michael jackson’s muse

black, early twenties, she/her

[cinnamoncunt]

michael was definitely the kind of person who would just admire what you have down there he wouldn’t want you to do some fancy wax treatment or anything he would want you just for you. don’t even get me started on if you had a long day and he would want a taste and you were hesitant because you wanted to be fresh for him but he ever cared he just wanted you raw, bare and vulnerable. whenever he’d be between your legs he would kiss up your thighs and no matter what size they were he’d always give them a light squeeze and admire them. before he’d take your panties off he’d teasingly kiss and run his nose down your center making you squirm and ride the bump of his nose. he’ll take them off once you protest to stop teasing and once he sees your pretty flower just dripping all for him he’ll moan at the sight “so pretty and ripe” and he’ll use his thumb to run through your folds and clit and get to work leaving you a moaning mess as he eats you like a ripe papaya on a hot summer day. talking you through your orgasm, and once you let go for him he whispers a “thank you” and licks every inch left of your essence even if it got on the sheets he’s sucking it off as he just believes you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted he kissing up your body and eventually your lips and as you taste yourself on him and pulls away say “thanks for dinner baby i’m stuffed”.

[ruesdeluxe]

[lullora]

— DISSOLVED GIRL

SYNOPSIS; michael wants your babies. that’s literally it.

THEMES; unprotected sex, heavy breeding kink, toxic dynamic, controlling behaviour, secrecy, oral (m!receiving), degradation, isolation & michael getting a lil physical when he’s jealous (not w reader), angst i guess, lots of dirty talk

NOTE; i had thradera!mike in mind for this but you can imagine him however you want. heavily inspired by massive attack’s dissolved girl. in ref to the person requesting more toxic!mike. masterlist can be found here.

TAGS; @galacticpurpl3 @mrsjacksonnnnnn @abrokennbottletop @wonin1nie @chrollosblackgf66 @thebaddestfish @veraberaxx @sensualxdisguise @wildpandorasky @kekeonna @piercedheartxo @cherrypiex-a @pinkgangstaa @cassanibal @prettygirlwmula @slickdickwitchbitchh @violet848 @marceadoresu @bleachedantler @peacenluv04 @roromanok @iamsosexy2 @pnd-luvr @gogoyubari888 @tojiswifeforlife @girlsrpilots-2 @yeaitsapplehead @angelicalfaced @theprincessh3rself @justadashofevil @neworleansgurl @lauren7050

Michael loved you like the world was ending.

That was the only way to describe it, in those early months, when the relationship was still new enough that every touch felt like a revelation. Michael didn’t just want to be near you. He wanted to be around you, threaded through you in some way that made it impossible to tell where he ended and you began. He called you baby from the first week, constantly, the word a substitute for your actual name. His voice dropped half a register when he said it, low, intimate, even in public and even when his brothers were in the room making kissing noises, and laughing at him for being so gone.

“I’m not gone.” He protested once, his arm draped across the back of a booth at a restaurant in Encino, his thumb tracing the ridge of your shoulder through your blouse while Tito pretended to gag across the table. “I’m just, you know… attentive.”

“You’re sick.” Marlon corrected, pointing a breadstick at him. “You’re love-sick, man. It’s embarrassing.”

Michael’s mouth curved, though he didn’t look at Marlon. His dark eyes found yours, bright with something private that belonged to the two of you alone. His thumb continued moving against your shoulder in that slow, deliberate rhythm, less an absent-minded habit, but more a declaration of ownership disguised as tenderness. "Let them talk." He murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. "They don’t know what this is."

He was right. They didn’t.

What it was, in those first months, was intoxicating. He paid attention in a way that felt like being the only person in the entire world. He noticed things no one else noticed, the way you twisted your napkin when nervous, the exact shade of lipstick you favoured, the way your voice changed on the phone depending on who was calling. He catalogued you with the same meticulous focus he brought to a recording session, turning you over in his mind like a mix he was trying to perfect, except the scrutiny was so warm and wrapped in genuine delight, that it never occurred to you to call it what it actually was.

He was generous too, which made it impossible to see the edges of what was happening until you were already inside it. Not just gifts, though there were plenty of those. A gold bracelet arriving in a velvet box on a Tuesday for no reason. A leather jacket you’d pointed out in a window once, then forgotten about three minutes later. Flowers so constantly that the vase on your kitchen counter was never empty.

He gave you access. The private phone number, a key to Hayvenhurst, a seat in the studio during sessions where you’d sit in the corner with a book while he worked, occasionally glancing up between takes to make sure you were still there, still his. Every gift was a thread. Every key, every phone number, every come with me, baby, I want you there was a stitch in a life being built around the two of you alone.

Your friend Jennifer noticed before you did.

“You’ve been busy.” She said over the phone one evening, her tone carefully neutral.

“I haven’t been busy. I’ve just been with him.”

“You’ve been with him for three weeks straight. I called your house four times last week.”

“He likes having me around. Is that a crime?”

“No.” She paused. "Just don’t disappear, okay?”

You laughed it off. You remember that now, the sound of your own laughter, completely dismissive, because you could not fathom what she was talking about. How could you disappear when you’d never felt more seen? Michael looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world full of illusions. 

You didn’t call Jennifer back that week, or the one after. It wasn’t deliberate. Life simply filled up with him, every hour accounted for, every evening claimed, until weeks bled into each other and the sound of her voice on the phone started to feel like a voice from another version of your life. 

In those early months, what you knew was that he was beautiful, he was kind, he wanted you close and he made you feel like the centre of everything. The sex was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

The sex. God, the sex.

He was starving for you. The first time you slept together, in his bedroom at Hayvenhurst with the door locked and the lights low, he undressed you like he was unwrapping something sacred. His fingers careful at the buttons, his mouth following each newly exposed inch of skin with a focus that bordered on devotional. He kissed your collarbone, your stomach and the inside of your wrist. He pressed his forehead against your hip bone and breathed you in, his eyes closed, his hands gripping your waist like he was trying to anchor himself. 

So when he finally looked up at you from between your legs, the expression on his face wasn’t just desire. It was hunger. A hunger so deep and consuming, that it made your breath catch, because you’d been wanted before but you’d never been devoured, and that was what Michael did. He devoured slowly with a single-minded focus that made you feel like the only woman who’d ever existed.

The first time he came inside you, he didn’t attempt to pull out. You hadn’t discussed it. You were on the pill and he knew that, but something shifted in him at the last moment, some primal instinct that overrode logic. His hand tightened on your hip, his breath ragged against your throat. He buried his body as deep as it could go with a groan that sounded less like pleasure, more like a man finding religion. When the trembling stopped and the sweat cooled, he stayed inside you. He propped himself on his forearms and looked at you with those beautiful eyes.

I want to get you pregnant, he’d say, the words rolling off his tongue like a confession he’d been holding for years.

You laughed because you thought he was joking.

He wasn’t joking.

It became a thing after that. Not a conversation, not a boundary you set or a fantasy you explicitly agreed to. It became a thing the way all the most dangerous things in your relationship became things. He talked about it while he was inside you, when his control was slipping, when the polite, gentle Michael the world knew dissolved and the raw, obsessive one took his place. 

You want that, baby? You want me to fill you up? You want me to get you pregnant? He would say, his voice dropping to something almost unrecognisable. His hand pressed flat against your lower stomach like he could feel the possibility of it, like the idea of putting a baby inside you short-circuited every rational thought in his head.

You said yes. You always said yes. Not because you wanted to get pregnant, you were careful. You were a rational person living in the real world. But the way he said it, in that desperate voice laced with something darker, made yes the only possible answer. The breeding talk wasn’t about babies. It was about permanence. Him wanting to be so deep inside you he could never be removed, to leave a mark so profound it would outlast both of you. It was a language the closest his desperate, obsessive brain could get to articulating that need.

He finished inside you every time and you noticed that. You didn’t think about what it meant, but some part of you registered the consistency, the way he’d thrust deep and hold still after, his hand finding your stomach, his breath evening out against your neck like a habit he had no intention of breaking.

The first time you rode him was your idea. You’d been laying in bed, tangled together in Saturday morning light, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh, his mouth pressed against your temple. You shifted on top of him with a slow confidence that caught his breath. His hands found your waist immediately, instinctively, gripping hard enough to bruise. The sound he made when you sank down onto him was grateful in a way that made your chest ache.

“Oh God.” He breathed, his head pressing back into the pillow, eyes half-closed. “Baby…”

“Look at me.”

His eyes found yours, wide and dark, his hands tightening on your waist. His thumbs pressed into the soft skin just above your hip bones. The lazy Saturday morning dissolved into something deliberate and dangerous, because you were on top, you were in control, except the expression on his face wasn’t submission. It was hunger. 

“Move.” He murmured, his voice rough as his hips rolled up into you once experimentally. His jaw tightened. “C'mon, baby… move for me.”

You moved slowly at first, your hands braced on his chest, feeling the rapid percussion of his heartbeat under your palms. The angle was deep like this, impossibly deep, every roll of your hips drawing a sound from him that evidenced his desperation. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to leave marks you’d find later, in the mirror, with a kind of detached wonder. 

His eyes never left yours, not once. He watched you move on top of him with that beautiful, consuming focus. So when you started to pick up speed, when the pleasure built in earnest, his hand slid from your waist to the back of your neck and pulled you down.

“You feel so good.” He murmured against your mouth, his lips barely touching yours. “You have no idea, baby. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Tell me.”

His grip tightened as his other hand pressed flat against your lower stomach, that same gesture, that impossible tenderness mixed with something far more primal. 

“I’m gonna fill you up.” He whispered, his hips snapping up to meet yours as his rhythm faltered, every element of his control slipping. “I’m gonna get you pregnant, baby. You want that? You want me to put a baby in you?”

“Yes.” You gasped, because the angle was too good and the look in his eyes was too consuming for any other word.

“Yeah?” His hand tightened on the back of your neck. “Say it again.”

“Yes.”

“Again.”

“Yes, Michael.”

He came with his face buried in your throat, his groan vibrating against your skin, hips pressing up into you so hard you felt him everywhere. The pulse of him deep inside. His arms wrapped around your back to crush you against his chest like he was trying to merge your bodies together. 

You thought it was sweet and you thought it was passionate. You thought the breeding talk was a harmless expression of desire that made the sex hotter and the intimacy deeper, without seeing the seed of something else buried inside it. Something that looked like worship but grew like a root system, spreading quietly beneath the surface of your relationship in directions you wouldn’t discover until much later.

You didn’t see any of it. Not yet.

──── ୨୧ ────

It was industry, the kind of event Michael normally navigated with practiced ease. That smile, the handshake, the gentle deflection of every person who wanted a piece of him, his body language open and warm while his eyes stayed careful, keeping you close without appearing to. 

You wore the black dress he’d bought you, the one with the thin straps that made his breath catch when you’d tried it on, his hands settling on your hips from behind.

That one, baby, get that one.

You felt beautiful in it, standing beside him with his hand on the small of your back, a glass of champagne in your hand, the room buzzing with industry faces, flowing conversations and the low hum of a band playing something Motown in the corner.

The man’s name was David, an A&R guy from Capitol, the kind of confident that came from money rather than talent. You noticed him, how his smile was too wide, his handshake too firm, his eyes doing a slow, appreciative tour of your body that lasted too long before he remembered to look at Michael.

“Jackson.” He said with a grin, clapping Michael on the shoulder like they were old friends. They weren’t. “Good to see you, man. And who’s this?”

“This is my girlfriend.” Michael responded, his voice even, his smile fixed in place.

David’s eyes returned to you. “Lucky man.” His gaze dropped to your bare shoulders, tracing the neckline of the dress. “Very lucky.”

The conversation moved on and David drifted. Michael’s hand remained on your back, his thumb tracing a slow circle just above the curve of your spine. You thought it was over until David appeared again forty minutes later, drink in hand, leaning against the bar where you’d gone to refill your champagne.

“Hey.” He spoke casually, the kind of friendliness that felt like a door held open a little too wide. “You having a good time?”

“I am, thanks.”

“You look like you’re having a good time.” He took a sip, his eyes dropping again, like the act of looking was something he wanted you to witness. “That dress is something else… Michael’s got taste, I’ll give him that.”

Your smile tightened. “Thanks.”

He laughed, leaning closer, slightly closing the proximity between the two of you. “Bet he doesn’t let you out much, huh? I wouldn’t either, if I were him… Must be hard to share something like you.”

It was the kind of comment that sat in the grey area between compliment and proposition, the kind most women learned to navigate with a polite laugh and a strategic exit. 

You were preparing exactly that, the excuse, when Michael appeared at your side. You hadn’t seen him approach. His hand located the small of your back, not gentle this time, his body angled between you and David in a way that wasn’t casual but was exactly as territorial as it looked.

“What did you just say to her?”

Michael’s voice was quiet, not raised nor heated. Quiet in a way that made the air between the three of you feel dangerously thin. His smile was gone. Not replaced by anger, but something more controlled, the calm of a man who’d heard exactly what he thought he had and wanted it repeated so there could be no misunderstanding.

David blinked. “Hey, relax, man, I was just—”

“No. Say it again.” Michael’s head tilted slightly, his eyes fixed on David’s face with an intensity that made your stomach clench. “Go on, say it again. What did you just say to her?”

"Jackson, come on, I was just being friendly—"

"Say it again."

David’s grin recalibrated, settling into something uneasy. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by it alright? We were just talking.”

Michael stared at him for a long moment. Long enough for David to shift his weight, to glance sideways, to realise with dawning discomfort that the man in front of him wasn’t going to let this go.

Then Michael’s hand shot out and shoved David square in the chest.

David stumbled backward into the bar, glasses rattling and ice spilling, his drink sloshing over his hand as he caught himself. The sound was small and the impact was contained, but the room noticed. Heads turned and conversations topped. The band played on for a few bars before trailing off and in the sudden quiet, Michael took a step forward, his hand still extended, his breathing controlled but his body coiled.

“Don’t look at her.” Michael said. "Don’t talk to her. Don’t come near her again."

