown infatuation.
In January 1996, Lisa-Marie filed for divorce — a bold move that Michael could sense was coming. At first, he was shocked and upset — the end of his first marriage suddenly flooding nostalgia and grief into his heart. But, as a smitten man does, he soon let his soul consume itself with relief — relief that he was finally free of what was holding him back from getting to you, and having you to himself.
Sure, he hadn’t finalised it yet — but when did that ever stop an emotionally detached man from loving another woman who wasn’t his wife?
And it wasn’t until he finally met you did his heart truly skip a real beat.
It was Elizabeth Taylor’s 64th birthday — now February 1996, and a party was now bustling at her large, elegant home. And Michael was antsy at the prospect that you were attending. He had wiped his sweat-stricken hands on his slacks around eighty times before Elizabeth picked up on his unusual behaviour.
“Honey, what is up with you?” She questioned with a giggle, pulling him to the side of the loud room, filled with music, chatted and laughter, “Everything okay? Did something happen with you-know-who?”
Elizabeth, one of Michael’s life-long friends and idols, always respected his sensitivity to certain things — especially now so he was going through a very public divorce, whilst also worried his shy self was overstimulated in the frenzied room.
“No, no,” He reassured, “That’s still being finalised. I’m just..” He paused, “I’m just nervous.”
Something he’d only ever reveal to the older lady stood before him as he swallowed thickly, eyes falling to his shoe as he mindlessly scuffed the floor.
Elizabeth smiled at his timidity, “Nervous about what, sweetie?”
Michael, now forming an obvious blush on his face, attempting miserably to suppress the bashful smile that crept into his face, turning his expression away from her to hide it.
“Is this about a lady? Oh, please, tell me it is! Is she here? Do I know her?” Elizabeth rambled, eyes flashing hopefully as she grabbed a hold of his arm, practically shaking the answer out of him.
“Yes, yes, it is, but please don’t tell anyone.” He whispered, his eyes finally meeting her own, “She’s supposed to be here, but I can’t see her anywhere. ‘S makin’ me nervous thinkin’ about when she’s gonna arrive.”
Elizabeth giggled excitedly beside him as Michael shot her a playful roll of his eyes, he knew she’d always disliked Lisa, so any new romantic interest of his, she already liked.
“Look, honey, I’m sure it’ll be fine and she’ll be here soon.” She reassured, sending him a warm smile, “You’ll have to introduce me when you talk to her, okay? I don’t even know half of these people and it’s my own party.”
Michael chuckled, “Bold of you to assume I’m gonna talk to her. I’m sweatin’ all over, probably make a fool of myself.”
“You will talk to her. It’s my birthday, you have to.”
“That’s an awful excuse, ‘Liz.”
“Hey! Don’t say tha—Oh, sweetie! Hey, come here!” Elizabeth’s excitable voice cut herself off, her eyes lighting up as they met the gaze of another guest who had just entered, her hands beckoning the mysterious person over.
Michael followed Elizabeth’s eyeline — and his eyes shot open.
There you were.
In all your enchanting glory, a beautiful smile spread across your face as you strode towards the older woman — wrapping her in a hug as she welcomed you to the party. You looked absolutely breath-taking, your outfit physically giving Michael a violent, visceral reaction as his jaw fell slack at the sight of you. Your dress was an eye-catching display of the finest jewels only a dedicated miner could obtain, shining diamonds glistening in the light, adorned with white, delicate feathers rimming the bottom hem of the dress — while also dangerously low-cut, the swell of your breasts visible to pretty much every one that was now staring at you as you walked further into the room.
If Michael thought he was sweating before — he was mistaken. The second his glinting eyes landed on your gorgeous frame, his body shuddered, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his temple, one he wiped swiftly with the back of his hand to save himself some dignity, as he let out a shaken breath he didn’t know he was holding. You were a thousand times more beautiful in person — your face dolled up to a T, hair cascading elegantly down your back, nails manicured white to match your captivating outfit as well as your stilettos that clicked against the marble flooring, and the dangerous dress hugging your curves in every way a man could dream of.
“You must meet Michael. He’s just over here.”
Elizabeth’s words hit his ears before he could even compose himself — eyes widening even further as anxiety flooded his system at the idea that he was about to finally meet you in person.
They both approached him, giggling at one another’s jokes, attention on themselves — unaware of the nervousness that consumed his whole body as you grew closer.
“Michael, this is one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever met.” Elizabeth stated, telling him your name before continuing, “Her Mother and I were good friends back in the day. And, lovely lady, this is Michael.”
When you met his eyes, Michael swore he died and went to heaven — you locked gazes with a genuine smile tugging at your lips that his breath hitching in his throat as you extended your hand.
“Hi, Michael.” You started, in-person voice just as sweet as it had been through the television, “Finally, huh?”
“Y-Yeah,” Michael finally breathed, cursing himself as he stumbled over his words, voice cracking as he attached your hands, a jolt of unmissable electricity igniting through his body at the contact, “Been wanting to meet you for a while.”
“Likewise,” Your voice was as smooth as silk as you shook his head gently, eyes never leaving his own, your fiercely intense gaze sending exhilaration coursing through his veins, “I’m sorry to hear about you and Lisa-Marie.”
Michael smiled appreciatively as your hands dropped, the loss of connection finally allowing his heart rate to decrease slightly, “Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s been hard, but it was expected.”
“I bet you understand that a little bit, huh, honey? You and what’s-his-name just broke up, didn’t you?” Elizabeth questioned, facing you with a pointed finger as she revealed the words that sent Michael ablaze.
Fireworks of delight exploded in Michael’s chest at Elizabeth’s admission — you and that idiotic boyfriend were done. His mind instantly ran away with itself — you were both, on a technicality, single, finally free of your dead-weight partners.
“Yeah, we did.” You smiled despite your saddened news, “Much needed, though, he was a real sleaze-bag. Total bum. Literally jumped for joy the day we split up.”
“Sounds like Michael over here.” Elizabeth laughed, “I was so happy when they filed, god, she is a vulture that woman.”
“Is that so?” The way you smirked, contrasting your angelic persona with a devilish tug of your lips, looking happy that he disliked his ex-wife, had Michael flushing in heat once more — the way you were looking at him, like you were planning something evil and calculated, like a predator who just stumbled across its prey.
Michael was certain his cock had never been harder.
“Wasn’t the greatest marriage.” Michael admitted, voice soft and low, to avoid prying ears, “‘S over now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
He wasn’t sure whether you meant for his benefit or yours, but, he didn’t care — shooting you a sly smile as his wondering eyes raked over your frame.
“I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Thanks for coming, sweetie.” Elizabeth spoke pleasantly, squeezing your shoulder before turning on her heel and busying herself in the growing crowd beside you.
“So,” You started, a smile that could kill still plastered on your face as you peered up at him, “Am I as beautiful in person?”
Michael, almost choking on his own spit at your boldness, let his mouth fall open ever so slightly — you were so sweet and delicate for professional interviews and in front of your fans, but right now? A formidable flirt — teasing him with every word.
“Yes.” Michael spoke, all too quickly for a man trying to hide his intentions, “Really beautiful.”
You hummed, satisfied with his response, “I’m going out for a cigarette, care to join me?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t keep me company, Mr Jackson.”
The way his name fell from your lips, in a sultry, provocative tone that he didn’t miss, had him swallowing slowly, nodding, watching as your smile deepened. You took his hand in your own and turned on your heel, leading him through the crowd, not a care in the world for who staring at the pair of you — the King of Pop with America’s new popstar-sweetheart.
You lead him through the backyard, walking straight past the odd small group of people he didn’t recognise nearer to the patio doors, and towards the end of the long garden. The cold air of February whipped around you, engulfing your half-naked frame, hair swaying softly in the wind, as your hand remained a warm testament in his own — guiding him into the dark of night.
You finally stopped, reaching a large, oak bench decorating the farthest end of the backyard, near the edge of a cliff — staring out onto the gorgeous view that adorned the back of Elizabeth’s grand home. You took a seat, letting go of his trembling hand, and got comfortable. Michael, awkward as always, stood by the arm of the bench, awaiting your next move as you rustled into your purse, digging out a pack of Molboro Red’s and a baby-pink lighter. You slid one out of the packet, placing it neatly next to you, before slipping it between the plump of your lips — your lipgloss staining the white paper.
You turned your head to look at his bashful stance, eyeing him up and down as he stood oddly, looking like a kicked puppy, “Are you gonna sit?”
He obeyed as you flicked the lighter, the fluorescent burn of the orange flame lighting your face in a dim glow as you singed the end of the cigarette. Soon smoke flooded his nostrils as you took a deep inhale, holding the cigarette between your two fingers, your elbow resting on your bare thigh as you exhaled with a sigh, eyes fixated on the captivating view in front of you.
“You know smoking is really bad for the vocal cords.” Michael spoke quietly, watching as your face tugged up into a smile.
“Don’t want me to ruin my pretty voice, do’ya?”
Michael blushed for the millionth time that night — turning his face the other way as he grinned, words failing him as he hid from you.
“It’s a bad habit I haven’t been able to kick for a long time.” You admitted, “But, what celebrity doesn’t smoke these days?”
“Me.” He replied, sheepishly, smile deepening as you laughed loudly.
“Well, you are one of a kind,” You revealed, eyes finally meeting his own as you took another drag, letting silence fill the gap in the air before you questioned him, “What does Michael Jackson like to do when he’s not being the King of Pop?”
The question hit him full force — a sensation filling his body that he wasn’t sure of. He didn’t think anyone had ever asked him a question so personal, in the sincerest way, before. And not the improper, raunchy personal like the reporters did — the kind of personal where it seemed like you actually cared.
“I don’t know,” Michael breathed, his breath shaking as he exhaled, eyes fixated on the way you took a particularly long drag, and let the smoke trickle from your mouth like water as it uplifted into the dark sky, “I’m not really sure what I like these days.” He admitted wholeheartedly, the question stumping him, “Ever since me and Lisa.” He paused again, “I feel like I’ve lost myself a little bit.”
You hummed, listening intently as silence consumed you once more, as eyes flickered towards the skyline in front of you both, the bustling high-way and skyscrapers glistening brightly, a sight so beautiful it had have stunned the average person — but Michael couldn’t care less for it, his vision still full of your gorgeous frame, slightly hunched over as you smoked, making the toxic habit look gracious as the end of the cigarette ignited in glinting red and orange colours each time you took a drag.
“I get that,” You finally spoke, leaning back to meet his gaze, “That’s why I plan on not gettin’ married.”
Michael laughed, “Ever?”
“Well,” You breathed with a chuckle, “If I meet the man of my dreams, then maybe I’ll consider it.”
Michael watched you deeply — locked on the way you would smile as you talked, clearly amused by your own words.
“I’m sure that won’t be hard for you.”
You giggled, “Oh, now that was smooth. Whoever said you were shy was lyin’.”
“I am shy.” He protested, failing to his conflicting smile miserably.
“Sure, honey, the second you aired that you thought I was beautiful on live television while being married, I knew you were a smooth-talking flirt underneath.” You teased, sending him a wink.
“Oh, God, that looked real bad, didn’t it?”
“If it wasn’t me you were talkin’ about, I’d say yes. But, since the Michael Jackson thinks I’m hot shit, I’d say it was the best day of my life.”
Your unison laughter filled the space between you, shaking torsos and flashy smiles co-ordinating between you as you shared a humorous moment.
“You’re real interesting, y’know?” Michael’s voice dropped a decibel, suddenly feeling high on adrenaline at your continuing interaction, “I really didn’t expect you to be like this.”
“Good or bad?” You pressed, wetting your plump lips as you slot your long, bare leg other the other.
“Good. Definitely good,” Michael replied, “You intrigue me.”
You smile deeper, titling your head to study him — eyes dancing over the way he sat, comfortable yet awkward at the same time, like he was trying to convince you he was confident, even as his hands rested shyly on his legs, rubbing the material of his black slacks. His hair looked gorgeous as you studied him, not like his usual curls, now sleek, long black locks that rest upon his shoulders — suiting him well.
“How so?” You pressed, bringing the torched stick between your lips once more.
Michael sighed, eyes flickering away from you nervously as he searched for the words, “I don’t know, ever since I heard you singing, something just clicked inside me, I guess,” He started, “You truly have the voice of an angel, which is why I think you should put that thing out.” You laughed loudly, ignoring his request as you exhaled the smoke, “Your voice just—I don’t know, it takes a hold over me. In the strongest grasp I’ve ever felt, like you’re literally there in front of me and squeezing me like a python around its prey.” He carried on, “And now meeting you, you’ve got this intense aura around you like a divine being. You’re so carefree and confident, like this lifestyle is a walk in the park for you. I find it refreshing and therefore intriguing.” He paused before speaking his next words, “That and your beauty is other-worldly. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with such natural femininity before. And it makes me want to figure everything out about you in one fell swoop.”
Michael, transfixed on the sight before him, distracting him from the love-sickness of his words, missed the way you stared at him in shock — mouth agape as the cigarette sizzled shorter in your hand, utterly gobsmacked at his admission of his infatuation.
He soon picked up on your silence — turning his head innocently to meet your eyes, that twinkled with desire and longing, smiling softly.
“Michael.” You breathed, voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh. I’m sorry, that sounded weird, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way, I just—“ “Kiss me.”
“What?”
“Kiss me, please.”
Your words took a few seconds to register in his mind, before any sense of screaming doubt in his mind was quickly evacuated as he rushed to you as you flicked the cigarette to the floor, your hands cupping one another’s face as your lips met.
Michael felt exactly like the song you had sung, the one that sent him into a besotted frenzy, as you kissed. Your lips locking in a frantic, panting connection that had you both heaving and humming into one another’s open mouths as he worked against your rosebuds.
You wasted no time — the kiss deepening as you climbed upon his lap, legs tightening around the thickness of his clothed thigh, a low groan leaving his mouth into your own at the sudden connection. His lips parted from your own frantically, his hand cupping one side of your jaw as his mouth peppered kisses sloppily against the other — hips twitching at the sound of your mewls.
“Michael, please.”
Your plea had him groaning louder than before into your skin, hips bucking up involuntarily at the sound of your quiet begging — your head thrown back to allow him access, your back arching into his touch as his free hand slipped down to cup your waist.
“Patience, baby,” He panted, “I’ve wanted to have you for so long — gonna take my sweet time with you.”
You whined — desperate for the pleasure you had been needing him from the moment you heard him nod in agreement at your beauty. Your own hips moved, beginning the hump the obvious bulge that protruded through his trousers, a lewd gasp leaving your spit covered lips as the head of his cock nudged against your clit. He moaned into the flesh of your neck as he sucked dark marks into it, hands now travelling down the small of your waist to cup your plump behind in his large palm — kneading the plushness of your ass, the feathers of your dress tickling the skin of his hand.
“Wanted you for so long too,” You suddenly admitted, panting, as his lips met the curve of your right breast, peering down at him latching onto your tits, “Loved you for too long—God, way too fucking long.”
Michael whined, a deep, guttural noise from deep within his chest at your words — an admission of your mutual yearning, his hips bucking up languidly to meet every roll of your own, drinking up every erotic noise that fell past your lips, any sense of patience now far gone.
“Take me out.” He ordered, unable to hold back anymore after the words fell from your whimpering mouth, as he pushed your dress up your body, now bunched around your waist.
Your hands moved quicker than your mind could process — fumbling with the buckle of his trousers, fingers trembling as you finally managed to get it open, lip tucked between your teeth as you shoved the tight item of clothing, along with his boxers, down his legs.
Michael huffed as his cock sprang free, the cold February air enveloping around the warmth of his manhood — but soon sighing in relief, head falling back, as the small of your hand, slicked in spit, wrapped around him.
“God, baby, just like that.” He whined, eyes squeezed shut as you pumped him fluidly, tightening each time you would enclose around the tip, his pre-cum drooling over your digits.
He was big — bigger than you had ever had, large in both length and girth, a fact that had you writhing on top of him, anticipation of the fullness he would bring to you sending shivers down your spine.
Michael, regaining some composure, lifted his head, still groaning lowly at the feeling of your tight fist around him, and pulled your panties to the side — eyebrows knitting into his forehead at the sight of your lacy G-string moulding into the shape of your drooling pussy lips.
“Fuck, you been this wet the whole time, baby?”
“Since the moment I laid eyes on you, Michael.”
Michael moaned, your hand never letting up as you jerked him, at the sound of your admission — swallowing thickly. Your hands moved with calculated precision — guiding him between your legs where you needed him most, gasping loudly at his cockend nudged against your clit.
“Tell me how badly you’ve wanted it.” You breathed, teasing him, and yourself for that matter, as you coated him with your seeping arousal, sliding him between your folds.
“God, baby—fuck, needed you since the very first time I heard your beautiful voice,” He panted, chest rising and falling quickly as his eyes locked on his dick slipping between your glistening pussy lips, “Thought about you everyday, fuck, even with her,” He couldn’t even say his ex-wife’s name as you rocked him over your throbbing clit, “You were the only woman I wanted.”
You moaned loudly at his words, his eyes a needy form of begging as they met your own — finally deciding to put an end to his pained misery, edging him towards your clenching entrance, and sinking down. Cries of relieving pleasure left both of your mouths, filling the air around you as Michael bottomed out instantly — tip kissing the sweet spot inside you from the get go, whining as your cunt struggled to stretch around him.
Michael, not wanting to let any more time spent without being inside you slip away, took a firm hold on your hips and slammed up inside you with one brutal thrust. You whimpered and writhed into his touch as the position, allowing him to claim you as deep as possible, forced his cock to kiss your cervix — leaving your back arched and lips agape as he resumed his nibbles against your neck, hips now bucking up into you at a swift pace.
The noises that left your lips were arguably more melodically breath-taking than any song you’d ever sang — his name falling from your mouth like a prayer, eyes rolled to the back of your head and clinging to his shoulders was truly a sight to see, forcing his cock to twitch violently inside you.
“Oh, fuck, Michael.” You whined, nails digging into the skin of his back, as a harsh thrust had you seeing stars, “God, you feel so good—so big.”
Michael’s ego inflated at your whimpered admission, huffing out a large breath as he continued his brutal assault on your pussy, revelling in the way your cunt, now forming a milky-white, frothy ring around his base, spasmed aggressively around him — low groans of his own muffled against your skin.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, baby,” Michael revealed, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, his grip on your hips tightening as his pace never faltered, “I’m so in love with you.”
Some may say it was love-bombing and wrong the way he confessed his love to you after only meeting you in person a mere few hours ago — but the way you tightened around him and cried out so loudly that Michael had to muffled your screams with his mouth, the enticing taste of cigarette’s still on your tongue, put any of those thoughts to shame.
It was exhilarating.
Knowing the feelings that were nestled deep inside your body for so long, your ferocious, undeniable love for him, were reciprocated was enough to have you on the brink of orgasming from just his words.
“Deeper—oh, fuck, baby, I love you too—need y’deeper, please!” You cried, mumbling against his lips, drowning in the noises he fed you.
You gasped as he stood abruptly, holding you tightly underneath the plush of your ass, and placing you swiftly, albeit gently, atop of the bench — the cold of the wood in the winter’s air pressing flush against your bare back.
Michael, forcing your legs to your chest in a brutal mating press, slammed back into you with all the strength he had to give — cock now driving the deepest it had been all night as he draped your hovering legs over his shoulders. Your tits, now spilling from your dress, were latched into his mouth — tongue swirling around your erect nipple, as his free hand trailed between your body, toying with your swollen clit, eliciting the neediest, most eager whines from your mouth at the dual stimulation.
“Gonna cum, Mikey!”
Your high-pitched warning hit his ears as he groaned against your nipples, the vibration only furthering your overwhelming pleasure as your orgasm smacked into you — your back arched into a beautiful curve, Michael’s hand, mouth and cock never stopping their attack on your body, fucking you through your release as you squirmed beneath him. The blinding arousal that seeped through your body like blood pumping through your veins had you seeing stars — whining like a bitch in heat whilst your cunt clenched tightly around him.
“God, y’gonna make me cum so quick, baby.” Michael panted, his stuttering as he neared his own release.
Just as you came down from your high — Michael pulled out suddenly. Your eyebrows forced themselves into the crease of your forehead as you studied his actions as his hand wrapped around his length. He moved to straddle either side of your shoulders, cock now inches from your face as he jerked himself in front of your face, chest heaving.
“Open your mouth, pretty.” He ordered, lip coming between his teeth as he watched you loll your tongue out, awaiting his pleasured essence.
Michael leant down, slotting his cock into your mouth, whining as your pretty lips wrapped around his length, suckling the tip, hand moving to grip at the meat of his thighs.
Michael came, not with a groan, but with words that had your cunt, stricken with your post-orgasm slick, clenching around nothing,
“Yeah, ‘m gonna fill this angelic throat,” He started, panting as the first spurt of his seed landed on your eager tongue, “Want those pretty vocal chords coated with my cum so you can only sing so heavenly knowing I painted your beautiful voice box white. So you can bless the world with that voice knowing it belongs to me.”
You moaned loudly around him as he finally let out a delighted groan — head thrown back as his cum flooded the throat he had just claimed, the bittersweet taste of his arousal settling on your tastebuds as you lapped at the underside of his cock, tracing the vein that throbbed underneath, with your tongue.
Michael, crouched over you, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, while the other gripped the back of the bench so hard his knuckles had flushed white — finally let his hips stutter for the last time before slipping his softening cock from your mouth.
You sat up as he lurched back against the arm of the bench, panting heavily, attempting to catch his breath, his flaccid cock laying gently against his thigh. You too, heaved, eyes fixated on his furrowed eyebrows, completely transfixed on his post-orgasm beauty.
Michael, finally opening his eyes that were squeezed shut, met your intense gaze for that countless time that night — a dazed smile creeping up on his face to mirror your own before you spoke flirtatiously, just as you had the whole night,
This man may be a perfectionist, but he loves it when it gets messy. When he sees that white ring form around his cock, your cum drips to his balls. He goes crazy. He doesn’t hold back, picking up his pace and watching you fall apart under him.
He is very handsy. He always has to be touching you. Squeezing your waist, holding your hips, your legs, anything. His hands never leave you.
Absolutely pussy drunk. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t get to cum, or even undress. Your pleasure is his biggest priority. He could spend hours between your legs just wanting to hear those pretty sounds coming from your lips. He’d make you cum multiple times, not even pulling up for a break. He’d only stop if you pushed him away physically, too overstimulated.
This man is HUNG. 7 inches soft, 9 inches when hard. It’s uncut and girthy. When you guys first started getting more intimate, it took a bit for him to fully fit in with you. But when he did, you saw stars.