David stared at him, stunned, a red flush creeping up his neck. “What the fuck, Jackson—”

Jermaine was there. You didn’t see where he came from, but suddenly he was between them, his hand flat on Michael’s chest, his body acting as a wall. “Mike. Mike, that’s enough.”

Michael didn’t listen. He tried to push past, his shoulder driving into Jermaine’s hold. His eyes were still locked on David, his voice dropping to something low and vicious. “Touch her again, I swear I’ll—”

“Michael.” Jermaine’s hand fisted in the front of Michael’s shirt, yanking him back hard enough to stop the sentence mid-breath, his other hand gripping Michael’s shoulder. “Don’t. Don’t do this, not here.” He growled into his ear.

Michael strained forward. His whole body was trembling, every muscle taut, his jaw clenched so hard the tendons in his neck stood out like cables. For a long moment, you thought he’d shove his own brother aside, thought he’d get past Jermaine and finish whatever he’d started. The whole room was watching. Every pair of eyes were fixed on the three of them, on Michael Jackson trying to fight his way through his older brother to get to a man who’d spoken to you wrong.

You stood behind them, your champagne forgotten, your hand pressed to your mouth, shocked, because this wasn’t the man you loved, this was something else entirely. Something you’d seen flickers of in the bedroom but never in public and never with witnesses.

Jermaine held him and steered him toward the exit, one hand on his chest, the other on his arm. Michael let himself be moved, but barely, his body rigid, his strides long and mechanical, not looking back. 

Jermaine got him to the door before looking at you over Michael’s shoulder, his expression complicated, somewhere between apology and warning.

“Get him home.” He said quietly.

──── ୨୧ ────

Michael didn’t say a word in the car.

Not when you climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut behind you, not when he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the driveway without looking in your direction, not for the entire forty-minute drive back to Hayvenhurst while the city lights smeared past the windows in long, blurry streaks of gold and white. 

His hands were on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road with the blank focus of someone choosing where to look so they wouldn’t have to look somewhere else.

You tried. His name left your mouth somewhere around Encino, testing, and it dissolved into the quiet without leaving a mark on him, without so much as a flicker in his expression. 

You said Michael, it wasn’t like that and his knuckles tightened on the wheel, the skin stretched white over bone, but he didn’t flinch and he never turned his head. You stopped talking after that because there was nowhere for your words to go except back into your own throat, choking you, so you sat in the passenger seat watching the streetlights pass over his face in intervals, each flash catching someone you didn’t quite recognise. 

The gates opened and he parked. Michael got out of the car without waiting for you, without reaching for your door, without the hand on the small of your back that was always there, every single time without exception. You stood in the driveway, watching his back disappear through the front door and the distance between you felt like something measured in miles rather than the handful of feet it actually was.

The house was dark except for the foyer light someone had left on and you could hear his footsteps ascending, steady and unhurried, the sway of a man moving through his own house at his own pace who happened to not care that you were standing in it. You followed him up because standing alone in that foyer felt worse than following someone who didn’t want you behind him.

The bedroom was empty when you reached it, the bathroom door already closed, water running behind it in a steady rush that filled the silence the way his silence in the car had.

You sat on the edge of the bed in your dress, your heels still on, your clutch still in your hand because you couldn’t remember putting anything down since the car. You stared at the wood grain of that door until the lines blurred and your heartbeat stumbled over itself.

You replayed the party on a loop. David’s out of pocket comments, the sound of Michael’s shoes on the floor behind you in the half-second before Jermaine grabbed him. The look on his face when he turned toward you. Not jealousy, but ownership. The look of someone watching a stranger put their hand on something that belonged to them while they were standing right there.

You put your clutch on the nightstand and kicked off your heels before reaching for the drawer out of habit, looking for a chapstick, something to fill your hands with so they’d stop shaking.

Which was when you clocked the notebook.

It was small, encased with black leather, the kind you’d buy at any stationery store. It was sitting on top of a pair of folded reading glasses and a tube of hand cream, nestled among his things with the quiet belonging of something that had lived in that spot for months. You picked it up and opened it before your brain had finished deciding whether you should.

The first page had your initials at the top in his handwriting, neat and startlingly familiar, the way his handwriting always was when he was being careful. 

Below that, dates arranged in columns. Cycle days marked in one colour, ovulation windows in another, little circles around certain dates with times noted beside them in the margin. 

Some days were starred. One entry read simply day 14 with a circle around it and, in smaller, more deliberate handwriting beside it

Held her still after.

Months of it. Months.

Your vision did something strange at the edges, the lines of text blurring and sharpening in sequence. You turned it and found more of the same extending back further than you could have guessed, each entry uniform in its neatness and patience, the handwriting consistent throughout, which meant he hadn’t started this casually and grown more invested over time.

He’d been this deliberate from the very first entry. He’d been watching your body more carefully than you’d been watching it yourself, every slow night when he held your hips a certain way, every time he pressed deeper and stayed after with his breath warm on your neck. His hand would find your stomach and rest there, and it hadn’t been tenderness nor had it been a habit.

It had been precision.

You closed the notebook before putting it back exactly where you’d found it. You slid the drawer shut and sat on the bed with your hands in your lap, the water still running behind the bathroom door, trying to decide whether to scream or hold the notebook up when he walked out and say what the fuck is this, Michael. 

You thought about calling Jennifer from the landline downstairs, except Jennifer hadn’t called you back in two weeks and the thought of explaining any of this to anyone made something inside you curl up and hide itself away like a small animal retreating into a place too dark to be found.

The water stopped. He came out in boxers and nothing else, droplets still clinging to his collarbone and he didn’t look at you. He walked to his side of the bed, pulled back the covers and turned his back to you within seconds, the rigid line of his shoulders facing you like a wall.

He didn’t speak to you that night. He didn’t speak to you the next morning, either, leaving the bedroom before you woke, the sheets cool where his body had been. You found him in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. When you said his name he looked up at you with polite, empty eyes, the kind of expression you’d give a housekeeper or a stranger. He said morning the way someone says it to be polite, then looked back down at the paper.

That was the first day.

The second day was worse because he moved through the house like you weren’t there. Not cruelly or dramatically. He simply existed in the same rooms as you without acknowledging that your presence required anything from him. He ate breakfast while you stood in the doorway. He went to the studio, then came back. He ate dinner in the kitchen while you sat across from him, your food untouched, your throat too tight to swallow and when you tried to talk to him he responded in short, courteous sentences that gave you nothing, the way you’d respond to someone making small talk in a waiting room, pleasant and completely devoid of substance. 

I’m fine, thank you. The session went well. I think I’ll read for a bit before bed, he’d say.

You didn’t sleep. You lay next to him on the mattress that suddenly felt enormous, the two feet between your body and you stared at the ceiling. You listened to the measured cadence of his breathing, too even to be asleep but too controlled to be anything but another form of the silence he’d wrapped around you like a punishment.

The third day broke something in you.

You’d spent the morning in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, standing at the window then back sitting on the bed again, cycling through the same thoughts the way you’d been cycling through them since the car in the same loop.

Your chest ached, physically. A dull, heavy pressure behind your sternum that made it hard to breathe and impossible to think about anything other than the distance between you and him and what it would take to close it. 

You missed him, that was the obscene part. He was in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, standing in the same kitchen and you missed him like he’d died.

You found him in the living room that evening. He was on the couch, reading, one leg crossed over the other, his glasses low on his nose. The lamp cast warm light over the pages and the line of his jaw. He looked up when you walked in with that same polite, empty expression, the one that said ‘yes?’ without saying anything at all and your legs carried you across the room before your brain had finished deciding what you were doing.

You dropped to your knees in front of him.

Not gracefully and definitely not seductively. Your knees hit the carpet hard enough to bruise, your hands landing on his thighs and you looked up at him with everything you had, everything you’d been holding for three days, the desperation and the ache that had taken up residence in your chest like a second heartbeat. His expression didn’t change as he watched you from behind his glasses, the book still open in one hand.

Your hands were shaking when you reached for his belt. You fumbled the buckle, your fingers clumsy, your breath coming in short, uneven pulls but you got it undone and moved to the button of his jeans. His hand came down and covered yours.

Not to stop you, to hold you still.

You looked up at him. His eyes were dark behind his glasses, his lips barely parted and his voice was quiet when he spoke, low and controlled, the first real thing he’d said to you in three days.

Take it out.

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down. His cock was already hard and the sight of it made something in your stomach clench, a wave of want so sharp it bordered on pain. You wrapped your hand around the base and leaned forward, opening your mouth.

You didn’t think about the notebook. You didn’t think about the dates or the careful, patient handwriting that had been tracking your body for months like a project. You didn’t think about what it meant that you were on your knees in front of a man who had been planning your future without consulting you, mapping your fertile windows and holding your hips still on day fourteen while you lay there thinking it was love.

What you thought about, with your lips stretched around him and your eyes wet, was how much you liked this.

The fact that you had to work for it. The fact that he’d made you wait, made you ache, made you lay next to him for three nights feeling the absence of his warmth like a wound that wouldn’t close, until your body overrode your pride and carried you across the room, dropping you to the floor in front of him. 

There was something in the degradation of it, the submission of it, the way it felt to need someone so badly that the act of kneeling at their feet and opening your mouth felt less like humiliation and more like relief, like permission to stop pretending you hadn’t been breaking since the car.

──── ୨୧ ────

The driveway was dark, the house lights off, the only sound the tick of the engine cooling under the hood and the crickets in the hills beyond the gate. You were bent over the rear bumper of the Mercedes with your palms flat against the warm metal and your cheek turned to the side. The night air hit the backs of your thighs where his fingers were sliding higher, tracing the edge of bare skin, finding nothing beneath the fabric.

His breath caught.

“You’re not wearing panties.”

It wasn’t a question. It was the broken sound a man makes when he’s just discovered something that’s going to ruin him, his voice stripped of every layer of composure he usually carried. 

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back against him so you could feel him, the hard length of his cock pressing through his jeans against the curve of your ass, hot even through the denim and he rolled his hips once, letting you feel every inch of how hard he was.

“I didn’t think you’d notice.” Your voice came out breathless, wrecked already and he laughed against your ear.

“Didn’t think I’d…” He shook his head, his mouth pressing to the curve of your neck, his breath hot and uneven. “Feel that? Feel what you do to me, baby. You make me feel like a goddamn virgin. Every time... every single time I get this hard for you like I’ve never done this before.”

His hand slid between your thighs from behind, his fingers tracing the slickness already gathered there and he groaned, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Shit... you’re so wet.”

His other hand fumbled with his belt, the buckle clinking and you heard the rustle of fabric as he pushed his jeans down just enough. Then the blunt, hot head of his cock was dragging through the wetness between your legs, sliding along your folds without pushing in, coating himself in it, teasing both of you. Your hips pushed back involuntarily, chasing him and his hand came down on your hip and held you still.

“Put your knee up... right here on the bumper, baby. Let me get at you.”

You lifted your right knee onto the chrome edge of the bumper, the metal cool against your skin. The position opened you wider, tilting your hips back toward him. He made a sound, a wrecked exhale that stuttered halfway through and his cock pressed against your entrance, the head nudging in just enough to make you gasp, just enough to feel the stretch start and then he stopped. Michael held himself there, not moving an inch. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave a stain.

“I’m so crazy for you... do you know what you do to me? Do you have any idea?”

“Michael…” His name fell out of you like a plea, your voice cracked down the middle and his hips jerked forward involuntarily at the sound of it, the head slipping in just barely before he caught himself and held still again.

Then he pushed in. One slow, deep stroke, his cock sliding into you inch by inch, the stretch burning then blooming into something vast and consuming that made your elbows buckle against the bumper. Your forehead pressed into the metal. A sound fell out of you, something between a moan and a sob and he bottomed out with his hips flush against your ass, his thighs pressing into the backs of yours and his cock so deep inside you that you could feel him in your stomach.

“Oh... oh fuck…” The words barely made it out, muffled against your forearm where you’d buried your face.

He didn’t move. He stayed buried to the hilt, his hands roaming your body with the slow, deliberate exploration of a man mapping terrain he intended to own. One hand slid up to grip your breast through your dress, his palm molding to the shape of you, his thumb circling your nipple through the fabric until it hardened beneath his touch. 

The other hand flattened against your stomach, his palm pressing low, just above where his cock was splitting you open and he held his hand there, feeling himself inside you through the thin barrier of skin.

“You’d make such a... beautiful mama.”

The words landed in your chest like a stone dropped in still water, ripples spreading outward through your ribs and something in your lower belly clenched around him so tight that his breath stuttered and his hips jerked involuntarily, a shallow thrust that punched a moan out of both of you. 

He laughed, low and breathless, his mouth pressed to the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the sweat-damp skin there.

“You liked that, didn’t you? You liked hearing that.”

“Don’t…” You started, but you couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t know what you were going to say. Don’t stop, don’t say that, don’t make me want that. Your hips pressed back into him and whatever protest you’d been forming dissolved into a moan that vibrated through your entire body, your pussy tightening around him involuntarily and his groan in response was ragged, almost pained.

He started to move. Slow at first, long, deliberate strokes that withdrew until only the head remained inside before sliding back in with a patience that bordered on cruelty. Each thrust angled deep, dragging against that spot inside you with a precision that made your vision fracture at the edges, your breath coming apart in ragged, uneven pulls. 

His hand moved from your breast to the small of your back, pressing you down into the bumper, holding you at the angle he wanted, the angle that let him hit exactly where he was aiming. The pressure of his palm against your spine sent shivers cascading through your entire body.

“Today’s your day, baby... your special day. You know that?”

His voice was low, spoken against the shell of your ear with the quiet certainty of someone sharing a secret. The words sank into you without landing, your brain too fractured by the devastating drag of his cock to process what he meant. His hips rolled forward, deep, deliberate, and your fingers scrabbled against the bumper for something to hold onto, your nails scraping the paint.

“I can feel it. I can always feel it when it’s your time. You get tighter... softer inside. Like your body knows, baby... like it’s ready for me."

His hand moved from the small of your back to your hip, gripping hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there as he pulled you back to meet each thrust with a rhythm that was slow enough to be torturous and deep enough to make your thighs tremble against the backs of his. 