Rarely subs. He’d most likely have been in his earlier eras, but after that, he is dominant. He never wants you working hard during your lovemaking. He does all the work. You lie there and look pretty for him. He isn’t aggressive; he doesn’t like any type of form of hitting or pain to your precious self. His closest form is subbing if he’s too tired, but you still need him. He’d lie back, letting you use his cock. But he’d definitely be thrusting up, still doing the majority of the work.
He loves making you a complete mess on his cock. Hearing you only be able to whine and moan while mumbling nonsense. He knows he’s big, and he takes pride in it.
Specific kinks
Creampies ⊱ he loves filling you up. He can go at it many times, so his cum ends up leaking out the majority of the time. The sight always amazes him. You filled up to the brim with his cum, showing his possession over you. It also fills his small breeding kink.
Size ⊱ as stated before, this man is hung and big. When you guys first started making love, he loved that he couldn’t fit it in. How much you’d try and push your hips back to push more inches in, but you couldn’t. The small tears rolling down your cheeks from how much just his tip fills you up. He lived for it. He loves watching you go dumb on his cock and even his fingers. The feeling of you being stretched out by him makes him cum quicker than anything.
Exhibition ⊱ It’s known how much Michael loves filming things and taking photos with his camera. You both have many ‘films’ together that he keeps to look back on, especially when he has to be away from you. Whenever you get a new set of lingerie (he obviously bought), he’d take pictures of you on the bed as you model for him. He secretly has a fantasy of someone finding them. But he’d never admit that.
Praise ⊱ He’s always praising you. He needs you to know how good you take him. He’d always whisper with each thrust, “doing so well”, “you look so pretty spread like this f’me, “you’re so perfect”. He compliments you a lot in general, so he has to do the same in bed.
Spit ⊱ receiving and giving. He does it a lot to tease you. One time, he had invited you to the studio. Quincey and they were all there. Michael pulled you aside in a dark corner while producers were 5 feet away. He tipped your head back and slowly spit in your mouth, watching as you swallowed. He grinned, seeing how flustered you got. “Good girl”, he squeezed your hips and walked back to the booth, leaving you hot and bothered. But you’d always get him back after.
mature!michael finds out that he loves to be called daddy
cw: 18+ minors dni — fem!reader, mating press, creampie, guys this one is just smut smut smuttt
michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi
“nghh— fuck!” you moan, feeling the thickness of michael’s tip hit your cervix over and over again.
you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours in a messy kiss.
“it feel so good, godddd. faster, please.” you whine, your lips brushing his with every word.
“oh yeah?” michael says, starting to quicken the pace of his thrusts. the movement of his hips were lethal before, but now that they’re plummeting into you with such speed, you can’t help the way that your legs are shaking while they’re wrapped around his waist.
“oh yes. yes, yessss!” you scream in pleasure. you honestly won’t be surprised if the whole city heard you.
“you gon cum for me baby.” michael whispers in your ear, filling you with the whole length of his cock. you gasp when he stays there, his pelvis grinding into you like he’s trying to puncture your lungs.
it damn sure feels like it.
your mouth opens in a silent scream at the sudden pressure and all you can manage is a weak nod.
“use your words.”
you feel the sudden emptiness when michael pulls out until just the thick head of his mushroom tip is at your entrance and you whine, bucking your hips so you can try and slide him back inside of you.
“please…please i wanna cum. i wanna cum so bad daddy!” your mouth was running at a hundred miles per second that you didn’t even realise what you just called him. and you’re so horny and desperate to cum that you didn’t notice the way michael just completely froze above you, his eyes darkening.
your eyes widen when michael grabs onto the back of your thighs and pushes down on them, practically folding you in half. without a single warning, he plunges back inside of you with quick, hard thrusts.
“fuckkk. you can’t say that baby.” michael let’s a groan, pushing his whole body weight on top of you so your ankles are near enough touching your ears.
“what— ahhh!” you moan immediately after the words spill out your mouth. “fuckkkk, im gonna cum!” you yell, when michael reaches his hand down between your bodies to rub tight circles on your swollen clit.
“yeah do it. cum on daddy’s cock baby.” you don’t even hear his words because all you hear is ringing in your eyes and dark spots start to cloud your vision at the force of your orgasm.
and you definitely don’t hear the guttural groans in your ear and the feeling of michaels cum flooding your insides.
that’s probably the hardest you’ve came in your entire life.
you let out a small whine when michael pulls out, and lays down beside you.
“c’mere.” he coos, pulling you into his chest and placing a kiss on your forehead.
“that was so… good.” you pant.
“you’re something else you know that right.” michael smirks, looking down at you.
“what?” you can’t help but smile at the look on his face.
“calling me daddy?” he raises a brow.
“oh.” you laugh, hiding your face in his chest. he gives your forehead another kiss before getting up and running a shower for you both.
if he fucks you like that… then you’ll be calling him daddy a lot more!
SYNOPSIS: michael is sick and tired of you running from him when he’s trying to eat. based on this request
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI — oral (f receiving), mention of squirting, soft dom!michael, bratty!reader, soft launching my daddy kink if you squint, small mention of michael wanting to tie reader up with his belt
WC: 1.1k
AN: i lowkey hate this so if this doesn’t make a single ounce of sense im sorry lol
michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi
“come here.” michael curls his pointer finger towards you as soon as you both step into the hotel room.
you blank him, sitting down on the edge of the bed so you can take off your heels.
you are so mad at him. how dare he take you to another city so you can watch him get an award, just for him to practically ignore you the whole night.
from when you both arrived at the award show, he spent his time mingling with others, and completely forgetting that you were on his arm.
he didn’t even kiss you once tonight. didn’t even curl his hand around your waist like he normally does, he just made you look pathetic, holding on to his arm while he drags you around like some sort of accessory.
he says your name, running his tongue over his bottom lip. you can tell he’s getting frustrated by you ignoring him.
ha, now he understands how you felt for the past three hours.
you hear the sound of his footsteps against the carpeted floor as you rub the soles of you feet, feeling the ache from walking around all night in heels.
michael squats in front of you, placing his hand on your thigh, exactly where the slit of your dress is, leaving that side of your thigh bare. “what’s your problem? you’ve had an attitude all night.”
“tch.” you stand up, pushing his hand off of you, and making your way into the bathroom.
before you can even take two steps, michael grabs you by the arm, turning you around so you’re chest to chest. “michael leave me alone. i just want to shower and go to bed.” you snap, avoiding his eyes.
“no.” michael says, using his free hand to grip your chin so you’re forced to look at him. “tell me what your issue is.”
you let out a frustrated sigh. “you. you’re my issue. you were the one that wanted me to be in new york with you for this award thing and then you just decide to ignore me the whole night.”
you see him raise a single eyebrow at your words. “i never ignored you.”
“yes the fuck you did.” you snap back.
“don’t swear at me, i’m trying to understand what your issue is and you’re here acting like a brat.”
you scoff at his words, shrugging his hands off of you.
“you’re so insufferable.” you mutter under your breath, going into the bathroom and shutting the door.
“michael!” you exclaim, when the bathroom door opens and he steps inside.
“michael i’m done speaking to you tonight.” you state, when he keeps on walking towards you until your whole body is pressed against the sink.
“michael.” he ignores you yet again, his hands sliding up your waist, and pulling you towards him.
you are now squished between him and the sink, and you can’t even move even if you wanted to.
he drops his head, his lips so close to yours that you can smell the minty gum that he was previously chewing.
“mikey.” you whisper against his lips, putting your hands against his chest to try and get some distance.
he knows exactly what he’s doing. and unfortunately it’s working.
“i never ignored you.” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “you were by my side the whole night.” he continues peppering kisses along your jaw. dropping to your neck, gently biting it.
“micha— baby.” you gasp at the feeling, your hand going to the back of his neck.
“i never let you out of my sight. but because my girl is so clingy, she hates it when i talk to other people.”
“m’ not clingy.” you whine.
“mhmm.” michael hums, raising his head and seeing how lust crazed your eyes are.
he smirks, knowing that he has you exactly where he wants you.
"please." you beg, trying to run away from michael's mouth.
you hear him hum, the vibration against your clit making you jerk.
he's just pulled three orgasms out of you and with the way he's still going, it's like he's trying to make you pass out.
"stay." he growls, spreading your quivering thighs wider. he drops his mouth back onto your pussy, causing your head to drop back in pleasure.
“fuckkk… i can’t—” you whine, when you feel his tongue circling your clit, before he sucks it into his mouth with a wet pop. “oh godddd!” you gasp, your legs starting to twitch in his hands.
“this is what you wanted right? you wanted daddy’s attention?”
“ahhh— ngh” you babble, not able to get out your words properly. you clutch the headboard above you, trying to pull yourself up from his lethal tongue.
“fuckin’ stay put.” michael drags you back down to his mouth, his tongue working you harder, sucking up all of your slickness.
you cry out, your voice raw and broken from all the orgasms michael has drawn out of you.
your breathes are shaky when you feel the familiar, heat and pressure building up in your stomach. your toes curl, and you throw your head back, clutching the dark tresses of michael’s hair.
“i’m… i’m…” you hiccup, “fuckkk… i’m gonna—” your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling a warm liquid gush out of you. your legs shake uncontrollably in michael’s strong grip, but he just keeps going, slurping every last bit of your juices, not caring about the mess you’ve made.
once you’ve calmed down from your fourth orgasm, michael raises his head, his face soaked with your liquids, his lips swollen and glossy, his hair a tangled mess, but what stands out the most is the smirk on his face.
“i hate you.” you pant, dropping your head back onto the mattress.
michael laughs, crawling up your body and crashing his lips against yours. you groan, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“you made a mess.” michael pants, after he pulls away from your mouth.
“oh shut up.” you laugh, hitting him in his chest. “you’re so annoying, i was trying to be mad at you.” you pout.
“and are you still mad now, or do i need to tie you up with my belt this time?” you bite your lip at his words, knowing that he actually will tie you up, especially with the way you kept running from him.
you look down between your bodies, at your swollen cunt, and decide against it.
your pussy needs a break.
you cup his cheek, running your finger across his bottom lip. “how about you pay more attention to me next time and then ill forgive you just this once.” you giggle.
“you just want me all to yourself huh.” michael grins.
“exactly.” you laugh, kissing him and pulling him on top of you.
SYNOPSIS: a big argument between you and michael broke out mere days after he asked you to marry him. you didn’t think it was that serious, which is why you didn’t break off the engagement but michael being the petty man he is, refused to speak or see you for weeks. which leads to you attending the mtv 1995 awards, just to see him.
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI — fem!reader, secret relationship, angst angst angstttttt, hurt/comfort, makeup sex, public sex, petty!michael, reader lowkey folds but who wouldn’t?, janet being the queen that she is, happy ending, no use of y/n
WC: 6.6k (guys i think i cooked a bit too much)
AN: this is based off of when michael ghosted lisa marie for six weeks and the only way she could see him was when he was performing. but also keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and the events in this fic shouldn’t be taken as an accurate piece of media! for reference to the title, i was listening to “oscar winning tears” and that’s how i got inspired for this fic lol.
michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi
neverland ranch, july 27th 1995
“michael you can’t be serious.” you say, watching the way your now fiancée is pacing right in front of you.
he stops his pacing, looking at you like you just told him to go fuck himself.
“i am serious, baby.” he starts, “what part of me askin’ for us to make our relationship public to the media and you moving in with me is a joke?”
you sigh. “mikey, i love you. and i want to marry you, i do. but im just not ready for my face to be revealed on every single newspaper or magazine yet. or for i don’t know,” you throw your hands in the air, “your crazy fans harassing me all because im getting married to their celebrity sweetheart.”
he pinches the bridge of his nose, like this whole talk you’re having with him is raising his blood pressure. “okay let me ask you this one thing.” he says.
you nod.