You could feel every ridge of him, every vein, the way he swelled slightly at the base, the way the head of his cock caught on that spot inside you with each withdrawal before pressing back over it on the next stroke, a relentless, calculated repetition that was building something vast and terrifying at the base of your spine.

“Oh god…” You pressed your face into your forearm, your teeth catching the skin there, biting down to muffle the sounds that were climbing out of your throat with each thrust.

His pace didn’t change, that was the cruelty of it. He kept that same slow, devastating rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with the methodical patience of a man who had all night, who wasn’t rushing, who wanted to feel every second of this.

His hand moved from your hip to between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit with a familiarity that made your whole body jolt, like he knew exactly where it was without looking, like he’d memorised the map of you.

“You’re so close, baby... I can feel it. I can feel how tight you’re getting.”

His fingers worked in tight circles, matching the rhythm of his cock, the dual sensation building on itself in waves that grew higher each time, but pulled back before you could fall over the edge. You were sobbing now, your forehead pressed against the bumper, your hips pushing back against him with a desperation that had nothing to do with technique or rhythm, just the need to be filled, to be taken, to be broken open.

“Please…” You didn’t recognise your own voice, desperate and barely audible over the sound of his hips against yours. “Please, Michael, I want it... I want it so bad…”

“I know you do, baby. I know... but I want to feel you first. I need to feel how bad you want this.”

His fingers pressed harder on your clit, the circles tightening and his cock drove deeper, the slow rhythm finally giving way to something harder, more urgent, his hips snapping forward with enough force to push you into the bumper, the metal creaking beneath your hands. 

The dual sensation was annihilating, his cock hitting that spot inside you while his fingers worked your clit with a precision that made your sight darken at the edges, your breath coming in short gasps that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

“I’m gonna fill you up tonight, baby... I’m gonna cum so deep inside you.”

“Please... oh god, please…”

“Look at me.” His voice was low, wrecked, barely holding together, but the command in it was undeniable. “C’mon turn your head, baby. Look at me while you cum.”

You turned your head, your cheek pressing against the warm metal of the bumper. He was right there, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and blown wide. His composure was fracturing in real time, the controlled rhythm falling apart into something raw and desperate, his hips driving into you with a force that pushed you up the bumper with each thrust.

The sight of him, the undone look in his eyes and the way his jaw was clenched tight against the sounds climbing out of his throat, pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm hit like a rupture, a white-hot wave that started at the base of your spine and crashed through your entire body with a force that stole your breath. You clenched around him in rhythmic, desperate pulses that made his composure shatter completely. 

His hips stuttered and his rhythm broke, his hand on your clit faltering as the sensation of you tightening around him pulled a sound from his chest.

“That’s it... that’s my girl. Give it to me. Give me everything.”

He fucked you through it, his strokes growing erratic, his groans falling against the back of your neck in hot, uneven bursts. The aftershocks were still rolling through you, each one pulling a fresh moan from your throat, your body clenching around him in waves that seemed to go on forever.

He was close, you could feel it in the way his cock swelled inside you, the way his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, the way his breath came in short gasps against your shoulder.

He came with his cock buried as deep as it could go, his hips pressed flush against you, his body going rigid from head to toe. You felt the hot pulse of him inside you, each throb accompanied by a groan that shook through his chest into your back, his hands gripping your hips so hard you’d see the fingerprints tomorrow. He pulsed inside you for what felt like minutes, his cock jerking with each wave, his cum filling you in hot, thick spurts that you could feel flooding the deepest part of you.

“Oh god... oh god, baby…”

He stayed inside you and pressed his forehead between your shoulder blades, his breath ragged and hot against your skin. His cock softened slowly but he didn’t pull out. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach again, pressing low, holding himself there.

Then his fingers moved.

He reached between your legs with his other hand, not to clean you up, but to where his cock was still nestled inside you. His fingers gathered the wetness that was leaking out around him, his own cum mixing with yours and he pushed it back in. 

His fingers slid alongside his softening cock, pressing his cum deeper into you, curling gently, making sure it stayed. He scooped more, his fingers working with a methodical patience that felt almost ritualistic, each stroke pressing another drop back inside, his other hand staying on your stomach, pressing down, holding everything in place.

“Look what I did to you, baby... look at that.” He groaned, his voice almost tender.

His fingers worked methodically, pushing every drop back inside and his hand stayed on your stomach like he was trying to hold something in place through sheer force of will. He pressed a kiss to the base of your spine, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“Stay right there for me... don’t move yet, just... stay like this for me.”

“I’m not moving.” Your voice was barely a whisper, your cheek pressed to the warm metal of the bumper as your body trembled with aftershocks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kept his fingers inside you for a long time. Long enough for his cum to stop leaking and for the wetness between your thighs to cool. 

His hand on your stomach stayed pressed low, his palm warm against your skin and you could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying in the gentle, possessive pressure of his fingers.

You knew about the pill. He knew about the pill. You’d been on it since before you started sleeping together and he knew that, but had never once questioned it, had never brought it up and yet here he was with his fingers inside you, scooping his own cum back into your body with the careful attention of someone performing a ritual they believed in more than logic and the small pill packet in your bathroom cabinet that made all of this pointless.

“Michael... you know I’m on the pill, right?” You spoke, your voice quiet, almost careful. You were testing something you didn’t have words for.

“I know.” He responded, but his fingers didn’t stop. His voice was steady, absent, like the fact was irrelevant. “I know that, baby.”

He didn’t explain because didn’t need to. The way his hand remained pressed to your stomach, the way his fingers kept working, gentle and thorough, said everything his mouth wouldn’t.

His fingers slipped out of you and he pulled his boxers and jeans back up, then straightened your dress, smoothing the fabric down over your thighs, his hands lingering on the curves of your hips, his touch possessive even in its softness. 

He helped you off the bumper, one hand on your elbow, the other on your waist and he looked at you in the dark, his eyes catching the faint glow from the distant house lights. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

“You good, baby?”

“Yeah…” You exhaled shakily, your hand finding his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m really good.”

You were better than good. You were full of him, still feeling the warmth of him inside you and the impossible tenderness of a man who had just fucked you over the hood of his car and then spent two minutes making sure his cum stayed where he put it. 

You leaned into him, your forehead against his chest and his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head.

He held you like that for a long time. Long enough for the night air to cool the sweat on your skin and for the driveway to feel like a private world, just the two of you in the dark.

You didn’t think about the notebook. You didn’t think about the way he’d said today’s your day with the casual certainty of someone who’d been counting, or the way his hand had pressed against your stomach like he was holding something in place, or the way his voice had cracked when he said you’d make such a beautiful mama like it was something he’d been thinking about for a long time and finally let slip.

──── ୨୧ ────

Before you knew it, it was your birth control.

You noticed it on a Tuesday morning, standing at the bathroom counter in one of Michael’s old shirts, the cotton hanging past your thighs. You reached for it out of habit, the muscle memory of six years of the same motion, pushing the foil through from the back, catching the small white disc between your finger and thumb.

You held it on your tongue for a moment. The familiar bitterness sat there, waiting to be swallowed.

You looked at the packet. The rows of pills, four weeks, twenty eight days, each one stamped with a day of the week. You looked at the small white disc on your tongue before your eyes dropped to the sink.

You spat it out.

It landed in the basin with a soft, wet sound. You turned the faucet on and watched it dissolve as the water carried it down the drain in a milky swirl. You stood there with the taste of it fading on your tongue, your hands braced on the edge of the counter, your heartbeat slow against your chest.

You’d been thinking about it for days, since the night you’d opened the drawer in the bedroom and found the small leather planner with your initials on the first page. Cycle days, ovulation windows, dates spanning months, stretching back before you’d even realised he was paying attention. Before you’d realised anyone was paying attention to something like that, something so intimate and quietly possessive that it made your stomach ache when you understood what it meant.

You thought about the car. The hood warm under your thighs, his hand pressed low on your stomach, his voice saying today’s your day with the certainty of someone who’d been counting. 

You thought about the way he’d said I know when you mentioned the pill, his fingers not stopping, his voice steady, like the fact was irrelevant. 

You thought about every time since then, the way he moved inside you on certain days, deeper, more deliberate, the way he held your hips still afterwards, the way his hand pressed against your lower belly like he was keeping something in.

He’d been studying you, learning the architecture of your body with the same patience he gave to everything he wanted and you’d only just noticed. You’d only just started paying attention to the days, to the pattern, to the way his rhythm changed when the notebook said it mattered.

Your thighs pressed together. The warmth spreading downward, slow and deliberate, pooling low in your stomach. You looked at the packet again before picking it up and you turned it over in your hands, running your thumb across the foil backing.

He knew your cycle better than you did. He’d been finishing inside you on your supposed fertile days with the quiet focus of someone executing a plan and you’d let him. You’d spread your legs for it, arched your back for it, begged for it without knowing why it felt different on those days, why it felt more urgent, more like something being done to you rather than with you.

Now you knew.

You opened the packet and looked at the remaining pills. Tomorrow’s. Thursday’s. Friday’s. The whole rest of the month, lined up in their neat little rows, waiting for you to take them.

You closed the packet and set it on the counter.

You didn’t put it back in the drawer.

You went back to bed. Michael was still sleeping, his face buried in the pillow, one arm stretched across the sheets where you’d been laying. You slid in beside him, your back to his chest, his arm coming around you automatically. He pulled you close, his hand settling on your stomach in the same spot with the same pressure, like even in sleep his body knew where to hold you.

The spot where he wanted to put something.

Your eyes closed with your thighs still pressed together. You could feel the warmth between them, that insistent pulse of something that wasn’t going to go away. You thought about the way he’d held your hips still on ovulation days, the way he’d pressed into you deeper, the way he’d stayed there after.

He’d been trying, quietly and patiently without asking, because asking would have given you the chance to say no.

And now you weren’t going to say no, you weren’t going to say anything at all. You were going to let the pills sit in the bathroom, untouched and you were going to let him keep doing what he’d been doing whilst you stopped pretending you didn’t know what it meant.

You pressed back into him, fitting yourself against his chest, his arm tightening around your waist. 

You didn’t think about the pill. You thought about what would happen without it and a twisted part of you liked it.

────୨ৎ────

The public thing started at a dinner party in the hills and became a pattern after that.

You didn’t remember whose house it was. What you did remember was the murmur of twelve people talking over wine and his hand on your knee beneath the tablecloth. That slow, patient climb of his fingers beneath your skirt. The way you kept your face perfectly still while his fingertips traced the edge of your underwear, sliding underneath, finding you already wet from twenty minutes of anticipation you couldn’t show anyone. 

You remember the casual excuse he made with the smile that put a room at ease. 

You remember the hallway and bathroom at the far end. His hand over your mouth, his cock inside you before the lock finished clicking. Someone knocking. His voice through the door, steady and betraying nothing while his hips were pressed flush against yours.

You remember finishing against him whilst his cum flooded into you in thick, slow pulses, his groan muffled against your neck. Then his hand on the small of your back as he led you back to the table, your legs shaking beneath your skirt, his cum already warm and spreading inside you. Someone handed you a slice of chocolate cake and you picked up your fork.

That was the first time.

After that, it happened at a charity gala, his fingers working you to the edge during the silent auction while a woman talked to you about her foundation.

After that, a listening party for an album that wasn’t his, his hand up your dress in a back corridor while music pulsed through the walls.

Then, the Grammys afterparty, his fingers sliding into you in a coat closet while cameras flashed thirty feet away, his mouth on your neck, your orgasm muffled against his shoulder. Him straightening your dress, smoothing your hair, walking you back out with his hand on the small of your back like nothing had happened.

Each time, he finished inside you and you’d go back to wherever you’d been, a table, a crowd, a room full of strangers, with his cum inside your underwear, pressing your thighs together under your skirt while you smiled and made conversation in an attempt to pretend your legs weren’t shaking.

There was one night you thought about more than the others. An event at Hayvenhurst, some industry thing with too many people in the living room.

He’d taken you upstairs between courses, fucked you slowly against the bedroom door with his hand cradling the back of your head so it wouldn’t hit the wood. He took his time because he always did at home. 

When he finished, he pulled out with the kind of care that made your chest ache before tucking himself back in and kissing your forehead. You went back downstairs in a white dress with no underwear because he’d pocketed them, grinning at you from across the room for the rest of the night while you sat on a velvet couch with your knees pressed together, his cum slowly seeping into the fabric beneath you.

He waved at you once, from across the room and smiled before taking a sip of his drink. You smiled back.

You were learning the shape of it. Not just the sex, not just the thrill, but the architecture of what he was building. The way the control lived inside tenderness. The way the public and the private were collapsing into each other, until you couldn’t tell which version of him was real. The man who cradled your head against the door, or the one who put his cum in your underwear and sent you back to a party.

You thought about the notebook, the tracked dates, the fact you’d stopped taking the pill.

Then his hand was on your knee again and you weren’t thinking about anything at all.

────୨ৎ────

It happened the way things always happened with him. Slowly, then all at once, then so gradually you couldn’t point to the moment it became permanent.

Your apartment lease lapsed. You found out after the fact, a forwarded letter from your landlord you opened at Hayvenhurst over breakfast. Michael didn’t look up from his coffee when you mentioned it. He just said you don’t need it, baby, soft and obvious, the way someone says the sky is blue. You put the letter in the kitchen trash and forgot about it by noon.

Jennifer stopped calling. Not because anything happened, but because you stopped being available for brunch, then for weeknight dinners, then for the Sunday calls that used to stretch past midnight. 

You’d pick up the phone and Michael’s hand would find your knee under the table, his thumb tracing a slow circle, his eyes on the television, his mouth doing nothing in particular. You’d tell her you’d call back. You wouldn’t. Eventually she stopped dialing and you didn’t notice the silence where her voice used to be.

Your manager started calling Hayvenhurst instead of your old number and Michael took the messages. He relayed them at dinner, paraphrased, sometimes days later. He told you which meetings mattered and which ones didn’t and he was always right. That was the worst part. He was always right.

He ordered for you at restaurants. Not every time, but often enough that you stopped looking at the menu, stopped caring what arrived, started trusting the food that appeared in front of you because he knew what you liked better than you did. 

He spoke for you at events, fielded questions with his hand on the small of your back, his answers so smooth and complete that you didn’t need to add anything. You stood beside him and smiled, letting the warmth of his palm on your spine say I’m here, I’m his, I’m fine.

Your world didn’t shrink, but it narrowed, like a lens finding focus. Everything that wasn’t him blurred at the edges until you couldn’t see it anymore.

You didn’t notice when it happened, that was the thing. You never noticed because it was already done before you thought to look.

────୨ৎ────

The mirror was in the bedroom, mounted on the wall beside the closet, taller than you, framed in dark wood that caught the lamplight in uneven strips. You’d looked into it a thousand times whilst buttoning your blouse, adjusting your earrings. It was furniture, it was nothing, until he positioned you in front of it.

His hands were on your hips, turning you gently, guiding you until you were facing the glass and he was behind you. You could see both of you in the reflection, his chest against your back, his chin above your shoulder, the dark line of his eyes watching you watch him. His hands slid from your hips to your waist, fingers pressing in, holding you still.

The cabinet was below the mirror, the surface cluttered. You put your hands on it, fingers curling over the edge, your knuckles white against the wood. The surface was cool under your palms.

Michael pressed against you from behind. You could feel him, the length of him, the pressure as he lined himself up. He held you there as he breathed against your neck, his fingers digging into your waist. His eyes locked onto yours in the glass, waiting. He was always waiting now, always giving you the space to say something, to stop it, to pretend you hadn’t already made every decision that led to this moment.

You watched yourself in the mirror. Your face flushed, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling in pulls. His hands were on your body, cladding your skin, his mouth close to your ear. He looked like he owned you and you looked like you wanted him to.

“I stopped taking it.”

Your voice came out quiet, not as an announcement, but something smaller, something that had been sitting behind your teeth for weeks, months, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

The words hung in the air between your mouth and the glass, and you watched them land on his face in the reflection. His expression didn’t falter and his breath didn’t catch.

He already knew.

Of course he knew. He’d known before you’d decided. He’d been tracking the days, the numbers, the windows in his notebook and when you’d stopped swallowing the pills, spitting them into the sink, watching them dissolve under the faucet, he hadn’t needed to see it to feel the shift in you. He’d known the way he always knew. 

He pressed his mouth to your shoulder, warm and deliberate, his lips flat against your skin. His breath held and then released in a slow stream that raised goosebumps along your arm before he pushed forward.

You felt him enter you. A single, fluid motion that filled you completely, his hips flush against your body, his hands sliding from your waist to your stomach, holding you against him. You watched yourself take him, how your mouth hung open, watched your fingers whiten against the cabinet edge, watched his hands on your belly like he was holding something in place.

He didn’t move, he simply stayed buried inside you, his chest rising and falling against your back, his mouth still pressed to your shoulder. 

You had never loved anything more in your life.

Not the way you loved him. Not this. Not the fullness, the weight of his hands, the knowledge of what he was doing and why and how long he’d been planning it. You loved the notebook and the pills dissolving in the sink, the way he’d never once asked permission because he’d never needed to. You loved the cage he’d built around you, the beautiful, airless cage that smelled like his skin and the sheets you slept in every night.

You knew what it was. You knew it was toxic and irreversible, the kind of love that hollows you out and fills the space with itself until you can’t remember what you were before it started. You knew. You watched yourself know it in the mirror, your face open and flushed his body moving behind you now, deep inside of you. 

You couldn’t stop and you didn’t want to.

[king-mila]

♡ — destiny

pairings: the jacksons era!michael x fan female!reader

summary: you and your best friend have tickets to see the jacksons on the destiny tour, and you bring a gift for michael, not sure if you'll be able to give it to him, but just in case. not only do you give it to him, but he gives you a surprise as well. themes: fluff, meet-cute, kissing, more fluff, no use of y/n authors note: a request from my wattpad, and reposted from my wattpad & ao3.

1979 los angeles

You couldn't believe it. Tonight was the night you'd be attending the Destiny World Tour for The Jacksons. Your mom had gotten you tickets as an early Christmas present since their tour didn't come back to California until December, and the second she handed you the envelope weeks ago, you had screamed so loudly your little brother thought something terrible had happened. You were going with your best friend, who was also a huge fan of The Jacksons, and for the last month, the two of you had done almost nothing except talk about the concert.

But everyone who knew you knew that your favorite was Michael.

You had every one of his solo Motown albums stacked carefully beside your record player, and ever since Off The Wall was released a few months ago, the vinyl practically never left your turntable. The album had become the soundtrack to your apartment lately, filling every quiet moment with something warm and alive, and right now, "I Can't Help It" drifted softly through your bedroom while you got ready in front of your vanity mirror.

Your friend would be picking you up soon, but you refused to rush through any part of tonight. The two of you had front row seats, actual front row seats, close enough for the boys to see your faces clearly, and even though you tried to tell yourself you weren't dressing up specifically for Michael Jackson to notice you... You absolutely were.

Steam still lingered faintly in your room from your shower as you moved carefully through your routine, taking your time rubbing lotion into your skin before smoothing body oil over your legs and collarbones until they caught the warm glow of your bedroom lamp. A sweet perfume followed after, settling against your pulse points while Off The Wall continued spinning softly in the background.

Then came the dress. The champagne-colored fabric shimmered every time you moved, delicate beadwork catching the light like scattered diamonds across the soft material. The deep neckline and loose, flowing sleeves gave it an effortless glamour, and when you stepped back to look at yourself in the mirror, the dress moved around your body like liquid gold.

Your hair took the longest.

You carefully curled it away from your face before pinning part of it back beneath a silky satin scarf tied around your head in a soft wrap, the warm brown fabric complementing your skin beautifully while loose curls framed your face and fell down your shoulders. The look felt glamorous without trying too hard, polished but soft, and by the time you finished your makeup with glossy lips and shimmering eyeshadow, you finally allowed yourself to grin at your reflection.

Maybe Michael Jackson would notice you tonight. The thought immediately made your stomach flip.

Right as you finished putting on your earrings, there was a knock at the door. You hurried to answer it, and the second you opened the door, both you and your best friend broke into excited smiles at the sight of each other already dressed for the night.

"Girl, you look good. No way Michael doesn't notice you," she says, and heat instantly rushes into your cheeks.

She looked gorgeous too, dressed in a fitted jumpsuit with her hair feathered perfectly, but unlike you, her attention had always been firmly on Jackie. She'd had a thing for older men for as long as you'd known her, and despite both of you being the same age as Michael, twenty-one years old and convinced adulthood meant you had your lives together when neither of you actually did, she swore Jackie Jackson was the finest man alive.

The one thing the two of you did agree on, though, was that behind your favorite Jacksons, you both shared the same second-favorite brother: Marlon.

"And if Jackie wasn't already married, maybe you'd have a chance," you tease, and she gasps dramatically before both of you dissolve into laughter loud enough for your downstairs neighbor to probably hear.

"You grab the gift you wanted to hopefully give to Michael?" she asks, and your eyes widen immediately.

"Oh, my God." You spin around and run back toward your room before she can even finish laughing at you. Your heart pounds while you search your vanity until you finally spot the small wrapped book sitting beside your lamp, and relief floods through you as you grab it carefully.

You knew it was silly. Realistically, there was almost no chance you'd actually get close enough to hand something directly to Michael Jackson at a sold-out concert full of screaming fans and security guards.

But you wanted to try anyway.

Months ago, during an interview, Michael had mentioned loving classic literature, the way books let him disappear into other worlds whenever life became overwhelming, and for some reason, that answer had stayed with you. So when you'd gone Christmas shopping downtown last week and spotted a beautiful vintage copy of one of your favorite classic novels, you bought it without even thinking twice.

Inside the front cover was a handwritten letter folded carefully between the pages. Nothing crazy or embarrassing. Just something honest. Thanking him for his music and what he gives to the world.  You hoped maybe, if he ever read it, he'd understand that not everyone saw him as just a superstar.

Your best friend smiles knowingly the second she sees the book tucked against your chest as you return to the front door.

"You're so down bad," she says while shaking her head, and you roll your eyes even though she's absolutely right.

The two of you leave your apartment together, your heels clicking against the pavement while the cool December air brushes against your skin. Excitement buzzes through you so intensely it almost feels electric as you slide into her car, and the entire drive to The Forum in Inglewood is spent singing Jackson's songs at the top of your lungs and arguing over which brother was most likely to fall in love with one of you first.

You feel the energy before you even make it inside the venue, the second you step out of the car, it's everywhere.

People flood the parking lot dressed in glitter, platform heels, satin shirts, and leather jackets, their voices blending together into one giant current of excitement pulsing through the night air. Men, women, kids sitting on their parents' shoulders, groups of girls already screaming before the concert even started,  everyone here for one reason.

The Jacksons.

The entire show was sold out, and every flashing marquee and crowded entrance only made it feel more real. Your mom somehow managed to get front row seats for this. Front row. Every time you remembered it, your chest tightened with excitement all over again.

By the time you and your best friend finally push your way through the sea of people and reach your seats, your adrenaline is so high you can barely sit still.

Then the lights go down.

The crowd erupts instantly into deafening screams, and the second the opening notes of "Dancing Machine" hit through the speakers, you and your best friend grab each other at the exact same time, both of you practically jumping in your seats.

And then they appear. The boys explode onto the stage in flashing lights and glittering costumes, and the entire arena loses its mind.

Especially Michael. Pictures and television did absolutely nothing to prepare you for what he was like in person.

He moved like electricity itself had taken human form, every spin and sharp movement effortless, while sweat glistened against his skin beneath the stage lights. His voice cut through the arena smooth and alive, and every time he smiled at the crowd, thousands of girls screamed so loudly the floor beneath your feet almost seemed to vibrate.

Song after song, the boys are incredible, but Michael completely pulls you under without even trying.

The confidence he carried onstage was hypnotizing, so different from the soft-spoken version of him you'd seen in interviews. Here, he was magnetic. Untouchable. All flashing smiles, sharp choreography, and endless energy that seemed to consume the entire room.

You and your best friend are screaming every lyric until your throats burn, dancing so hard your curls are starting to stick to your skin despite the cool December air still lingering faintly inside the arena.

And somewhere halfway through the set, while clutching the small wrapped book tightly against your chest between songs, you catch Michael glancing toward your side of the stage for just a second longer than before.

Long enough for your stomach to completely flip over.

Throughout the night, Michael's eyes kept finding you in the crowd without him even meaning for it to happen. There were thousands of people packed into The Forum tonight, thousands of screaming fans reaching toward the stage beneath flashing lights and clouds of heat rising from the audience, but somehow his attention continuously drifted back to you anyway.

Maybe it was the way your dress shimmered every time you moved, the delicate beadwork catching the stage lights until you practically glowed amongst the crowd, or maybe it was the way you danced so freely, completely immersed in the music instead of trying to fight for his attention like everyone else around you. You looked like you were genuinely enjoying yourself, singing every lyric with your whole chest, smiling so brightly that even from the stage he could see it.

And Michael found himself watching you just as much as he was performing.

Every time he moved toward your side of the stage, his eyes searched for you automatically, and every single time, he found you already looking back at him. Your curls bounced around your shoulders while you danced, the silky scarf tied around your hair staying perfectly in place despite how much you moved, and the second your eyes met his, your smile always widened like you couldn't quite believe this was real either.

By the middle of the show, even his brothers had started noticing, especially Marlon.

Marlon kept smirking every time Michael somehow ended up near your side of the stage again.

Then the opening notes of "I'll Be There" begin, and the energy inside the stadium softens almost instantly. The screaming doesn't stop, but it changes, becoming more emotional as the boys slow their movements onstage. Michael drifts closer toward the edge of the platform while Jackie starts the opening lines, and your breath catches immediately because he's moving directly toward your section.

Toward you.

Your best friend grabs your arm tightly beside you. "What are you doing?" you whisper to her over the noise of the crowd, but she's already nudging you forward excitedly.

"He's coming down here in your direction. Try to go forward," she whispers back before pushing lightly against your shoulder again.

You stare at her like she's completely insane, but when you look back up, Michael is still getting closer, his voice floating beautifully through the arena while his eyes remain fixed on you in a way that makes your stomach twist itself into knots. Even his brothers are starting to glance toward him curiously now, clearly trying to figure out what exactly he's doing.

Then Michael reaches the edge of the stage and gestures for you to come closer. Your heart feels like it completely stopped.

For a second, you can't even move, frozen beneath the overwhelming reality of thousands of people screaming around you while Michael Jackson stands there looking directly at you, waiting for you to come closer to him. Your best friend shoves you lightly again, panic and excitement written all over her face.

"Go!"

You stumble forward instinctively, and before security can fully process what's happening, your best friend suddenly lets out an exaggerated scream behind you, clutching dramatically at her chest like she's about to faint. Several security guards immediately rush toward her, and when you turn back in confusion, she winks at you quickly and motions for you to keep moving.

You almost laugh from disbelief. Instead, you slip past the distraction she created, your pulse pounding violently in your chest while you move closer and closer to the stage until Michael is suddenly right there in front of you.

His brothers smoothly take over the melodies while Michael lowers the microphone slightly away from his mouth, giving himself room to focus completely on you, and the second you're standing directly below him, tears spill down your cheeks before you can stop them. The entire night had already overwhelmed you emotionally, seeing him live, hearing him sing in person, being close enough to actually see the sweat against his skin beneath the stage lights, but now you were standing face-to-face with Michael Jackson while he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You clutch the small book tightly against your chest, and Michael notices immediately.

"Hi, pretty... is that for me?" he asks softly.

His voice is gentler now, almost hidden beneath the music still playing around the arena, and your throat tightens so badly you can only nod your head in response. Michael smiles instantly, warm and beautiful and somehow even more overwhelming up close than he was from the stage.

"How'd you manage to slip past security?" he whispers.

A shaky laugh escapes you despite your nerves. "My best friend gave a pretty good distraction," you admit quietly, and Michael laughs softly under his breath at that. The sound sends warmth flooding through your chest so intensely that it almost makes you dizzy.