“you knew what you were getting into when we first started dating, right?”
“well yeah, but—”
“let me finish.” he snaps, holding up a singular finger.
you let out a scoff in disbelief, at the snappiness of his tone.
he’s never spoke to you like that before.
“when we started dating, i told you what it would be like dating someone like me. i even refused many many times because i never wanted you to have to deal with the media or the tabloids. but it was you that was persistent. it was you that wanted me so bad to the point you never cared about what anyone else thought. it was me who decided to keep the relationship secret because i didn’t want you to get hurt. i didn’t want you to have to deal with all of that pressure. and now because i’d rather let the world know who my wife is on my terms instead of the media leaking it, it’s a problem?”
“no, no of course it’s not baby, but—”
“but what?”
you close your mouth at his words, not even attempting to speak. michael is normally a calm and collected person who seems to have a lot of patience. but now at this moment, he’s giving you no grace at all.
“okay listen.” you start, speaking slowly. you’re trying not to say the wrong thing because one thing you’ll hate to do is make this situation even bigger than it needs to be. “i love you. i want to marry you. i hope to someday start a family with you, but when i said all those things about the media finding out about us, yes i still don’t care what they think because my love for you outweighs all of that worry. but it doesn’t erase the fact that im scared. im scared of what people will think because it’s not like im just a girl that you’re sleeping with, or your date to an award show. i’m going to become your wife soon and that’s, michael that’s a crazy jump. and damn me for wanting to enjoy the buildup of us getting married without the unnecessary stress of people finding out about us.”
you take in a lungful of air, after spilling out everything you’ve been bottling up since michael has made it known that he wanted to make you guys’ relationship public.
“mikey, please say something.” you whisper, when you see him take a seat at the other side of the couch. he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at the ground.
“there’s nothing to say.” he shrugs. “you’re not ready so im going to have to accept that.”
“what does that mean?” you ask.
“it means, come back to me when you’ve made up your mind.” he gets up from the couch, walking to the phone on the other side of the room.
“what do you mean, ‘come back to me’ like i work for you or something?” you snap, your tempter starting to rise.
you’ve been so calm throughout this whole conversation but now you just feel angry.
it’s like he can’t understand that you need time. you need time so you can mentally prepare yourself for your life to be completely turned around.
he stays silent, jamming his finger into the numbers before he lifts up the phone and puts it to his ear.
“michael are you even listening to me?” you stand up walking towards him so you two are face to face.
well not exactly face to face since he’s a couple inches taller than you.
he looks down at you and the look on his face makes you take in a deep breath without realising it.
it’s not the normal, loving look he gives you all the time. i mean of course, you can tell that he still loves you a lot because otherwise he would’ve never been so angry. but the look that is pointed right now at you is somehow distant. like he’s looking straight through you, and closing himself in a tiny box.
he’s secluding himself from you already and you both are still together in the same room, inches away from each other.
the person on the other side of the phone seems to pick up because he looks away from you and focuses on something above your head. “hi, yes i need you to send a car up, immediately.”
you gasp, grabbing his arm. he’s sending that car to come and get you.
“michael don’t do this.” you plead. tightening your hold on his wrist but he doesn’t even move an inch. he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence anymore.
he’s shut you out.
“baby we can talk about this. we’re engaged remember. all im asking for is some time to think but this is too much. don’t hide from me.” you beg, your lip starting to quiver at the thought of him dismissing you so quickly without giving you a chance.
“okay, thank you.” he says, hanging up the phone and placing it back where it was. “the car should be here in a second to take you home.” he mutters, shrugging off your hold on his wrist and walking past you towards the spacious kitchen.
you follow him, tears springing to your eyes. you ignore the chef who’s at the stove cooking, and go to michael who’s opening the fridge, and taking out a carton of orange juice.
“michael.” you whimper, your chest starting to feel tight.
he ignores you, opening the cabinet and taking out a fresh glass.
“michael why are you doing this?” you say. “what happened to talking about things? why can’t you have a civil conversation without shutting people out whenever they don’t agree with you?” at this point tears are already starting to fall freely down your face, messing up your makeup.
you’re hurt. you’re hurt that he’s angry at you all because you want to protect yourself.
he should be able to understand. he should be able to see how terrified you are about the world finding out about you.
“michael!” you shout, openly sobbing in the kitchen and not giving a fuck about the chef staring at you like you’re insane.
you hate it when he does this. he does this every time he’s upset or angry. he just stops talking, stops acknowledging your presence. it’s like in his world, you don’t exist.
and you hate that he’s doing this to you. the woman that he went down on one knee to propose to a couple days ago. the woman that he says everyday is the love of his life. the woman that he wants to have kids with.
at that thought, you put your hands over your face, sobbing into your palms.
“the car should be here now.” you hear him say over your sobs.
you sniff, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “okay.” you whimper. you turn to leave, because no matter how much you plead, or beg for him to just listen to you, you know that he won’t. once he’s made up his mind, no one is changing it.
“i love you mikey. ill never stop loving you okay.” you stand there in the kitchen, waiting. waiting to see if there’s a change in his expression or even if he’s going to tell you that it’s all a big fat joke and you can still stay the night like you were meant to.
but no.
he says nothing, in fact he even turns his back on you so the only thing you can see is the back of his head.
with one final glance his way, you walk out of neverland ranch, hoping and praying that you’ll get to come back.
17th august, 1995
it’s been three weeks.
three weeks of voicemails, and you trying everything in your power to get michael to pick up the damn phone.
you never thought he’ll take it this far.
and to make matters worse, the times you’ve tried to visit the ranch, he hasn’t been there.
it’s like he’s actively, avoiding you.
the only times you’ve been able to catch a glimpse of him is from the screen of your television or from the tabloids.
and from the looks of it, he’s living his best life out there.
from the moments you’ve seen, he doesn’t look sad, he doesn’t look miserable. he looks… happy to mingle with his fans. and definitely happy to not be in your presence.
you feel sick. you feel absolutely disgusted with yourself for trying to grasp just a pinch of his attention just for him to prance around and act like you don’t exist.
this is the longest you guys have ever spent apart since you both started dating a year and a half ago.
it’s either you would spend a couple nights at the ranch with him or he’ll come and stay at your apartment.
even when he would go on his tours, you’ll always be there in the audience, making your appearance known.
hell, even his family know who you are, and they seem to love you.
you remember when you first started dating michael and you both tried to keep it under wraps but his family found out in mere weeks.
you’ve even been at their home in havenhurst a couple times.
just the thought, that you’ll probably never go back there and see sweet katherine again, has your stomach forming a knot.
but unfortunately you can’t let yourself go on like this. at the end of the day you are a woman before anything else and you can’t be sitting here being stringed along by a man.
even if that man is michael jackson.
31st august, 1995
it’s been two more weeks and at this point you don’t give a single fuck.
a couple weeks ago, you were still calling his landline, crying when the machine told you to leave a message all because you missed him, and all you wanted was for him to hold you in his arms and tell you it’ll be okay.
but now… fuck him.
honestly, fuck michael jackson.
at first you were calling him so he could just hear you out, and so you guys could fix whatever problems you both seemed to have but now the calls starting turning more serious.
you’re calling him so he can come and take the ring back.
it’s been five weeks of him ignoring your calls, or him refusing to be home when you try and visit him and all you’ve been doing inbetween, apart from crying your eyes out, is looking down at your left hand and seeing the big, 10 carat ring that is sitting comfortably on your finger.
if ghosting his fiancée is the new thing for breaking off an engagement then so be it.
because you’re not going to be here looking so goddamn stupid, when he’s there enjoying his life without you.
and to think all of this was because you wanted to wait just a couple more months before exposing your relationship to the world.
and that’s why you decided to do what you’re about to do.
you never wanted to get his sister involved. or anyone else involved, but at this point you’re desperate.
you’ve even tried to reach out to bill, quincy and even some of the staff at neverland and they’ve all told you the same thing.
“michael is busy.”
busy.
busy doing what? torturing your whole being with his silence?
and now you’ve sought out his baby sister because if it’s anyone that can get michael to talk to you so he can take back the ring, it’ll be her.
“hello.” janet’s voice immediately flows through the phone.
you bite your lip, tears starting to form because for the past five weeks, all you’ve wanted was to hear the warmth of michael’s voice and janet, she just sounds so similar to him.
janet says your name, causing you to clear out your throat so she doesn’t know that you’re fighting back tears right now.
“sorry.” you sniff. “um i just wanted to ask if you know where i can find michael because he’s been ignoring me… for so long and i-i need to give him back the ring.”
silence.
just pure silence on the other side of the phone.
you didn’t hear the click to indicate that she hung up on you so she should still be on the phone. why isn’t she saying anything?
“janet?” you ask.
“im sorry.” she clears her throat. “what do you mean you need to give him back the ring? what on earth has happened?”
you start to tell janet about everything, from the beginning where you and michael started arguing at the ranch five weeks ago, till when he practically told you to leave his home and has been ignoring your calls and visits ever since. at this point you couldn’t even hide the fact that you were crying.
“…i didnt even realise he was going to go this far janet. all i-i wanted was for us to talk about it and come to some sort of conclusion, as couples should do.” you sob.
“oh honey, im so sorry. if he wasn’t in new york right now ill go and kick his fuckin’ ass.”
you laugh at her words, despite the fact your nose is all snotty and your mascara is damaged from your endless tears.
you’ve never cried so much in your life ever. these five weeks have made you feel like all you do is cry.
but then you realise what she actually just said. “wait he’s in new york?” you ask.
“yeah, he flew over there early for a couple of press conferences, and signings before the mtv awards. him and i both got nominations for our music video ‘scream’.”
“oh my god, congratulations!” you say.
you’re only congratulating janet, it’s just unfortunate that michael is nominated as well. it’s such a horrible thought since you can’t help but love him so very much. but you’re hurting. just the thought of him makes your heart clench in your chest.
“well i hope you win,” you smile, emphasising on her winning. “but whenever you see michael just tell him from me that he needs to come and get his ring back.” your smile drops, at that thought.
because giving him the ring back is the last thing you want to do.
but you’ve been waiting for weeks just to hear a simple ‘hi’ from him and you’ve got nothing.
and you have to have some sort of respect for yourself.
“why don’t you come to the award show?” janet says, causing your mouth to drop.
“oh no—”
“yes! you have to come. you can fly with me and i can easily get you a seat in the front row. you know what yes, you’re coming. let me add you onto my list right now.”
“janet—”
she cuts you off, saying your name in such a tone that has you clamping your lips shut.
“you’re coming. pack a couple of clothes, we will be flying out in a couple of days. ill send you a car to pick you up and take you to the private airport.”
“janet, you really don’t have to.” she scoffs on the other side of the phone.
“no but i want to. and also i want you to be there when i give my brother a piece of my mind. because one thing you’re not going to is disrespect a woman, not just any woman, his fiancée.”
you go to argue with her again but you stop yourself. you’re so tired, so fucking tired of battling this all by yourself that it feels so relieving having someone take your side. even if that person is his sister.
“thank you. janet, thank you so much.”
“you don’t have to thank me. we’re going to be sisters soon, see you in a couple days.” as soon as she uttered those words, she hangs up the phone.
you didn’t even have enough time to tell her that you’re still giving michael back his ring and there would be no wedding for you both to be sister in laws.
NYC, september 7th 1995
you feel like you’re about to be sick.
this is the first time you will be seeing michael in six goddamn weeks and you feel like you’re going to throw up in your seat.
and to make matters worse, you’re sitting next to some a lister celebrity that keeps on giving you looks and wondering how the hell you even got a ticket, and especially one for the first row.
you swallow, your eyes shifting to the empty seat beside you that michael will be sitting in after he finishes performing.
just the thought of you watching him on stage, knowing that you’re about to hand him back the ring afterwards is another reason why you just may throw up.
the night has already been going on for quite some time, and you’ve been shifting nervously wearing a beautiful black dress, with a slit in the thigh.
it just so happens that it was michael who bought you that dress, the night he proposed to you.
after the first half of awards were presented, the curtain starts to lower and the whole place goes pitch black. the audience starts to scream when the curtain starts to rise and michael. your michael, steps onto stage.
you gasp, because he just looks so beautiful and majestic, which he has no right to be because you’re so very mad at him.
and it’s so hard being mad, when the first thought that entered your mind after not seeing him for six weeks was that you can’t wait to fuck him. even though you know that you’re never going to feel him inside you again.
damn him for making you feel this way.
you look down at your left hand and play with your ring nervously, watching the way the mixtapes of his music hit and how he immediately came alive on stage.
you sit there, staring in admiration at the way he floats around the stage like he owns it.
after about five minutes of his performance, he stops and everyone claps, congratulating him.
i mean you may want to strangle him or fuck him or both. but you can’t deny that he did amazing on that stage tonight.
“thank you.” he says in the mic.
“thank you so much.”
“i love you.” he points to a screaming fan in the audience.
you clench your eyes shut when he says that, wishing that you could hear him say that to you just one more time.
“some of us… likes to play it safe. and take each day as it comes.” he starts. “some of us like to take that crazy walk on the wild side.” you hear a couple of people scream when he says that.
“so… for those of us who like living dangerously. this one’s for you.” and with that he runs to the back of the stage, as dancers start filtering on, distracting us from him switching outfits.
you shake your head, letting out a small laugh at the fact that you thought he was done performing. your laugh immediately stops when his dancers reveal him wearing a suit and tie, with a black hat on.
he starts performing this part of the performance and it’s honestly like he’s trying to seduce you from the stage.
you cross your legs over each other, squeezing your thighs to try and get some sort of friction because there’s no way he’s there humping the air, grabbing his crotch and running his hands down his chest with orgasm worthy expressions on his face, without you getting turned on.
you let out a breath when the music stops and he grabs a mic saying his thanks to the crowd. you don’t think you would’ve been able to take any more of his dirty dancing without at least losing your mind.
this whole time, he still hasn’t noticed you and you’re glad. you’ll probably burst into tears if he locks eyes with you and acknowledges your presence.
“thank you. and for those of you, who made this record number one, i dedicate this to you.”
when the music hits, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt, that’s when you knew it was a huge mistake coming to this award show.
you should’ve stood your ground and told janet no.
because this is your favourite song from michael and he loves to sing it to you all the time, so just hearing him singing this song on stage infront of thousands of people makes your heart lurch in your chest.
as the song goes on, there’s already tears swarming your vision. he walks to the edge of the stage, taking in the audience as he’s singing, and that’s when his eyes fall on you.
“though we’re far apart…” you let a few tears drop when you see him point straight at you when he sings the words with a raise of his brow and a small smirk.
you scoff, wiping your tears with the pad of your finger. how dare he find this amusing after he’s just literally broken your heart, and made you experience twenty different emotions in the span of his fifteen minute performance.
after that song finishes, everyone including you stand up to give him a round of applause.
he smiles on the stage, giving everyone a bow. his eyes lock with yours again, but this time instead of holding the eye contact, you look down at the ground.
you hate that he has you feeling this way. at this point you just may hate him.
the awards continue on as normal and you start to feel more comfortable, watching all these artists get their awards.
you were a bit too comfortable that you forgot about the empty seat beside you until you smelt that familiar cologne.
you look up, your eyes widening when you take in michael wearing a black leather biker jacket with his collars popped out, and a matching pair of black trousers. oh and let’s not forget the signature sunglasses that he always wears.
he sits down silently in the chair beside you, getting comfortable with his legs spread so wide, you’re surprised they didn’t bump into yours.
you clear your throat awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest and focusing on the two celebrities who are making their way onto the stage.
they start to read out the award and the nominees and you hear ‘scream’ get mentioned. everyone starts to clap including you, and that’s when you see the camera pan to michael who you didn’t notice was staring right at you. he saves himself by pointing to the camera with a shit eating grin.
the camera was already able to catch your face but you still decide to look in the other direction.
“and the winner is,” the announcer calls, “michael jackson and janet jackson.” you start clapping hard when you hear janet’s name get mentioned.
yes you’re that petty.
michael gets up and starts walking to the stage, but stops and waits for janet who was sitting in the front row on the other side.
both of them walk onto the stage together and embrace in a hug. you see janet whisper something into michael’s ear which causes him to give her a terrified look.
they both take turns, saying their thanks to friends, family, producers etc, before they walk off stage holding their awards.
you can’t help but notice that michael is more rigid when he sits back down, instead of his laid back version that you saw before he got up to collect his award.
you still refuse to look at him, keeping your body pushed to the other side of your seat.
at this point, you have no interest in speaking to him at all tonight. at first you wanted to at least do the dramatic ring toss to the chest and then walk out on him but you feel like the only thing you’ll be able to do is cry and beg him to fuck you from the back.
maybe it’s possible to mail him the ring. yeah that sounds like a good idea.
you sigh, when there’s another commercial break and you decide to get up to go to the bathroom. this award show has been going on for hours.
you’re tired, heartbroken, horny and all you want to do is go home.
once you’ve finished in the bathroom, you fix your dress and start to make your walk back to the main room so you can sit back in your seat before the break is done, but you get interrupted by a hand on your arm.
you look up seeing michael, with his eyes still covered by his sunglasses.
“what are you doing?” you blurt out, when he starts to drag you down a long hallway.
“michael let go.” you hiss. trying to pull your arm out of his grip.
he ignores you, the same way he’s been doing for the last six weeks and just keeps on walking.
“michael joseph jackson, let me go before i scream.” you say, still trying to break his grip. but his hand is wrapped around your wrist so tight, that you won’t be surprised if there isn’t already a bruise forming.
you’re still trying to get him to let go of you when michael shoves open a door, that you’re assuming is his dressing room.
“what are you doing?” you yell. “are you— mmphh” your words are swallowed when michael crashes his lips against yours, pushing you up against the door.
at first you start to enjoy the feeling of his slightly chapped lips against yours, tasting just a hint of orange juice but then you remember how he had you leave neverland over a month ago, and didn’t speak to you since.
you push against his chest, panting.
“what. is. your. problem?” you shout, smacking him in the chest.
“you are actually more insane than i thought.” you scoff. “how dare you ignore me for six fucking weeks straight, and then have the audacity to drag me here just to kiss me? have you lost your damn mind?” you can’t stop shouting. after all these weeks of you bottling up your emotions, you can’t help but get it out.
“and,” you let out a dry laugh, “and it was all because i disagreed with you on one thing. not even disagreed, i just asked if we could wait a little more longer and you embarrassed me. you embarrassed me in front of your staff. you embarrassed me in front of quincy and bill when i asked them about you and you told them that you were too busy. yeah right, too fucking busy to check in on your fiancée!”
you didn’t even realise that the whole time you were shouting in his face, michael has been standing there with his hands behind his back with his head down.
he lifts his head up, removing his dark shades.
“you’re not breaking the engagement.” he says, his voice ten octaves deeper than his normal pitch.
you throw your hands up in frustration. “so after all i said, that’s what you have to say? after six fucking weeks of you not speaking to me, that’s what you decide to say to me?” you laugh, in disbelief. “michael i actually can’t believe you. but yes, yes we are done.” you start to twist your ring off of your finger but michael’s hand quickly reaches out to grab onto your wrist.
he pulls you towards him, so you’re flush against his chest.
you look up at him, your eyes filling with tears.
you blink them away, refusing to cry in front of him again.
“well i don’t want us to be done.” he mumbles, pushing your ring back down onto your finger. “i was mad. i was upset because i just wanted the world to see the amazing woman that i want to spend the rest of my life with. so im sorry for shutting you out, and im sorry that i took it out on you without communicating, but one thing i’m not going to allow you to do is walk away from me.”
you try and snatch yourself out of his grip because that was the most shittiest apology you’ve ever heard in your entire life.
“baby.” michael says, pulling you back into his chest. “i said i was sorry.”
“i don’t care. you hurt me. you hurt me in the worst way possible and you think that stupid apology is going to work?” you scoff at his ridiculousness.
“i was angry and i just needed time to think.” he says, his grip loosening which gives you a chance to step back from his hold.
“time?” you say, your eyes narrowing. “one night is considered ‘time’. maybe a couple days, but six weeks michael? i called you every single day and you refused to answer. i cried myself to sleep every night, thinking that you hated me. i even called you on your birthday.” your lip quivers at the thought, and nothing could’ve stopped the tears that now start to fall down your cheek.
you start to openly sob, your heart clenching so tight that you’re convinced death would be a better feeling than what you’re feeling right now.
michael steps forward to embrace you in his arms and you hate yourself for the way you clutch onto his jacket, crying into his chest.
“shhh.” michael whispers into your ear, his hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “i’m so fucking sorry for leaving it this long.”
“you hurt me so bad.” you cry.
“i know.”
“i hate you.”
“i know.”
“i hate that i still miss you every single day. even when you hurt me.” you hiccup, pulling away from his hold so you’re looking straight into his eyes.
“i missed you too. it’s just, after i got over the fact that maybe you were right to wait a bit before we realised our relationship to the media, i just got told that me and janet got nominated for scream and… and i got so busy with the multiple interviews and the rehearsals for my performance that if i did try and reach out to you it would’ve gave us away.”
you shake your head, your makeup probably a hot mess from your tears. “if you really wanted to fix things with me you would’ve found a way to contact me without the media detecting us.” you sniff.
“i know. and ill make it up to you, i promise baby. it wasn’t meant to happen like this.”
you shrug, stepping back from his embrace again. “i’m still hurt mikey, and just because i love you that doesn’t mean the wounds aren’t still open.”
“i know.” he says softly, stepping forward. “but just give me this one chance to make it up to you. i don’t care if it takes a month, a year or ten years from now. i just don’t want us to be apart for that long again.”
you look up at him, taking in the utter beauty on his face. the tears that are threatening to fall from his eyes and his hands clenched tight like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing onto you again.
you bite your lip, hating the fact that you’re about to fold after weeks of telling yourself that you’re going to hand him back the ring and move on with your life but you can’t help the way your heart yearns for michael.
“okay.” you nod.
“okay?” he questions, probably shocked that you didn’t try and argue with him.
“okay.” you shrug. “i forgive you but i sure as hell won’t forget and if you ever,” you take a step forward so you finger is pressed to his chest. “ignore me for that long again then i just may cut off your dick and feed it to you.”
michael’s hand instinctively goes to cover his groin.
“i won’t do that again, i promise.” he says, before letting out a loud sigh. “and also because janet basically threatened me when we were on stage.”
you laugh at his words. “good. you deserved it.”
“i know.” he sighs, dropping his head in defeat.
you grab the collar of his jacket. “now come here.” you say, before you pull his lips to yours.
michael doesn’t waste anytime, pushing you against the door and bunching your dress up around your waist.
“i missed this.” michael says against your lips, lifting your leg up so it’s wrapped around his waist.