Then you notice movement behind you. A few security guards are already starting toward you before Michael casually lifts his hand slightly in their direction, silently stopping them in their tracks.

"Don't worry about them, honey," he says gently, and the pet name alone nearly makes your knees weak.

Michael reaches forward for the gift in your hands, his fingers brushing lightly against yours when he takes the small book from you. Instead of handing it off to someone backstage or passing it to security, he tucks it carefully into the waistband of his pants like it's something important, like it actually matters to him that you brought it.

Then his hand lifts toward your face. Your breathing catches completely the second his palm settles softly against your cheek.

The screaming crowd, the lights, the music, all of it suddenly fades into the background beneath the warmth of his touch. His thumb brushes gently along your cheekbone while he looks at you with an expression so soft it almost doesn't feel real, and your entire body goes still when you realize he's leaning closer toward you.

Your eyes widen slightly before fluttering shut altogether the moment his lips press softly against yours.

The audience absolutely erupts.

Screams explode throughout the stadium so loudly that the floor beneath your feet almost seems to shake, but you barely hear any of it because all you can focus on is Michael kissing you like he momentarily forgot there were thousands of people watching him.

His lips are warm and impossibly soft against yours, and when you kiss him back instinctively, Michael melts deeper into the kiss for a brief second, his hand tightening ever so slightly against your cheek while he gently pulls you closer toward the stage.

The moment only lasts a few seconds, but it feels endless.

When Michael finally pulls away, he's smiling at you so brightly that your chest aches from it while you stand there completely stunned, your lips still tingling from the kiss and your mind struggling to process that this was actually happening.

"You and your friend come backstage after the show, okay? I'll tell security to let you through... what's your name?" he asks softly.

Your heart stutters violently inside your chest. Your voice shakes slightly when you tell him your name, but the second he hears it, Michael's smile somehow widens even more.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl... see you soon, pretty," Michael says with a wink before stepping backward toward center stage again, seamlessly falling back into the performance beside his brothers like he hadn't just completely altered your entire world in front of a sold-out stadium.

You remain frozen there for several seconds afterward, your chest rising and falling too quickly while the crowd around you screams hysterically. Then you feel a gentle hand touch your arm, one of the security guards carefully guiding you back toward your seat, and the second you reach your best friend again, she grabs both of your shoulders so hard you almost lose your balance.

Both of you let out startled little screams at the exact same time, the adrenaline from what just happened still rushing wildly through your systems. "Did he really just kiss you?" she asks breathlessly, staring at you like she can't fully process what she just witnessed.

You nod your head quickly, still looking completely stunned yourself. "And he told us to come backstage too," you say, and her eyes widen so dramatically it nearly makes you laugh despite the fact that your entire body still feels shaky.

"Oh, my god." The two of you spend the rest of the concert in a complete daze after that.

Every song somehow feels even more electric than before, your cheeks aching from how hard you keep smiling while you scream lyrics until your throat burns alongside your best friend. Every time Michael glances toward your side of the stage again, your stomach twists itself into knots all over again, and more than once, you catch Marlon grinning knowingly in Michael's direction whenever he drifts too close to your section.

None of it feels real: not the kiss, not the way he touched your face, and certainly not the fact that Michael Jackson wanted to see you again after the concert was over.

By the time the final song ends and the house lights begin coming back up, the rush inside The Forum feels almost more chaotic than before the show started. Thousands of people pour toward the exits while security moves quickly around the venue, but instead of heading toward the parking lot with everyone else, you and your best friend are escorted backstage by one of the guards Michael spoke to earlier.

The entire walk feels surreal.

Your heels click nervously against the concrete hallways while muffled voices and movement echo throughout the backstage corridors, and every few seconds, you glance at your friend like you need her to confirm this is actually happening.

"He gave them your name," she whispers excitedly for what feels like the tenth time. "Michael Jackson literally gave security your name."

"Stop saying it like that," you whisper back, even though your own heart pounds harder every single time you hear it out loud.

Eventually, the security guard stops in front of one of the dressing rooms and knocks firmly against the door before stepping back. A few seconds later, the door swings open.

And there he is.

Michael's curls are damp with sweat from the show, several strands sticking lightly against his forehead while the gold stage shirt he wore during the concert hangs partially unbuttoned now, exposing glimpses of warm brown skin beneath the fabric. Up close, he looks softer than he did onstage somehow, the overwhelming electricity of performer Michael settling into something gentler now that the concert is over.

Then he sees you standing there, and smiles instantly. "Hi, pretty," he greets you warmly, and heat immediately rushes back into your cheeks all over again.

"Hi, Michael," you say softly. He steps aside to let both of you inside, but when you start moving forward, you notice your best friend staying planted in the hallway instead.

You stop immediately. "What are you doing?" you ask quietly.

"I'm not going to cockblock you, spend some time with him," she whispers back dramatically.

Your eyes widen. "What about you?"

Michael laughs softly from beside the doorway when he overhears the exchange, the sound low and amused as he glances between the two of you. Then his eyes shift toward Bill, who's standing further down the hallway nearby.

"Bill, can you take her to LaToya? I think they'll get along well," Michael says.

Bill nods immediately, and your best friend's face lights up so quickly you almost burst into laughter. "LaToya Jackson?" she mouths silently toward you.

You barely have time to react before she's already walking away beside Bill, shooting you one last look over her shoulder that very clearly says don't screw this up. Then Michael closes the dressing room door gently behind you, and suddenly it's just the two of you.

The quiet feels almost strange after the overwhelming noise of the concert.

For a moment, you simply look around the room while trying to calm your racing heartbeat. The dressing room itself isn't particularly glamorous, not the way you imagined celebrity dressing rooms would look, but it feels lived in after the hours Michael's spent there tonight. Garment bags hang near the wall beside pieces of stage costumes, half-finished drinks sit abandoned near the couch, and the air still smells faintly like sweat, cologne, and stage makeup.

"Do you kiss all your fans and invite them backstage to meet you?" you tease lightly as you walk slowly around the room. Michael's sitting on the couch now, wiping lingering sweat from his brow with a towel, and he chuckles softly before shaking his head.

"No, I don't," he says sincerely. The honesty in his voice makes your heart stutter unexpectedly.

You turn toward him fully then, studying his face carefully while your nerves slowly begin mixing with curiosity. "So, what makes me different?" you ask quietly.

Michael stands from the couch almost immediately after you say it, crossing the room until barely any space remains between the two of you again. Up close, his presence feels almost overwhelming in the softest possible way, all warmth and quiet intensity beneath those deep brown eyes.

"I don't know..." he admits softly. "It was just something I felt when I looked at you. You weren't trying to get attention, you were just enjoying the show... I could tell you felt the music just as deeply as I did."

Your stomach twists at his words, and you bite down lightly against your lip while trying, unsuccessfully, to stop smiling. "So, Mr. Jackson," you tease softly, "what exactly did you intend to happen by inviting me back here?"

This time, Michael's confidence falters a little. He bites his lip shyly before rubbing the back of his neck nervously, suddenly looking much younger and softer than the magnetic performer who had kissed you in front of thousands of people less than an hour ago.

"I was hoping..." He pauses briefly before meeting your eyes again. "Maybe I could have your number and call you sometime?"

Your eyes widen instantly. For a second, you genuinely can't process what he just said. Michael Jackson wanted your phone number. The realization sends warmth rushing through your entire body so quickly you feel almost dizzy from it, and all you can think is that your mother was absolutely never going to believe this story.

"I'm just a random fan who came to a show..." You say softly, still struggling to understand why he was looking at you like this. "You could have anyone you want."

Michael shrugs gently at that before stepping even closer toward you again. "I know," he says quietly. "But I don't want just anybody."

His hand lifts slowly until his palm settles against your cheek once more, and the second his skin touches yours, your breath catches sharply in your throat again. Michael smiles immediately when he hears it, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone while your eyes lift to meet his.

God, those eyes. Warm brown and impossibly soft now that there wasn't a stage separating you from him.

"You're one of the biggest names in the world right now," you whisper, still sounding slightly overwhelmed by the reality of this entire night.

"Let me prove to you I'm not like any other guy, pretty..." Michael says softly. "Because I can't let you leave this venue without knowing that I can see you again." The words settle deep inside your chest instantly, and judging by the way Michael continues looking at you, it's clear he means every single one of them.

"I wrote you a letter... in the book I gave you, I can write my number down at the end," you say softly, and Michael's entire face brightens at that in a way that makes warmth spread through your chest instantly.

Before he even lets you pull away to retrieve the book, he leans forward and kisses you again.

The suddenness of it catches you off guard at first, a soft, surprised sound leaving your throat before you immediately melt into him anyway. Michael's lips move gently against yours, slower this time, like now that the shock of the first kiss has passed, he wants to actually feel you kissing him back. Your hands settle instinctively against his torso, feeling the lingering warmth beneath the thin fabric of his shirt while his thumb brushes softly along your jaw in slow, absentminded movements that make your entire body feel light.

For someone who had just spent the last two hours commanding an arena filled with screaming fans, there was something unexpectedly tender about the way Michael kissed you.

Like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you already.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes linger on your lips for another second before he reluctantly steps back and walks toward the vanity where he'd placed the book earlier. You watch him flip it carefully in his hands before grabbing a pen nearby and returning to you again, his stage jewelry glinting beneath the warm dressing room lights.

"How'd you know I liked classics?" Michael asks as he hands the book back to you.

"I remembered you said it in an interview, and this is one of my favorites," you explain softly.

The answer makes something tighten painfully in Michael's chest.

He knew he didn't really know you. Realistically, you were a girl he'd spotted in the crowd only hours ago, a stranger whose name he'd learned hours earlier, and yet somehow you already felt different from anyone else he'd met in a very long time. There had been something pulling him toward you all night, something magnetic he still couldn't fully explain, but hearing that you remembered a tiny detail from an interview and chose one of your favorite books because of it made his heart stumble hard against his ribs.

Many people listened to him; very few people paid attention to him.

You carefully open the book to the folded letter tucked inside, and Michael's eyes drift over your face while you unfold it gently, smoothing the paper against the cover before adding your number beneath your name where you'd already signed it earlier. The sight alone feels strangely intimate to him, watching you write something so personal into a gift you'd chosen specifically for him.

Once you finish, you slide the letter back into place and hand the book over again. Michael smiles softly before setting it carefully back down on the vanity instead of tossing it aside with the rest of his things.

"I promise I'll call," he says.

There's something earnest in his voice when he says it, something sincere enough that you actually believe him, even though a tiny part of your brain is still struggling to comprehend that Michael Jackson is standing in front of you promising to call you.

You smile a little as you look at him. "I'll hold you to it," you tease, pointing a playful finger toward him.

Michael laughs softly at that, but before you can even react further, his hands suddenly find your waist again, pulling you against him with enough confidence this time that it makes your breath catch sharply in your throat.

Then he kisses you for the third time, and this one feels different. The first kiss had been shocking and impulsive beneath thousands of screaming lights. The second had been softer, slower, almost curious. But this kiss? Now Michael knows the rhythm of your mouth against his, he kisses you like he means to remember it.

There's more emotion behind it now, more certainty in the way his lips move against yours while his hands tighten gently at your waist, and you can feel the growing passion underneath his softness as though he's pouring every unspoken thought into the kiss itself. It almost feels like he's sealing the promise he just made to you with it, silently asking you to believe him when he says he wants to see you again.

Your arms slide around his neck instinctively while you kiss him back, and Michael exhales softly against your lips at the feeling of you holding him closer. For a moment, neither of you seems to want to stop.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are slightly breathless from it, and Michael leans his forehead against yours while trying to steady his breathing. You can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the faint unevenness in his breath, and somehow that affects you almost more than the kisses themselves because it makes him feel real.

Not Michael Jackson, the superstar. Just Michael.

"I'll see you soon, pretty, I promise," he says softly before leaning forward to give you one last gentle peck against your lips.

The night eventually ends with you and your best friend sitting in her car outside your apartment building long after she parked, both of you still too overwhelmed to actually go inside yet.

You recount everything that happened inside Michael's dressing room while she practically vibrates in the driver's seat listening to you, interrupting every few seconds with horrified screaming whenever you mention another detail. Meanwhile, she tells you that being taken to LaToya somehow turned into meeting Jackie too, and despite trying desperately not to act like a complete fangirl in front of him, Jackie apparently found her nervousness adorable.

"You don't understand," she says dramatically. "Jackie Jackson smiled at me."

You burst into laughter before admitting that Michael kissed you two more times after she left the room and asked for your number personally, and the sound she makes afterward is loud enough that someone passing nearby probably thinks something terrible happened.

The two of you eventually make your way upstairs, still giddy with excitement, your ears ringing faintly from the concert and your body exhausted in the best possible way.

Tonight, you saw your favorite band live, and you met them. Michael Jackson kissed you three separate times in one night, and somehow, unbelievably, he still wanted to see you again afterward.

As you lie awake later, staring up at your ceiling with swollen lips and Michael's kisses still lingering like warmth against your skin, one thought keeps replaying over and over in your head, no matter how hard you try to process everything else.

This was the best night of your life.

taglist: @daddysporsche @hawtstreet @neverstreett @humannaturess @ghosteras @0ffth3walll @raefoxiegirl @a-motherfcking-fish @lauren7050 @lestatress @prettygurljo @daddytillerrr @thesecretvaultt @doveduh @mvkas @ooooglymoooogly @immultifandom16 @iwasntreddieforthis

[jermajestysbaby]

MANAGER!READER head cannons !

MANAGER!READER who always make sure there's a two hour block of Jaafar's schedule to be alone with him

MANAGER!READER who left Jaafar's side for a year just to be secretly watched by Jaafar's guards. Giving him updates of your life the whole time you were away.

MANAGER!READER who officially became his mistress after seeing you brought your own date to the Japan premiere.

"I don't want to see that shit again. You're mine" he growled, aggressively kissing you.

MANAGER!READER who walks around wearing proudly the gifts Jaafar presents to her whenever they're alone. Wearing either the new Chanel purse he bought you, or your 'J' anklet causing him to do nothing but smirk.