“you could’ve had this if you didn’t ghost your fiancée.” he smashes his lips against yours as soon as the words leave your mouth. you moan when you feel his hand rub your cunt through your thong.
“im sorry. im so fuckin sorry baby.” he whispers, peppering kisses down your neck as he pushes your thong to the side and slips a finger inside of you.
“shitttt, you’re so fucking tight.” you hold the back of his head, letting out a whine at the thickness of his finger inside of you.
“it’s been so long.” you pant.
“i know. i need to stretch my baby out so ill be able to fit.” he pushes another finger inside of you, curling them so they hit that one sensitive spot.
“ahh— fuck. that feels so good.” you moan, pulling his lips back onto yours. you let out another high pitched moan, when you feel him add a third finger.
he uses his thumb to rub tight circles on your clit, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure.
“im gonna cum.” you grab onto his shoulder, not caring that you’re probably scrunching up the material of his expensive jacket.
“no.” you whine, when he pulls out his fingers and places them into his mouth. he groans at the taste, “fuck baby, you taste so good.”
you pout, undoing his pants just far enough so you can free his cock. “you didn’t let me cum.” you say, when he hitches your leg back around his waist and lines himself up with your entrance.
“baby i need to feel you cum around my cock.” he lets out a deep, guttural groan when he pushes inside of you.
“fuck. ive missed this. ive missed this so much.” he pulls down your dress just far enough so he can suck onto your boob.
you moan, when he starts moving his hips hard against yours.
“you’re so big.” you cry out, wrapping both of your arms around his neck.
“jump.” michael says, letting go of your leg. you jump, wrapping both legs around his waist as both of his hands settle on your ass. he pushes you against the wall, still pounding into you with quick, efficient thrusts.
at this point you’re a blubbering mess as you feel your orgasm build up low in your stomach.
“fuck fuck fuckkkk.” you scream, from the intense pleasure.
“tell me you’re going to cum.” he growls, his hands tightening on your ass so he can manhandle your body to drop you down onto his whole length.
you can’t form words so all you do is nod. you clench, feeling the overwhelming pleasure of your realise.
“shit, im about to cum baby.” michael moans, dropping you down even faster. you hide your face in his neck, as you just let him fuck you like you’re his own personal fuck toy. at this point, you’d love to be.
“godddd— fuckkkk.” you hear michael groan in your ear, pushing you down on his whole length as you feel his cock pulse inside you and the feeling of his seed filling your womb.
you both pant against each other, refusing to break apart.
“that was… the best sex… we’ve ever had.” you pant.
michael places his hand on the door, using it as an anchor to keep him standing.
he sets you down on the ground gently, as you immediately look around his dressing room for some tissues so you can clean yourself up.
you can’t believe you’ve just had sex when there’s literally celebrities right next door.
“i can’t believe we just had sex in public.” you laugh, wiping yourself with tissue and making sure that there’s no bodily fluids on your dress.
“neither can i.” michael scoffs, buttoning up his pants.
just as you two got yourself somewhat presentable, the door bursts open, revealing janet.
“oh my god, there you two are. i was looking for you everywhere.” she says.
you and michael stand there completely frozen. you have never been so grateful in your whole damn life, because if you and michael took any longer, his own sister would’ve walked into you guys having sex.
“are you guys okay? did you sort out everything?” she asks, leaning against the door.
you cover your face in embarrassment. janet has no idea that she is standing in the exact place, her brother just fucked you at.
“we’re fine.” michael says quickly.
“okay.” janet nods. “well just to tell you that the award show is over now and everyone’s starting to go to the after party.” she closes the door but not without giving you a weird glance.
oh she knows.
she definitely fucking knows.
“oh my god.” you say, looking up at michael with wide eyes. “we nearly got caught.”
michael lets out a loud laugh. “it’s okay. we didn’t get caught.”
“yeah but we nearly did.” you sigh, placing a hand on your beating heart.
“anyways,” you start. “i need to go to my hotel room and change so we can head to the after party.” you start to walk out, even though your legs are a bit shaky from the brutal fucking you just endured but you freeze when you realise michael is not behind you.
“what?” you ask.
“you want to go to the after party? together?”
you give him a smile, “yeah.” you nod. “i think it’s time to let all these women know that you’re a taken man.”
michael bites his lip, looking you up and down like he wants to fuck you again.
“i’m never letting you out of my sight again.” he says, grabbing you by the waist, and placing a sweet kiss on your lips.
“you better not.” you laugh. “because i won’t be so forgiving next time.”
and with that you both leave the dressing room hand in hand, preparing for your future of being in the spotlight as michael jackson’s soon to be wife.
extra AN: guys im sorry if the smut is shit or if i forgot to tag anyone. this is the longest fic ive ever done and mama is tired.
synopsis: you had been a brat towards michael all day and he finally decided to fuck the attitude out of you.
warnings: bratty reader, use of princess, good girl, oral (f!recieving,) back shots, slapping, restraints, choking, rough sex, aftercare.
a/n: this is based on this request and this one. also this is lowkey dominant asf so if you’re a snowflake and only like sub michael, then i wouldn’t read this at all.
the bedroom was dimly lit, only the soft glow of lamplight casting shadows across the silk sheets. you were lounging on the bed, wearing one of michael’s oversized white shirts that slips off one shoulder, pouting as you flip through a magazine with exaggerated disinterest.
michael enters the room, his tall frame filling the doorway as he closes it softly behind him. he’s impeccably dressed in a black leather jacket and matching pants, his hair styled into a perfect wave. he notices your attitude that you had been giving him all day immediately and his expression darkens, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly.
“baby,” michael says, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of warning as he loosens his tie, “i’ve been patient with you all day. the eye-rolling, the snapping at me, the way you ignored me at dinner…” he walks closer, removing his jacket and draping it over a chair. “that’s enough.”
you huff dramatically, flipping a page in your magazine with unnecessary force, refusing to look at him. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, your tone dripping with sarcasm. you kick your leg out, letting the oversized shirt ride up higher on your thigh, testing his patience. knowing exactly what buttons to push.
michael’s jaw clenches as he watched the shirt ride up your leg. he knows this game all too well—the bratty behaviour, the teasing, the testing of boundaries. he unbuttons the first button of his white shirts, his voice lowering. “come here.”
you scoff, not moving an inch, instead turning a page in your magazine with exaggerated slowness. “no,” you reply, your voice dripping with defiance. you deliberately cross your legs, the hem of the shirt riding up even higher, revealing more of your smooth, bare legs.
the warning vibe in the room thickens instantly. michael doesn’t repeat himself; he simply moves, his long strides eating up the distance between the chair and the bed. he grips the magazine, yanking it from your hands and tossing it carelessly onto the floor, leaving you with nothing to distract you. he cages you in with his arms, hair dark eyes boring into yours.
“let’s get something straight, princess,” michael says, his voice low and firm, his face inches from yours. “you’ve been pushing me all day, and i’ve let it slide because i love you. but this attitude? it ends now.”
you open your mouth to fire back another bratty remark, but before you could michael grips your ankles, his large hands wrapping around them easily. with one smooth motion, he yanks you down the bed until you’re in front of him.
you let out a surprised yelp as your back slides down the mattress and michael looks over you, his expression stern and commanding. he’s no longer the patient, indulgent boyfriend; he’s now the dominant man who knows exactly how to handle a bratty woman. “you’re testing me.”
“maybe i am,” you challenge back, but your voice wavers slightly now, heart racing as his dark eyes lock onto yours. you reach up to touch his face, but he catches your wrist in an instant, pinning it beside your head. “nice try,” he murmurs, a dangerous smirk on his face.
he releases your wrist suddenly, only to grab both of your hands and pin them above your head with one hand, his other hand quickly moving to hold down both of your legs. he’s effectively trapped you beneath him, his body pressing against yours.
“stay quiet,” he orders firmly, before disappearing between your legs, lifting the oversized shirt up to your stomach. he doesn’t start slow or gentle; he immediately attacks your clit with his tongue, eating you out roughly and dominantly to punish your attitude.
you gasp sharply, your hands immediately flying to his hair but he growls against your skin, a warning that makes you freeze. his tongue works you ruthlessly, no sweet exploration, just pure domination—flicking your clit hard, plunging deep, sucking insistently. there’s no tenderness here, only calculated punishment that makes your back arch off the bed.
you bite down on your lip hard, trying to obey, but he immediately pulls back, his dark eyes meeting yours with a sharp look. “i said be quiet.” his voice is a low command before he dives back in, his tongue pressing flat against your clit and holding it there, then flicking rapidly in a punishing rhythm that makes your thighs tremble violently around his head.
your hips buck upward, seeking friction, but he pushes your thighs back down with one strong hand, keeping you pinned. his other hand grips your hip bone hard enough to leave marks as he devours you relentlessly. the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue working you fill the room, punctuated by your muffled whimpers. he sucks your clit into his mouth hard, tugging insistently.
your resolve crumbles completely as he hits that spot relentlessly, your walls clenching around nothing as your orgasm crashed through you. you sob into the pillow, body shaking violently beneath him. michael doesn’t stop—he keeps eating you out through your climax, his tongue working harder, punishing even as you peak. finally, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to you.
michael is still on his knees in front of the bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction and dominance. he watches your chest heave, your body trembling in the aftermath, as he leans down to press a kiss against your stomach, then climbs back up your body to cage your face between his hands. “attitude gone?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
you blink up at him through hazy eyes, still catching your breath, your body still humming from the intense orgasm. but the fire isn’t extinguished yet—it’s just buried shallowly. before you can stop yourself, the bratty remark slips out, “not even close. you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”
michael’s expression darkens instantly at your bratty response. a dangerous smirk plays on his lips as he leans down closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “is that so? you want me to try harder?”
you lift your chin defiantly, meeting his glare despite your trembling limbs. “yes,” you whisper, challenging him openly. michael’s jaw tightens visibly, the playful dominance evaporating into pure authority. without a word, he flips you over onto your stomach in one swift motion, pulling your hips up sharply so your ass is in the air. “brave choice,”
he smacks your ass hard, the sharp crack echoing in the room. you let out a moan, hands curling into the sheets. but before you can react, he grabs both of your wrists and pins them at the small of your back with one hand, keeping you bent over helplessly.
he leans down over you, his suit jacket brushing against your back. “you really want more?” his other hand moves to unbuckle his belt, the sound of metal clicking loudly as he pulls it through the loops.
he expertly loops the belt around your wrists, pulling it tight to secure your hands behind your back. the position arches your spine, pushing your ass higher in the air. he runs his hand over the roundness before smacking it again hard enough that it stings throughly.
you gasp into the mattress, your face buried in the sheets to muffle your cries. with your wrists secured tightly against your lower back, you are completely helpless and exposed. you hear the rustle of fabric behind you—michael is undoing his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his heavy erection.
he trails one finger slowly down your spine, stopping teasingly at your entrance. “still want an attitude with me?” he asks, his voice thick with lust and command. you feel his thumb press against your clit briefly before he pulls away, denying you. every second of touch is agonisingly slow, a punishment for your defiance.
without warning, he grips your hips and slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in one ruthless thrust. you scream into the mattress, your body arching violently as he stretches you instantly. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace immediately, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in deep and hard. your wrists strain against the belt helplessly.
he fucks you brutally, using your bent over position to his advantage, his powerful hips snapping against your ass with wet smacks. his free hand reaches around to choke your neck gently, adding another layer of dominance and control.