MANAGER!READER who worries about getting caught while Jaafar has no shame in his doing and makes it known to you too.

You two were in a heated argument in your hotel room, Maddie sleeping down the hall, "We're going to get caught J" you say to him.

"I don't care and you know that. I'll walk out and make it known you're mine off of this balcony right now" He reminds you, looking down at you smirking.

You two were gonna be in some trouble

lovelies 🙈— @niyahctrl @siighrns @youluvyanni @sayyoulovemeziya @loveposiie @swavydadon @szalipcombo @soleantoinette @jermajestyswife08 @fawn4u1nonly @glossyseraphim @plan3tch1ld @maczken @prettygurljo @kisscoqueen @mjsfavoritefish @amoravelee @xoxogossipgirl02 @getmoneygirl @gingerrsnapp

[cermoore]

I Just Wanna Taste You

summary 𑣲 to the first half of sinners that brought us here. Michael wants to eat tf out of you.

𝒻. reader x michael. 𝓳┊thejacksons!era ˚. ᵎᵎ strangers to lovers ⋆.˚ smut ༉‧₊˚. Michael being an eater ⋆˙⟡ reader receiving ⋆.˚ cunnilingus ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ 4,245k wc

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a/n: Dynamic inspired by Sammie x Pearline // 400 follower special!!. 𑣲⋆˙— masterlist

It was 1978 and the Jacksons decided to take a break from touring and head over to Mississippi for a vacation. From the beginning it was Jackie’s idea, suggesting the state to the others — saying it would be a great place to get away from it all. 

Arriving and already settled into the place they’re staying, the Jackson’s head over to town — with Jackie leading them. “Jackie just where are we going exactly?” Tito yelled as they walked as a group. 

“I want you guys to meet a friend of mine, he’ll be our guide to this place” Jackie turned explaining. As they walked and walked, the group noticed a small crowd, huddling and amused by a gentleman who stood on top of a barrel — seemed to be announcing something. 

Jackie’s face lid up, immediately started walking faster towards the crowd — with the other brother following from behind. “Keith! There you are” Jackie yelled, interrupting the man in mid sentence. “Jackie, you’re finally here, you’re all here!” Keith exclaimed. 

“So you’re gonna be our tour guide or what?” Jackie smiled hands on his hips, “That’s what I wrote to you in the letter” Keith responded happily. “Oh, by the way, my friends are hosting this party away from town — nothing fancy, just here for a good time —listening to some good music and some dancing — just announced it to the people here before you interrupted me, you boys down to come with?” 

Marlon and Randy instantly looked at each other with excitement “of course we would" Jackie answered “whoa whoa Jackie, isn’t this supposed to be a tour free vacation?” Tito commented “don’t worry about it, it’s nothing like a tour — we’ll keep it lowkey is all” Jackie made sure.

As the four brothers were busy having their own separate emotions about the party, Michael looked around the crowd that started to scatter slowly. Suddenly, he noticed you were staring at him and his brothers — looking awfully curious. Your beauty was what pulled him in first, your smile — your glowing skin hitting the bright sun. 

Michael smiled to you back, turning to his brothers briefly before walking over to you “so you're interested in going?” Michael asked, "I've never been so close standing next to a jackson member before, especially my favorite one ” you said with amusement not answering the question.

Michael chuckled looking down, forgot how incredibly famous and recognizable he is — couldn’t help but feel a bit flushed. “I was planning on singing there” you added, Michael perked up “oh really?” He smiled showing off his teeth.

“Yeah, but now hearing you guys might come — guess the spotlights already long gone” you joked, Michael laughed, rubbing the back of his neck “c’mon don’t say that — i’m sure you’ll get all the attention, i’ll make sure of it” he ended with a genuine tone.

You raised an eyebrow by Michael’s unintentional sweet talk “we just met” you smirked “plus i have a boyfriend.” Michael’s smile dropped hearing those words “awh– i’m awfully sorry i-i didn’t mean” you giggled by his stammering words “I’m just kidding, anyhow i gotta get going — maybe i’ll see you later at the party” you tilt your head then walking away with a wave. Michael waves back, already infatuated by you, he’s going to that party. 

-

“Ooh — damn you feel that fresh breeze?” Jackie yelled. The Jacksons were now in the rode, with Jackie behind the wheel of a convertible. As the sun started to set, they were heading to the place where the party’s at. 

While Jackie and Tito were up front — trying desperately not to get lost on the road, Michael, Marlon and Randy sit at back. Michael gazes over the wide field seeing the sun dipping — already daydreaming about the girl he just met down the street in town. He was really hoping you’d show up. 

“Man, can’t believe we’re staying here for a whole week” Marlon groaned, his head up high staring at the sky with his eyes shut. “What’s so bad about Mississippi?” Randy questioned.

“It’s not about that, I just already miss her is all — things are getting serious too, finally went down on her” Marlon grins. Randy’s eyes widened while Michael subtly turned his head.

“shit — really? you gotta tell me how” Randy smiled. “Cut it out you two — Marlon keep your mouth shut Randy’s only sixteen” Jackie demanded.

“c’mon i’m turning seventeen soon” randy complains “yeah it might be good for him — worse case scenario he’ll turn out like you” Marlon laughed. “What does that have to do with anything??” Jackie’s brows furrowed. Marlon shrugged “you barely talk about it — which means your girl rarely wants you to do it” he joked.

Jackie scoffed while the rest snickered. “Alright I'll tell you — I'll be straight with it too, but I'll keep it discreet for the sake of the lady upfront” Marlon turns to Randy. As much as Michael dislikes talking about topics like these out in the open, he couldn’t help but keep quiet and eavesdrop on what possible advice Marlon was about to give — just for educational purposes.

“Alright listen, so every woman — once you get down between her legs, got a button on it, towards the top” Randy listened and so did Michael. “And if you want to keep a woman, you find it —lick that, not too soft — not too hard either. Just like eating ice cream ‘bout the same pressure you put on that” he continued with a smirk.

As Randy looked astounded by this new piece of information, Michael on the other hand stared at the distance, he didn’t know why he wanted to hear it in the first place — acting like he’ll do anything like that tonight.

The sun was long gone, everything was pitch black in the middle of nowhere, the only thing a person could see out in the distance — is the lit up barn cradled with light bulbs.

Almost everyone from town brought their friends over to the place, with a bodyguard guarding the door, all kinds of food and drinks. This place might as well be a new permanent establishment for the community.

The Jacksons were all scattered around, Jackie with Keith talking to others, Marlon and Tito were at the bar sitting and talking, and Michael amusingly watched Randy try and pick up some ladies twice his age from a short distance.

So far all the girls he talked to had only said the same things — him being absolutely talented and adorable, and walking away with shared giggles. Michael chuckled seeing how confused his younger brother was being on why none of them had seriously “swooned” over him yet.

“Any progress?” Michael walked over with a smile “i don’t get it, i basically did the same exact things you guys do when talking to girls — but none of ‘em did anything close to how the girls would react to you guys” Randy rubbed his hands onto his jeans.

“Maybe they just haven’t figured it out, you're about to turn twenty one in a couple of months” Michael joked “oh shut up” Randy slapped the back of his hand to Michael's chest. 

As Michael laughed satisfyingly, he soon stopped once he saw you just by the entrance talking to the bodyguard — thanking him for letting you in. “H-hey i’ll talk to you later Randy — you keep trying kay” Michael walked off. 

“Hey you made it, remember me?” Michael trying to keep his excitement from showing, your eyes lit up seeing him again — you instantly grew a smile. “Michael Jackson?— wouldn’t that question make more sense if I said it?” you joked. 

You both laughed, with Michael feeling slightly embarrassed “sorry — I'm just happy you’re here.” You smiled widely seeing Michael all bashful “well why are we still here just standing? c’mon” You grabbed Michael’s hand — pulling him to the crowd.

Hearing the music flow, you and Michael immediately got into the groove — you finally got to see Michael, the so-called “skinniest Jackson” dance right next to you, his raw talent never misses, of course it’s fun trying to keep up with his energy. 

“So you and your brothers gonna perform later?” you yelled through the music “you still gonna sing?” Michael yelled back. You playfully shrugged, walking a few footsteps closer to him “we’ll see where the night takes us” you smiled, Michael looking awfully joyous, took your hand and twirled you around, you let out a loud laugh.

–

“Alright everyone — that was amazing" the party host spoke to the mic the crowd cheered, and applauded. “you’d think things don’t get any better than this huh? Well, a friend told me — that we might have a special guest” As the crowd sounded amused, the Jackson brothers assembled near back stage 

"I gotta go okay, let’s see where the night takes us” Michael trailed off, hanging into your hand and letting go dramatically, you smiled with utter amazement — watching Michael go.

“Please welcome the Jacksons!” the host yelled, the crowd screamed clapping their hands excitedly waiting for them to set foot onto the wooden stage. “Alright boys — remember this is not a tour — these people, including us, are only lookin’ for a good time” Jackie reminded as they held their instruments and mics.

As the boys finally stepped foot onto the stage the crowd cheered even louder. You stand in the middle of it all — paying attention to the whole group, especially Michael. 

The first song they played was I Want You Back, making the whole crowd cheer and dance — begging for them to do an encore. Next up was Dancing Machine, which of course — means Michael was about to pull his infamous robot solo. 

You stand with the crowd — dancing along, seeing Michael effortlessly move — with his natural talent and angelic voice, you subtly bit your bottom lip, cracking a wide grin, swaying your body and hips up and down feeling the music. 

The way he’s so passionate at what he does, giving it his all — you were infatuated with him. Your eyes simply ignored everyone in the room but him.

After that last beat hit, with a brief silence from the crowd, everybody including you applauded. The boys bowed down,then stepped out off stage with an enthusiastic wave. Michael’s first instinct was to immediately run towards you, as you got close you embraced a hug.

“Michael that was incredible, everyone loves you” you said over to his shoulder, “trust me just you wait — the crowds gonna be loving you next” Michael looks at you with eyes full of light. You could see how absolutely worn out he looked, every part of his skin that was exposed, glistening with sweat, his chest was also heaving.

A pause seemed to linger between the two of you before a sudden burst of keys from the piano startled you both. You looked to see who was on stage and it seemed like the crowd was already moving on to a new song, the people continued to dance to the rhythm — acting like there’s no tomorrow.

“Well looks like it’s gonna be awhile for me to go on stage, let’s get out of here” you smiled, pulling Michael’s hand once again. You ran through the crowd and ended up finding a storage room in the far corner of the place — opening the door and heading inside.

You were absolutely giddy as you walked in, feeling the adrenaline in you — fixing up your hair and dress, Michael still had a pure smile on his face as he walked inside, immediately shutting the door. “Man it is hot in here” you point out, your exposed collarbone was shining with sweat.

“Michael I never seen the Jacksons perform this up close before, you were amazing” you hold both his hands, “you really think so? We didn’t see it as one of our tours so we sort of let loose with it — it’s not as perfect as it should’ve been” Michael tilted his head, with a shy smile.

“Are you kidding me? Michael — when I saw you at that stage, I could feel how passionate you were, the way you sing and dance, it was perfect to me at least” you complimented full heartedly. Michael looked down, the smile on his face grew wider and wider, he could feel his cheeks turning deep red, he was absolutely flustered by your showered compliments.

“You know I’m having a really good time here with you… I’m glad that we met” Michael looks at you, pulling your hold hands closer to his with a tighter grip. Your eyes gazed at his — appreciating how big and angel-like they were.  “I feel the same way…” you replied.

The same pause from earlier lingered, the only difference was — nothing was interrupted this time. Staring at Michael’s eyes, you slowly looked lower to his lips, you felt the muffled music in the background expressing how you feel towards Michael. Genuine interest, curiosity, pure fiery love. (mound bayou proper black folks plays in the background)

You felt the music possessed you as you leaned in with your eyes shut — pressing your lips against his softly. The minute Michael felt your lips against his, he didn’t want to waste a second on it, his hand caressed your face —  his other still holding onto your hand tightly.

Your one free hand cling onto Michael’s as it holds your face, you melt into his touch. The heated moment made Michael slam his back behind the door, your kiss became more passionate and deep, Michael’s hand slithered down to your waist, pulling you close to him — not ever letting go.

You slipped in your tongue, what was once a soft gentle kiss, soon turned into something hungry. Not long after Michael let his tongue dance with yours, the kiss became sloppier by the minute. “..is the door locked…?” You murmured into his lips, Michael used his one hand — fidgeting with the door knob and locking it “ It is now…” he replied. 

Starting to move your lips, you began kissing Michael's jaw, letting it graze into his skin. You could taste the salty sweat all over his face, but you didn’t care. Going lower you gave small pecks on his neck, Michael looked up to the ceiling feeling astounded, he exhaled a sigh, his one hand cradling the back of your head encouraging.

You moved back to face him, giggling at his satisfied face “enjoying yourself?” you grin. Michael looks down to you, realizing how obvious his face of ecstasy was, he chuckles then shuts you up with another kiss.

The kiss felt resolutely warm and touching, you walked a couple steps backwards until you felt a table hit your rear end, naturally — you sat down with Michael carefully, had his hands on your hips to position you comfortably, without breaking the kiss.

Michael had his one hand holding your jaw, without any force or pressure on it — but instead gently guided you. You two finally parted — leaving a thin string of saliva across your lips, you both panted by the driven heat. “You’re a good kisser” you complimented, “really…?” You nodded your head with a hum.

Michael stared at you, observing your eyes — they were anticipating, waiting for what’s about to happen next. Then, an early conversation briefly flashed through Michael’s mind. “I finally went down on her” those words alone from Marlon, struck an idea. Michael paused for a minute, whether or not he should do it now, or even if he’s ready at all.

You noticed Michael’s expression looked like he’d zoned out, with the pause lingering longer than expected “…Michael?” You gently called out his name. It snapped him immediately — blinking a couple times before telling himself, fuck it “I wanna try something…”

After saying those words, you looked curious. Michael then all of the sudden sank quietly to his knees — his eyes staring at the end of your dress, your eyes quickly widened — already clicking what he wanted to try. “A-are you sure” you stuttered — grabbing his hand, he lifted his head catching your eyes “…yeah, is it okay with you…?” He asked.

You swallowed your breath, feeling a lot hotter than before “mhm…” you nod, Michael smiled — wasting no time lifting your dress up. “Wait! — Michael let me wash up first, I walked here” you smiled, stopping him again.

“Please… you’re beautiful, I just wanna taste you” Michael looked up at you, saying those words with such sincerity and need. Your lips parted looking at him with absolute awe, you then scooted a bit closer to the edge of the table — making it easier for him.

Michael continued lifting your dress, his hands dipped inside — feeling up your smooth legs, he then felt your panties, slowly pulling them down to your feet. After putting them next to you on the table — Michael buried his head under your dress, you were extremely nervous but also excited.

“So every woman — once you get down between her legs, got a button on it, towards the top” Marlon’s introduction ran through Michael’s mind as he moved, wanting to make this experience perfect for you. “And if you want to keep a woman, you find it —lick that” finding your clit, Michael stuck out his tongue — licking a strip “not too soft — not too hard either.” 

As you felt Michael’s tongue, you let out a moan “oh… shit…” you lay down your upper body, till you felt your head resting on top of some folded piles of sack cloth. “Just like eating ice cream” Michael followed those words to the bone, once he heard your first moan — he kept going. Lapping his tongue onto your clit with a faster pace.

Your breaths became more hitched, feeling the astonishing pleasure Michael was giving you. Your one hand found itself clinging onto the shelf right beside, you felt your noises becoming louder and louder, matching the level as the crowd just right outside.

Meanwhile, Marlon had himself holding onto two glasses of drinks, walking around in search of Michael. “Michael! Man where are you” he yelled but was unfortunately drowned out by the crowd's noise. 

He then reached the corner of the place, finding the storage door — thinking he should check inside. Holding onto both of the glasses by their handle with his one hand, to try and open the knob with the other, it was suspiciously locked.

Marlon’s brows furrowed confused. He reached over his ear, pressing it against the wooden door to see if he’ll hear anything. “…Michael—“ Other than hearing the heavy breathing from woman, his eyes widened hearing Michael’s name being moaned out with such a pleasurable tone.

Marlon grinned, letting out a chuckle “Guess Michael found the button” he joked to himself, “Marlon, Tito’s calling you!” Randy walked up “hey Randy, check out our brother Michael” Marlon smirked as he walked away. Randy looked back to his older brother, confused on what he meant by that. He crept his ear to the door, carefully listening.

“..You taste so’good baby…” Michael whined. Randy was full on shocked hearing those words come out of his brother's mouth, he smiled widely — easily impressed then walking away but still had his eyes on the door.

Back to you, you felt incredibly overwhelmed — you felt your body becoming more and more heated by the second. Your legs instinctively started to close in, trapping Michael between your thighs, Michael’s big hands then wrapped its way to both your legs — parting them wide. From it being dangled onto his shoulders, to now hanging on the edge of the table spread out.

“…Michael — please, ah” you moaned out words not forming full sentences — just letting anything slip out of your lips. “Keep your legs open fer’me baby…” Michael murmured, his voice vibrating on your pussy with his hands gripping onto your thighs — stopping you from closing them. 

“t’s too much Michael… I’m gonna — I’m so…” you blabbered. Hearing your trembled voice was a new accomplishment for Michael, it felt like his own personal audience — cheering him on his performance. He flicked his tongue over and over, that’s what really sets you off, your mouth gap open — having delayed sounds coming out of them.

“Almost there… almost” you yelled eyebrows scrunched, reaching to your orgasm, you occasionally buck your hips up — needing more. Michael buried his head even deeper, wanting you to scream out his name. 

Then finally, as the crowd yelled — amazed by the performance, you hit your climax “Michae–!” you screamed his name, releasing your arousal onto his mouth. Your face was twisted, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed.

Michael lifted his head, your legs dropping down — dangling over on the floor. You collected your breath as Michael cleaned his lips. “…Did I do good..?” Michael asked nervously. 

You lifted yourself with your elbows, then sat straight up. You dragged your fingers to Michael’s chin — your thumb circling on his bottom lip. “too good…” you smirked.

–

After fixing yourself up, you and Michael carefully exited the storage room, looking around. It looked like the performance was nearly ending. “C’mon this is your chance to perform” Michael said, dragging your hand across the place, managing to reach near the stage.

“You ready?” Michael checks up, You adjusted your dress one last time before nodding, Michael then signaled the host — telling him you were next. 

As Michael joins back with his brothers in front of the crowd, you head over to the stage and immediately start vocalizing, followed by your foot stomping to the rhythm of the song Pale, Pale Moon. 

The audience quickly caught by your immaculate voice, with the Jacksons cheering you on as well. Your loud vocals and soulful movements put Michael in a trance, completely captivated. With the crowd hyping you up, stomping their feet to the rhythm, and the piano playing along. It was all magical.

You were so possessed by your own performance, completely sank down to the floor crawling — having the crowd chanting ‘pale, pale moon.’ Standing back up you continued to jump, swooning the audience over once more.

“She looks worn out!” Marlon yelled to Michael over his ear. “She’s performing, why wouldn’t she be?” Michael pointed at you while looking at Marlon. “I meant before she went on stage,” Marlon added, putting on a knowing smirk.

Michael’s face shifted realizing what he meant, “quiet down will ya’” Michael firmly said. Marlon burst out laughing, slapping his hand on Michael’s back “was it because what i taught Randy earlier? Mikey I thought you were a first class gentleman” he joked. “I am, now shut it i’m trying to watch” Michael quickly responded. 

After the performance is over, you rejoin with Michael embracing a tight hug, after that you continue dancing with him to the next toon, enjoying every single second for tonight. 

–

Half an hour later, the party started to die down, with a few people saying their goodbyes, leaving the music into something more slow and relaxed — only left for people to keep drinking and doing slow dances.

“Hey Mikey, mind driving Randy back to our place — he’s tuckered out, me and the other boys are gonna stay for a little while, Keith offered us a drive home” Jackie pointed to their car with Randy fast asleep in the back.

“Yeah sure…” Michael replied, Jackie walking away — Michael turned his attention towards you “Wanna head home? I could drive you” Michael smiled.

“Oh you don’t have to do that, I walked here” you politely declined, “You seriously think I'm letting you walk all the way home late at night? don’t worry about it” Michael held your hand, caressing his thumb over your knuckles.

“…well, If you say so” you replied hesitantly. You and Michael hopped into the car, with Michael opening the door for you, then he took off his jacket — draping it over Randy who’s sleeping in the back. 

“You’re awfully sweet you know that” you smiled watching Michael enter the car, “he’s my little brother, don’t want him to get sick in our vacation — especially on the first day” Michael shrugged, glancing at Randy.

You looked away for a brief moment then back at him “Speaking of which, how long are you planning on staying here..?” you tilt your head. “For about a week,” Michael replied, starting the car. 

“Well I guess we should make the most out of it” you smirked. Michael turned his attention towards you before hitting the gas “yes we will, and after that I want your number — so i can keep calling you and one day visit back” Michael stared deeply into your eyes.

Your eyes glimmered, couldn’t resist leaning in for a long silent  kiss “I would love that…” you whispered after parting away. Michael smiled as he looked into the dark distance, pressing the gas and happily driving away.

taglist: @bttrphly @applehead-angelface @ttangerinexo @pixieelixer-24 @b4bybmine @amoravelee @navydotz @amilahhh @botdfaholic @givein2mike @commanders @b3rk1ey @cillianmurphyapologist

[glxtterberrytree]

𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 - 𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙤𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨𝙤𝙣 (𝙗𝙛!𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙤𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙜𝙛!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧)

bf!marlon jackson x gf!reader

backstory: marlon and reader find themselves with enough free time to kill while his brothers are out of the room

type: smut

warnings: marlon eats you out in “public” + descriptive + language

౨ৎ——-౨ৎ——-౨ৎ——-౨ৎ ——-౨ৎ ——-౨ৎ

You and your boyfriend Marlon were cuddled up on the couch while the others disappeared into the kitchen because Jackie announced that the food was ready.

You got up to stand but were pulled back into Marlon’s arms.

“I need you,” he whispers into your ear. Your head flips towards him. His eyes are pleading while his hands are tight on your thighs.

“You can wait, baby,” you say.

“Can I?” he asks.

“Yes, you can! Your brothers are in the kitchen,” you explain.

“We’ll be quick,” he motions towards the bath room. “They won’t know that we’re gone,”

“Marlon,” you sternly say.

“Sunshine,” Marlon’s fingers hold on to your jean skirt waistband.

“I’m not having a repeat of last time,” you swat his hands away.

“Only Tito walked in on us,” Marlon says.

“And he wasn’t able to look me in my eyes for two months!” you remind him. That night that Tito walked in on you and Marlon was embarrassing to say the least.

A couple of minutes pass by and his brothers still haven’t returned. You would be lying if you said you weren’t also feeling antsy.

You looked over and saw Marlon’s jaw clench while he was watching the movie. You studied his features. Those beautiful eyes and lips. He’s got you.

“Be quick,” you whisper.

Marlon’s head whips towards you. He gives you a wicked smile and lifts up the throw blanket, that he just swung over your body.

You arch your break and help him take off your skirt and panties. His lips kiss up your inner thigh and he plops a wet kiss on your clit.

“Right there,” you groan softly. Marlon’s tongue does wonders on you. He licks up and down, occasionally sucking on the peak. His nose is buried deep against your shortly-cut hairs.

You snatch the pillow from beside you and cover your face. Marlon laughs at this which sends vibrations to your soul. You take one hand and push Marlon’s face deeper into you.

You can feel his eyelashes bat against your skin and the tight grip he has on your thighs so he can hold himself up.

“You’re so sexy,” he says. You jump and squeal after feeling him bite your thigh.

“Fuck!” you squeal. He presses his lips together and starts to kiss your lips. Then he sticks his tongue out again and runs it up and down your folds. Footsteps sound throughout the hall.

You and Marlon jump a part. You’re quick to pull your skirt back up. Marlon wipes his mouth and plops next to you. The blanket is back over yours and his laps.

“Stay put,” Marlon says.

His siblings walk back into the room.

“Yall sure you don’t want a burger?” Jackie asks.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Marlon answers for you. You try to catch your breath without any of his brothers noticing.

His brothers continue to have conversation amongst themselves while hanging out on the couch. You adjust yourself to where you’re laying comfortably against Marlon’s shoulder until you realize that you’re panties are missing.

You scan the living room floor and don’t see them. You turn your head to Marlon and see him cheesing back at you.

“You’re not slick, Marlon,” you say.

“You gotta win it back,” he teases.

౨ৎ——-౨ৎ——-౨ৎ——-౨ৎ ——-౨ৎ ——-౨ৎ

[yearlyjams]

friendly reminder that spam liking more than 3 post WILL get you blocked. spam liking or reblogging can & will get the blog you're doing it to shadowbanned !

[neopolitandoll]

𑣲 . A NEW FACE — itfil: one.

𑣲 . pairing: the jacksons!michael x black!fem!reader

𑣲 . synopsis: After Michael and his family moved to Encino, California, he sees you while shopping at the toy store. After you don’t bat an eye at him, he needs to know more.

𑣲 . content (for this part): neighbors michael and reader, first meet, michael developing a crush, fluff, michael’s brothers teasing him, joe mention (slight) not proofread, ignore mistakes !

ENCINO, CALIFORNIA 1971

The jackson’s had just arrived at their new family home, Hayvenhurst. It was complete different from their childhood home back in Gary, Indiana.

When the Jackson’s lived in Gary, the boys had to bunk with each other—leaving no room for privacy when it came to having to go to bed. Michael wasn’t too fond of sharing a room with his brothers, but it didn’t truly bother him because he loved them.

Stepping foot into their new home, everyone was shocked, and immediately they all ran upstairs to claim their rooms. Michael prayed he would have his own room, and they ended being answered when he found the room at the end of the hallway and immediately fell in love.

It was the perfect amount of space. He already started to imagine where he would put everything. His records lined up on the wall, his stuffed animals in the corner—or maybe closer to his bed? His demos in this spot, still making sure he had space for his animals.

Michael was truly lost in thought thinking about how he’s gonna make his room feel like home. Suddenly, the thought was broken was he heard his mother call his name, telling him to come help them unpack.

Michael ran downstairs quickly, not wanting to make his mother wait, but also wanting to get back to his room as fast as possible.

PRESENT (1977) - TOM’S TOYS

Tom’s Toys was one of michael’s favorite stores. It’s where he got most of the toys in his room from—along with the toys he would give to the less fortunate.

This time, Michael’s brothers, specifically Marlon and Jermaine, had decided to tag along with him. Marlon and Jermaine weren’t really fond of toy stores, sure they used to love them when they were kids, but that was when they were kids. Times were different, the only reason they would probably, truly, be in here is if they were shopping for their children; children they didn’t have. But, they could never pass up time to spend time with their brother.

“Michael! You should get this one!” Marlon held out a limited edition electric race car set that came with stickers for detailing the car.

“Michael already put that in the cart Marlon, pay attention,” Jermaine was browsing his own section of toys before his eyes landed on something, that he claims, would be cooler than Marlon’s choice. “He should get this.” Jermaine held out a brand new, only in stores, play-doh set.

“It’s way cooler than whatever shit Marlon chose.”

“Whatever ‘maine,” Marlon huffed, placing the electric car back on the shelf.

Michael couldn’t help but laugh at his brother antics, “you two are stupid, they were both good options!”

“But mine was better right, Mike?” Jermaine questioned him, sparring sharp glances at Marlon.

“Oh, stop it jermaine!” Michael grabbed the toy from Jermaine’s hand, ignoring the smug look on his face as he placed it in the cart. Once Jermaine was distracted, Michael grabbed the exact toy Marlon showed him—two of the same wouldn’t hurt anybody.

After a good hour, Michael was finally ready to check out. His brothers had been ready ages ago, claiming there is only so many things he could look at. Not wanting to wait as he checked out his big cart, the two brothers went to sit in the car. As he started handing the clerk his items, a line started to form behind him, expected because of how many things he had in that cart.