“is that attitude still there?” he smirks against your neck, punctuating his words with particularly deep thrusts. “or are you realising who’s in charge here?” his hand squeezes your throat lightly, making you lightheaded and even more aroused.
you try to form words, but all that comes out is a choked moan. your body is completely under his control—wrists tied, throat threatened, pussy impaled and stretched by his relentless cock. “that’s what i thought,” he growls, his thrusts becoming even more merciless, hitting spots you didn’t know existed.
your walls clench around him desperately, your body betraying your earlier defiance completely. michael notices immediately, his grip tightening on your throat as he leans over your back. “look at you,” he breathes hotly against your ear. “so bratty all day, and now you’re begging for it without even saying a word.” he hits your deepest spot hard, making you cry out.
your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. michael doesn’t slow down—he keeps pounding through it, drawing out your pleasure until you are sobbing into the pillow. only then does he pull out abruptly, his hot seed shooting across your back and add in thick stripes.
he stands there for a moment, panting, watching his cum drip down your trembling body. then he unties the belt from your wrists, flipping you over roughly so you’re on your back again. his eyes drill into yours. “now,” he says, his voice raw. “are we done with the backtalk?”
your lips part, your chest still heaving, your body trembling and slick with sweat. the words form on your tongue—another challenge, another spark of that damn defiance—but something in his eyes made you pause. that dangerous glint, the absolute authority, the promise of more punishment if you dare.
you swallow hard, your gaze dripping first. “…yes.”
a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he sees the submission in your eyes. he leans down, kissing you roughly—a claim, a punishment, a reward all rolled into one. when he pulls back, his thumb brushes over your swollen bottom lip. “good girl.”
he helps you sit up, his touch gentler now as he checks the red marks on your wrists from the belt. his expression softens imperceptibly. “you pushed it,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “but you took it well.” he kisses your forehead, a silent apology for the roughness, though his eyes still hold that edge.
he grabs a tissue from the nightstand and begins cleaning you up, his movements efficient but surprisingly careful. the air between you feels heavy, charged with the lingering electricity of the punishment. once he’s wiped away his release, he pulls his pants back up, buckling his belt with a definitive click. “next time you want to act bratty,” he warns softly, smoothing your hair back.
“i’ll remember this,” you murmur back, half joking but also completely serious. your body aches in the best way, your ass stinging gently with every movement. he just smirks knowingly, clearly pleased that the lesson has sunken in. “good,” he says firmly.
aftercare if a non-negotiable for him. he’s dominant as hell in the bedroom, but he always takes care of you afterward—no matter how bratty or demanding you’ve been. he pulls you into his side, wrapping those strong arms around you lovingly. “come here,”
he gathers you against his chest, your face pressed to his rapidly beating heart. one hand strokes your hair soothingly while the other massages your back in slow, deliberate circles. he smells like expensive cologne and sex, and his body heat seeps into your chilled skin. “you okay?” his voice is softer now, genuinely concerned.
you hum softly in real, shifting so you’re wrapped tighter around him. your legs tangle together, your back pressed to his chest. his large hands splay over your stomach, one thumb rubbing soothing circles over your lower belly.
“you did good,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “for a brat.” the playful insult is said with such tenderness it barely registers as teasing. he reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your lips. “drink.”
you take slow sips, feeling utterly cared for.
he pulls the plush duvet over both of you, tucking you in securely. you’re nestled completely against him—from your chest to your thighs, every inch of you is pressed to his. his lips find your ear, his voice dropping to that intimate, vulnerable tone he only uses when it’s just the two of you. “i love you so much.”
you turn in his arms, pressing your lips to his softly. “i love you more,” you whisper against his mouth, tasting him lingering on your tongue. he kisses you deeply, tenderly this time—no dominance, just pure affection. when you finally drift off, his arms are wrapped tightly around you.
Could u perchance.. do an mj x reader fic whether it’s before,during or after the Pepsi accident and Michael’s insecure to have us see him at first but eventually allows us to see him and take care of him 😋
So like a bit of angst and fluff
you're still you.
a michael jackson fic
summary ~ requested!
includes ~ angst // insecure michael // supportive reader
a/n ~ this one meant a lot to me! thank you for requesting this. also it's not proofread so bare w me if there are any mistakes.
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When Michael’s mother called, she spoke so carefully that you knew something was wrong before she told you.
There had been an accident.
There had been fire.
Michael was conscious, she assured you. He was being treated. The doctors were taking care of him, and you should not panic.
You panicked anyway.
By the time you reached the hospital, the story had already begun escaping into the world. People clustered beyond the entrance, carrying cameras and shouting questions at anyone who looked remotely important. Security guided you through a private door before anyone could recognize you.
You barely heard the instructions you were given.
All you could think about was Michael.
His hair catching fire beneath the stage lights.
His confusion.
His pain.
Whether he had called for you.
Katherine met you in the hallway. Her expression was tired but composed, and the moment she opened her arms, you fell into them.
“He’s all right,” she whispered, rubbing your back. “He’s shaken, and he’s hurting, but he’s all right.”
“Can I see him?”
Her hesitation frightened you more than the phone call had.
“He doesn’t want you to.”
You pulled away. “What?”
“He doesn’t want anyone coming into the room right now.”
“But I’m not anyone.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Did he say why?”
Katherine’s eyes softened.
You knew then.
The injury was on his head and scalp. Although the doctors had assured everyone that his face had been spared from the worst of the burns, Michael had still seen the panic surrounding him. He had smelled the smoke. He had felt hands pressing against his head and heard people speaking urgently above him.
Whatever he looked like now, it was enough to make him afraid of your reaction.
“I need to talk to him,” you said.
“He asked us not to let you in.”
“Then I won’t go in yet. But please tell him I’m here.”
Katherine squeezed your hand. “I will.”
You sat outside his room for nearly an hour.
His brothers came and went. Doctors passed through the hallway. Members of his team whispered to one another about statements, reporters and what could be said publicly. Everyone seemed to have a purpose except you.
You could only wait.
Eventually, Katherine came back out.
“He knows you’re here.”
You stood immediately. “What did he say?”
“He said you should go home.”
You stared at her.
“I’m not doing that.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
She gave you a weary little smile before returning to the rest of the family.
You sat down again.
Another hour passed.
You sent Michael a message through one of the nurses.
I’m not angry with you, and I’m not frightened of you. I only want to know that you’re okay.
The nurse returned several minutes later.
“He said to tell you that he’s fine.”
You looked toward the closed door.
“Would you tell him that he is a terrible liar?”
The nurse almost smiled. “I’ll tell him.”
The next message came directly from Michael, written shakily on a small piece of paper.
Please go home. I don’t want you seeing me this way.
You read it three times.
Then you turned the paper over and wrote beneath his words.
Then close your eyes. You don’t have to see me seeing you.
The nurse carried it inside.
This time, the door opened only a minute later.
Michael’s doctor stepped out, followed by a nurse. They spoke to you quietly, explaining what you should expect. His head was wrapped in medical dressings. There might be some swelling. The medication had made him drowsy and slightly disoriented.
None of it changed your mind.
The doctor opened the door.
The room was dim. Only a small lamp beside the bed had been left on, casting a soft amber glow across the walls. The curtains were closed against the cameras waiting somewhere beyond the hospital.
At first, all you could see was the shape of Michael beneath the blankets.
Then your eyes adjusted.
He was turned away from you.
The dressings covered much of his head, and a few dark curls remained visible near his neck. His shoulders were tense beneath the thin hospital gown. One hand gripped the edge of the blanket as though he had been bracing himself from the moment he agreed to let you enter.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Michael flinched.
You stayed where you were.
“Hi,” you whispered.
He did not turn around.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
His voice was hoarse and small. You had never heard him speak that way before.
“Probably not,” you said. “I’ve been told I’m very stubborn.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
You moved closer, stopping beside the chair near his bed.
“May I sit down?”
He was silent for so long that you thought he might ask you to leave again.
Finally, he nodded.
You lowered yourself into the chair. You did not reach for him. You did not ask him to turn around. You simply sat beside him and listened to the soft hum of the equipment around his bed.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Your brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For frightening you.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“I knew there was something wrong.”
His fingers tightened around the blanket.
“The first time, I felt the heat. I thought maybe I was imagining it. Then they wanted to do it again, and I should have said something.”
“Michael.”
“I should have stopped.”
“You were performing. You trusted the people around you to keep you safe.”
“But if I had just—”
“No.”
Your voice came out firmer than you intended.
He went quiet.
“You are not going to lie here and blame yourself because somebody else’s equipment malfunctioned, or because of a decision that your father made for you,” you continued, gentler now. “You did nothing wrong.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I saw enough.”
His shoulders shifted.
There had already been footage. You had glimpsed only a few seconds before someone pulled you away from the television: the sparks erupting behind him, Michael continuing to dance, unaware that his hair was burning.
Those seconds had lodged themselves somewhere inside you.
“I keep seeing it,” you admitted. “Every time I close my eyes.”
“That’s why I didn’t want you here.”
You swallowed. “Why?”
“Because now you’ll see this too.”
He gestured weakly toward himself.
“You’ll remember me like this.”
Your heart broke so quietly that he could not have known.
“Michael, look at me.”
“No.”
“Please.”
He shook his head and immediately winced.
Your body reacted before you could think, one hand lifting toward him. You stopped yourself before touching him.
He noticed.
Slowly, Michael turned his face toward you.
His eyes were red and exhausted. There was swelling around them, and his skin was paler than usual. The dressings looked uncomfortable, stark white against him.
He watched you with naked fear.
Not fear of pain.
Fear of you.
You kept your expression soft, even as tears gathered in your eyes.
His gaze dropped.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“Don’t what?”
“Cry.”
“I thought I had lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
A tear escaped before you could catch it. Michael turned his face away again.
“This is what I didn’t want.”
“You think I’m crying because of how you look?”
He said nothing.
You leaned forward, careful not to crowd him.
“I’m crying because I love you, and someone called me to say there had been an accident. I’m crying because I had to sit outside this room knowing you were hurt while you tried to protect me from seeing it. I’m crying because you’re in pain and I can’t take it away.”
His lower lip trembled.
“You’re looking at me differently.”
“I’m looking at you like I'm scared.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“I know.”
You allowed a moment of silence to pass.
Then you held out your hand between you, palm facing upward.
“You don’t have to let me touch you. You don’t even have to look at me. But my hand is here if you want it.”
Michael stared at it.
His fingers shifted against the blanket, but he did not reach for you.
You sat back and left your hand resting there.
Minutes passed.
His breathing gradually softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, though only slightly. You told him little things because silence gave his mind too much room to punish him.
You told him that his mother had made three different nurses promise to call her if he so much as sneezed.
You told him his brothers were arguing over who had reached the hospital first.
You told him that someone from his team had tried to hand you a prepared statement, and you had stared at him until he went away.
That earned the faintest sound from Michael. Not quite a laugh, but close.
“You frightened him,” he murmured.
“Good.”
“You can be very mean.”
“Only when necessary.”
His gaze drifted back to your open hand.
“I must look awful.”
“You look tired.”
“That means yes.”
“It means you look tired.”
“And the bandages?”
“They look like bandages.”
“The swelling?”
“It looks uncomfortable.”
“Me?”
You understood the question beneath the question.
Do you still see me?
You moved your hand a little closer.
“You look like Michael.”
His eyes filled immediately.
He reached for you.
His hand landed in yours with surprising urgency, fingers closing tightly as though he feared you might disappear. You held him just as firmly, lifting his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles.
His eyes closed.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You always tell me I’m handsome.”
“You are.”
“I’m not now.”
You studied him for a moment.
“No,” you said gently. “Right now, you’re hurt.”
His eyes opened.
“You’re hurt, frightened, exhausted and being very difficult. None of that makes you ugly. It makes you human.”
His face crumpled.
Michael turned away, but he did not release your hand. You stood and moved closer to the bed.
“Can I hold you?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know where it hurts,” you added. “You’ll have to help me.”
“Everywhere,” he whispered.
You could hear the tears in his voice now.
“All right. Then we’ll be very careful.”
The nurse helped raise the bed slightly and showed you where you could sit without disturbing anything. Michael watched the entire process nervously, his embarrassment clear even through the medication.
Once you were beside him, you opened your arms.
For a few seconds, he remained still.
Then he leaned into you.
His movements were slow and guarded. He rested his cheek against your chest, keeping his injured head away from your shoulder. You wrapped one arm around his back while the other rested lightly against his forearm.
The first sob slipped out of him so softly that you almost mistook it for a breath.
Then another followed.
“I was so scared,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“I could hear everyone shouting.”
Your hand moved slowly along his back.
“I didn’t know what was happening. They kept touching me, and the pain was so bad. I thought…”
He stopped.
“You thought what?”
“I thought it had ruined everything.”
The words were muffled against you.
“My hair. My face. The performances. Everything.”
“Oh, Michael.”
“And then I thought about you seeing me.”
His shoulders shook.
“I knew you would try to be kind, but I thought you’d look at me and feel sorry for me.”
“I do feel sorry that you’re hurting.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No, it isn’t.”
You pressed a kiss to his temple, far from the dressings.
“I don’t pity you. I’m not disgusted by you. I’m not disappointed in you. I’m just here.”
He cried quietly against you, releasing the fear he had tried to swallow for everyone else. You let him. You did not tell him to be strong or assure him that everything would immediately return to normal.
You simply held him.
Eventually, exhaustion softened his sobs into uneven breaths.
“You still love me?” he asked.
The question was so quiet that you almost wished you had misheard it.
You leaned back just enough to see his face.
“Do you honestly think a few bandages could change that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll tell you until you do.”
You wiped beneath his eye with your thumb.
“I love you.”
His eyes closed.
“I love you when you’re onstage and everyone in the world is screaming your name. I love you when you’re wearing pajamas and stealing food from my plate. I love you when you feel beautiful, and I love you when you don’t.”
His mouth quivered.
“You don’t have to earn it by looking perfect.”
“I want to be perfect for you.”
“I don’t want perfect.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
Michael looked at you for a long moment.
Then he raised your joined hands and pressed his lips against your fingers.
“You really are stubborn,” he murmured.
“Extremely.”
“I told them not to let you in.”
“You underestimated me.”
“I should know better.”
“You really should.”
The tiniest smile appeared on his lips.
There he was.
You wanted to kiss him, but you waited.
Michael noticed. His eyes moved briefly to your mouth before returning to your face.
“You can,” he whispered.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
You leaned forward and kissed him gently.
There was no urgency in it. You kept one hand around his while the other rested against his shoulder. His lips were dry, and he tasted faintly of hospital water, but the moment he kissed you back, some part of you finally believed he was safe.
When you pulled away, his eyes remained closed.
“Still think I’m frightened of you?” you whispered.
“A little.”
You kissed the corner of his mouth.
“How about now?”
“Maybe less.”
You kissed his cheek.
“Now?”
A real smile appeared this time.
“You may need to keep trying.”
“Convenient.”
“I’m injured. You have to be nice to me.”
“I have been sitting outside for hours because you banned me from the room.”
His smile faded.
“I’m sorry.”
You brushed your thumb over his knuckles.
“I understand why you did it. But next time you’re frightened, let me be frightened with you.”
“I don’t want to burden you.”
“Loving you isn’t a burden.”
He lowered his eyes.
“You don’t always have to be the one protecting everyone,” you continued. “Sometimes you’re allowed to need somebody.”
“I need you.”
The admission was immediate and painfully sincere.
You leaned forward until your forehead rested carefully against his.
“Good,” you whispered. “Because you have me.”
Later, after the nurse checked his dressings and brought fresh water, Michael allowed you to help him drink. He complained that the straw was undignified, then became offended when you laughed.
You adjusted his blankets. He insisted he was not cold, although he stopped protesting the moment you tucked them around him.
When the medication began pulling him toward sleep, you returned to the chair beside his bed.
His fingers tightened around yours.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I’m sitting down.”
“You’ll stay?”
“As long as they let me.”
“And if they tell you to leave?”
“I’ll hide in the bathroom.”
His sleepy laugh filled the dim room.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, you love me.”
“I do.”
His eyes began to close.
You thought he had fallen asleep until his voice reached you again.
“When the bandages come off…”
“Yes?”
His fingers shifted nervously between yours.
“What if it’s worse?”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“What if I don’t want to look?”
“Then you don’t have to look until you’re ready.”
“What if you look first?”
You lifted his hand and kissed it again.
“Then I’ll tell you the truth.”
His eyes opened slightly. “Which is?”
“That you’re still you.”
He watched you through the haze of exhaustion, searching your face for uncertainty.
Whatever he found seemed to soothe him.
“Come closer,” he murmured.
You shifted the chair until it touched the bed.
“Closer.”
“I cannot physically move the chair any closer, Michael.”
He gave you a weak, dissatisfied look.
You smiled and leaned over the railing, bringing your face near his. He relaxed immediately.
“There?”
“Better.”
His eyes closed once more.
You stayed beside him as his breathing became deep and even, your hand held securely in his. Every so often, even in sleep, his fingers tightened as if checking that you had not left.
Each time, you squeezed back.
The world outside was already turning his pain into headlines, photographs and statements. By morning, strangers would debate what happened and what it meant for his career. People would study every image and search for something dramatic to consume.
But inside the room, he was simply Michael.
Frightened.
Tender.
Alive.
And loved.
Just before dawn, he stirred. His eyes opened slowly and found you with your head resting beside his arm.
“You stayed,” he whispered.
You lifted your head, blinking away sleep.
“I told you I would.”
In the pale morning light, his bandages were still there. The swelling was still there. Nothing had magically healed overnight.
But when Michael looked at you, the fear in his eyes was quieter.
Hello would you mind writing something about mature Micheal and him loving to smack his gf or wife’s ass. Haha he seemed to be into that and it would be a fun story to read. Thank you 🤭
he LOVES slapping back and that’s facts𑣲⋆
summary: mature!michael can’t keep his hands off of his younger wife!reader
⋆˚꩜｡ the small door to the baby pink volkswagen beetle slammed shut behind you, the wide sunglasses pushed up into your hair to keep it out of your face as you opened the trunk of your car.
a creak emitted from the white front door, michael’s head popping out to check if you were home, obviously hearing your car pull up in the huge driveway.
“hi, baby! can you help me grab these bags please”, waving cheerfully, clearly having a dopamine rush from all of the shopping you had just done.
michael hummed, his socked feet pattering down the concrete as he got closer to you, watching you bend over to reach further into the trunk.
standing behind you, waiting for you to pass him the bags of luxury goods you had just acquired, he took in your appearance.
the black juicy couture velour tracksuit hugged you tight, and as you bent over, the jacket rode up, revealing a tiny bit of your lower back.
the gems from the juicy logo stretched tight across your ass, glistening in the los angeles sunlight, making michael lick his lips and grab your waist. his ivory hands gripped you tight and pressed you up against his lower half as you reached for the final bags in the trunk.
“mikey, i can’t reach the bags, you’re pulling me back,” you giggled, clearly amused by his touchiness.
“m’sorry pretty girl, you’re just so irresistible” he hummed, before taking a step back and swinging his hand to meet your backside in a quick slap, watching the flesh jiggle beneath the velour material.
you jumped, quickly turning around and giving him a pointed look. pushing the small bags into his hands, almost giving him a silent instruction to get away from you and take the bags in instead.
michael laughed, a deep, raspy vibration from his chest, head tilting back as he turned on his heel, his dark, fluffy hair bouncing with each step towards the house.
shaking your head, a manicured hand reached above you to grab the trunk before slamming it shut. god, what were you going to do with that man and his hands.
⋆˚꩜｡ on a much needed night off with michael, you were both in the kitchen. the moscato wine glugged as it left the expensive bottle into the tall crystal wine glasses on the marble counter.
the staff had been sent home in, what felt like, a once in a lifetime opportunity to spend some alone time with michael whilst he wasn’t absolutely exhausted from working all day.
you turned towards him, the fabric of your sheer nightdress swishing at your waist as you brought the glass to your lip gloss stained lips, leaving a shiny pink mark on the rim.
michael stared at you as you took a sip, reaching behind you to grab the wine glass whilst his other hand rested on your hip to steady himself.
“so are we watching a movie tonight? i know there’s this really good one that’s just come out, i think you’ll like it” you questioned, wiping the top of your lip.
“mm.. we can if you want, although i had other ideas about how tonight might go…”, his voice lowering more as he spoke, his head dipping to become face to face with you.
“oh? like what, baby?”, tilting your head, knowing exactly what he was referring to but wanting to tease him a little bit.
he placed the glass back onto the counter, both hands now caging you in.
“you know, me and you… upstairs…” he trailed off, eyes flicking over to the grand staircase.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing your lips closer to his, feeling his breath fan across them.
“let’s go then, baby”, a high pitch giggle emitting from you as you swiftly turned, still carrying the wine glass in your hands.
as you turned the corner of the counter, moving towards the staircase, a smack echoed throughout the kitchen.
michael smirked, his hand landing perfectly on the round flesh beneath your flowy dress.
“ouch! oh my gosh, michael.. why do you still catch me off guard when you do that, i should expect it by now..” you groaned, now walking backwards and facing him.
he shrugged, a proud smile painted across his face, before grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs.
⋆˚꩜｡ the broom swept across the living room floor, the toys being brushed aside so you could reach the biscuit crumbs on the floor.
you had just put your son down for a nap, it being much needed as he had seemed to have so much energy today that by the early afternoon you were absolutely exhausted.
michael had been locked away in his studio all morning, having said that he had an idea, shooting up from bed and running down the hallway into the studio.
your hair fell out of the loose updo you had temporarily placed it in, further adding to the sensory overload you were having.
you stood straight, holding the toys your son had thrown around the room, turning to place them into the toy box. michael stood in the doorway, you had been so focused on cleaning up that you had not heard him walk into the living room.
you jumped slightly, his presence unexpected, before throwing the toys into the toy box and slamming the top shut.
“hey, hey.. what’s the matter, pretty girl” he said, concern lacing his voice, his arms stretched out to grab you.
“i’m just so exhausted, it’s like he wouldn’t just have a moment of downtime. he kept jumping up and running around to grab something he shouldn’t be touching, and he usually isn’t like that so it just stressed me out” you whined, your head falling onto his chest as you leant on him.
his dressing gown clad arms wrapped around your back, his hands sliding further down your back to rest on the curve between your lower back and ass.
“it’s alright, baby, is he asleep now?”
you nodded against his chest, your eyes shutting in a moment of relaxation.
“should we go and sit outside for a second, let you clear your mind. if he wakes up, the chef will definitely hear and let us know” he whispered, his head resting on yours.
his hands moved further down, bringing a few small taps to your butt for comfort and also because he's obsessed with the way it feels in his hands.
michael moved back, his hands still gripping your waist before turning you around, his arm wrapped around you to keep you pressed against him as you walked outside for a moment of peace.
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