A mom and her daughter were the next ones behind him. The daughter was gushing about a doll, saying she couldn’t wait to get home and open it. She was thanking her mom profusely for letting her get it, she’d been wanting it for ages. Her mother couldn’t help but smile, she was happy that her daughter was happy.

Looking up from her child, she recognized the man standing in front of her—Michael.

“T-that’s Michael Jackson,” the daughter then looked up confused before turning to where her mother was staring and immediately, her jaw dropped. Michael Jackson was standing in front of her.

“oh. my. gosh. Mom, please, can we ask him for an autograph?”

“He seem’s busy sweetheart, maybe another time.”

Michael could hear the daughter huff in frustration, this was obviously a once in a chance lifetime. He chuckled before turning around, startling the two women behind him, “I have time for an autograph, don’t worry.”

The mom’s face flushed with embarrassment, she couldn’t believe that, 1. Michael Jackson was speaking to her and 2. he had heard her talking about him. The daughter couldn’t help but squeal, pulling on her mom’s sleeve to regain her attention.

“Mom!! Pull out a piece of paper, hurry!!”

The woman, after regaining her senses, scrambled to look in her bag. She pulled out a pen and random notepad she carried around, handing it over to Michael, trying to ignore the fact her hands were shaking. Michael, kindly, grabbed the notepad and pen from her, “who should I make this out to?” The daughter quickly gave Michael her name, along with her mom’s. He scribbled a few words on the notepad before graciously handing it back to them, thanking them for their support.

Throughout that whole interaction, it obviously had gained more traction because people were surrounding Michael, wanting to get photos and autographs—some being more impatient than others.

Michael, of course, wanted to satisfy everyone, giving out autographs and posing for pictures as much as he could.

As he was having yet another conversation, his eyes had started to drift, landing on a girl standing by the shelves.

Her brown skin was illuminating, the way the sun shined on her from the window. Her features were unique, especially those big brown eyes.

He was absolutely captivated by her beauty, he had almost forgot about the fan waiting in front of him. Bill nudged his arm, his eyes quickly coming off of you and back towards the fan. He apologized profusely before handing back the signed toy box to the kid, his eyes ending up finding you again.

You were currently looking at a doll. Michael assumed you were shopping for a little sister of yours, the doll definitely wasn’t your style. He was watching your every movements without realizing it, while also trying to cater to the group of fans wanting his attention.

He had started to wonder why you weren’t as interested as his fans. Of course he knew not everyone had to be a fan of his, but he had never really went anywhere without people swarming him, much like now. But, you weren’t apart of the people swarming him. He had saw you spare him a few quick glances…okay, maybe it wasn’t at him, more like towards the swarm of fans, but it still counted in his head.

It was interesting, to say the least, you were treating him like…he wasn’t famous? like he was another teenage boy, shopping just like you were. He thought it was nice, being treated not as Michael Jackson, but just as a teenage boy.

As the swarm of fans started to die down, he had successfully checked out everything. He had Bill carry all his bags out to the car, saying he would be out in a moment. Bill just nodded his head, he had noticed Michael staring bullet into your head ages ago.

You were currently looking at the electric car set Michael had just bought, unbeknownst to you. You had two little siblings, a girl and a boy. The two of them were twins and their birthday was coming up in a week. You had picked the doll you were looking at earlier for your little sister, and were debating if you should get this car set for your brother.

You had just gotten a job working at the ice cream shop across the road, it didn’t pay the best, but it payed well enough that you were able to afford something for your little siblings, and that’s all that mattered. You had put the electric car set in your cart, saving it as an option for your brother, wanting to browse just a bit more. You barely had time to move towards the end of the isle before you felt somewhere tap you in your shoulder.

You turned around, coming face to face with Michael. You obviously knew who he was, who didn’t? He was the one causing the swarm of fans you were glancing at earlier.

It had been two minutes of complete radio silence since Michael had gotten your attention. You thought he was going to speak up first since he did initiate this conversation, if you could even call it that, but it looks like you had to do it.

“Hi..! Do you need something?”

You could see Michael open and close his mouth a few times. The words were there but they weren’t coming out. You couldn’t help but giggle at his shyness, this definitely wasn’t the same man you saw a television sometimes.

Hearing you giggle made Michael’s stomach twist and turn, in a good way. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on what he was feeling right now, all he knew is that he wanted to get to know you, he needed to get to know you.

“Hello..?”

He finally looked up and made eye contact with you, big mistake. Your eyes were so beautiful, and big, and brown, he couldn’t stop staring at them. They fit your face perfectly. Your face was perfect. Soon, he realized he needed to respond and get out his head.

“H-hey..um..”

Why wasn’t his mouth working? He knew what he wanted to say, he thought about it on the way over here from the check out counter. He wanted to know your name, compliment you, maybe get your number if you’d allowed him. He just couldn’t find the confidence to say it.

You were a beautiful girl, a beautiful girl who made him nervous to the point where he can’t get anything out his mouth except a “hey.” He had to get it together. He was wasting your time just making you stand here.

“S-sorry, I don’t know why I’m, um, struggling..” He could feel his neck start to heat up, he didn’t know what kind of affect you had on him, but he hated himself for making it take over his thoughts.

“It’s okay! um..did you like, need something?”

“U-uh yeah, can I maybe have your—“

“Michael!!”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, he totally forgot about his two older brothers waiting in the car. He should’ve known they would’ve come in here any second, asking him how much longer he would be. What the two never expected, is to walk in on Michael talking to a girl, a real pretty one.

“Mike, man, what’s taking you so..” Jermaine’s question was cut short as his eyes landed on you, something so gorgeous. He let out a low whistle as he swung an arm over Michael’s shoulders, eyes tracing your body.

“And who might this pretty young thang be, Mike?”

You gave him a slight smile, thanking him for the compliment. “I’m (name)..”

“Well Ms.(name), you are one gorgeous woman,” Marlon interjected. “Mikey here definitely don’t know how to handle all that..”

Michael could feel his face heating up even more, his brothers had gotten your name before you? Maybe it was his fault for not immediately asking, but obviously his brothers could tell his intentions.

“Would you guys stop? go back to the car. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“How about you go to the car, let your big brother handle this?” Jermaine patted Michael’s back before looking back over at you, “So..how about you and me maybe go out sometime?”

Michael was getting mad, he wanted his brothers to leave, he wanted to be alone with you again.

“Come on ‘maine,” Marlon pulled Jermaine back by his arm, noticing Michael getting upset. “Let him get his girl.” He still teased, dragging out the ‘girl.’

“Whatever Marlon,” Jermaine looked back at you before leaving, “if he ever mess up, give me a call beautiful—ow!” Marlon smacked Jermaine in the head, dragging him out.

You were trying to suppress your laugh the whole time, not wanting to in their faces. Michael let out a sigh as he heard the toy store door close, indicating the two boys had left. He put his attention back on you, immediately being captivated by your eyes again.

“m’sorry about them, they can be so stupid sometimes.”

“It’s alright, I found it kinda funny..”

Michael lips twitched upwards the slightest before focusing back on the topic at hand, getting your number.

“S-so, (name), was it? It’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you! I was named after one of my mom’s favorite artist, she’s very proud of it.”

Michael giggled, “she should be, it fits you.”

“I’ve been told!”

Michael soon realized his time was getting shorter with you, he needed to be home to rehearse before his father got mad. He desperately didn’t want to leave, he didn’t know the next time he would see you due to his busy schedule.

“U-uh I, uh, have to go..but, um, can I maybe get your number? Just so we can continue talking! If you want to of course, you don’t have to! But, I just..don’t want this to be a one time conversation..”

You smiled up at him, pulling out an old receipt and a pen, writing your number down and handing him the piece of paper. He happily accepted it, “I’ll call you later?”

“I’ll answer.” You gave him another small smile as you watched him walk away and out the door. You walked to check out counter, deciding to get the electric car.

Michael was holding on tightly to the receipt with your number on it, not wanting to lose it. He carefully slid it in his pocket before opening the car door, sliding in the back seat with his brothers. Bill started the car and pulled off. There was a slight awkward silence, his brothers trying so hard not to ask questions, but they couldn’t resist.

“So mikey,” Marlon started, “did you get the number?”

“Please say you did Mike.“ Jermaine added, well more like begged.

“m’not telling yall, leave it alone.”

“aw come on man, why not?”

“Jermaine is practically beggin’ to steal her.” Michael shot an annoyed glanced at Jermaine before turning his head to look back out the window.

“stealin’? man, she ain’t even yours!” Jermaine shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shut up ‘maine! You ain’t getting the girl!” Marlon said, before turning back to Mike, “Just tell us Mikey, we just curious is all!”

Michael sighed, annoyed, but he knew they were going to keep asking if he didn’t just fess up now, “I did..”

“oh shit! Michael got game!” Marlon clapped Michael on his shoulder, earning a small laugh from him before shoving him off, “yeah yeah..”

Michael thought about the call the whole ride home, he couldn’t wait till rehearsal ended with his brothers so he could wash up and talk to you.

A few hours later, Michael was finally free. The thought of the call had made him mess up a few times during rehearsals, causing joe to yell at him. He didn’t care though, all he cared about was hearing your sweet voice come through his phone tonight.

Michael had settled on his bed, he had actually been settle for a good 10 minutes now, staring at the receipt with your number in his lap, the phone held up to his ear. All he needs to do was dial you, should be to hard right? wrong.

Michael was super nervous to ring you and he didn’t know why. You both had just had a conversation earlier today, It may had been a little wonky because of Michael’s nerves and his brothers, but it was still a conversation! So why was Michael struggling so much to call you.

Meanwhile, you had just gotten out the shower. Your skincare was freshly done and you were applying your night body moisturizers. You hadn’t forgot that Michael said he’ll call you, you just weren’t worried if it didn’t end up happening. Michael was a busy boy and you were just a girl from Encino.

Back with Michael, he was worried that he had been making you wait too long, maybe he shouldn’t call. What if you had fallen asleep already? But then again it was only 9:30. Maybe you slept early? All these thoughts clouding his mind were just another minute wasted when he could’ve been on the phone with you.

Michael took a deep breath, he could do this. His first late night call with a pretty girl..yea he can do this.

Michael made sure to dial your number correctly, not wanting to have any mishaps. The phone rung three times before you picked up, “hello?”

“hi (name)..it’s me, Michael. Sorry if I kept you waiting for my call.”

“oh no, don’t worry Michael! I was just putting on my pajamas when you called.”

“o-oh well alright..so, how was your day after we parted ways?”

“It was alright, just running some more errands. My mama had me pick up some groceries for dinner, then I just came home, you?”

“Ah, well after we said goodbye, I came home as well. Practiced a bit with my brother…the usual.”

Ი︵𐑼

You and Michael talked on the phone for hours. You didn’t end up hanging up until two in the morning. He asked you about your family, friends, where you grew up, etc. You told him, of course, he was new friend and obviously wanted to get to know you. You told him about your two younger siblings, your closest friends, anything he asked you answered basically. During your call, you guys ended up finding out you were neighbors, and Michael was ecstatic. He was so happy to be so close to you.

Michael loved every minute of you guy’s call, when you claimed you were tired he was a bit upset, but understanding, it was late and you had to be up for work and he had to be up for rehearsals. The second the line on your end went dead, Michael already missed you.

i’m He missed your voice, your giggles, even your yawns when you claimed you weren’t tired and continued to listen to him talk. He had never felt this way before about anyone, it was like he never wanted to let you go.

And he wasn’t planning to.

a/n: I experienced major writers block doing this and restarted like three timessss, i hope you guys like it!!

series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist below

𑣲 . taglist: @kissmyglxck @slayqueen-23 @animegamerfox @sunsetdrvr @bambispyt @tenderlyboundlessparagon @lovelyreadersposts @yomamajbkj @uknownn111 @iwasntreddieforthis @heubstr @miupods @plan3tch1ld @faiology @ilovemonk @thabiddie23 @pompompush

lmk if i missed anyone or the tag didn’t work + send a comment or an ask if you wanted to be added or removed from this taglist !! 𑣲

© neopolitandoll . ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა

[tealglockss]

damned at loving you • aniya x reader

───────────────

pairing: aniya harvey x black! fem! reader

warnings! - none

genre! - sad

summary! - it’s the casa amor recoupling, all the girls have made their decision except aniya, will she stay with kc or couple up with the new casa amor girl she made a new connection with

───────────────

melanie finds aniya pacing around the makeup room talking to herself

“aniya what’s wrong”

frustrated she groans out loud and put her hands on her head

“i’m genuinely going crazy right now”

“talk to me, what’s wrong”

“i’m so indecisive on who im picking tonight i wanna go with my heart but my gut is telling me that he isn’t bringing another girl back, but what if im wrong?” she sighs looking up trying not to cry

“follow what your body feels is right, don’t say anything just think, we all know what you want but YOU need to know who and what you want”

the room is silent

the only thing that you can hear is the lights buzzing around

aniya gets ready to say something but melanie cuts her off

“think and choose.” she kisses her forehead giving her a hug before she leaves

melanie walks over to the day beds to where kayda and y/n

“where’s aniya?” y/n asks

“she’s in the makeup room” melanie says flopping on the couch next to kayda

you nod walking upstairs holding your dress up so you won’t trip over it

knocking on the door you peep your head in “hey”

she looks up and slightly smiles “hi”

“you okay” you say walking towards her

“not really, just thinking about tonight”

you clear your throat leaning on the table next to her and resting your head on her shoulder making her do the same

“whatever your decision is tonight, i’m gonna be happy for you anyway” you say softly while stroking her arm with your freshly long set of acrylic nails

“i know, my mind is just everywhere i just need to think” she stands straight kissing your forehead as she has a few inches over you considering you have heels on

you nod watching her walk out of the room not wanting her warmth to leave your side

trying not to cry you grab your fan and immediately start fanning your face so you don’t mess up your makeup and lashes

trinity walks in with kayda and they immediately go to comfort you

“aww sweetheart what’s the matter” trinity said while she rubs your back and fixes your hair

“is it aniya?” kayda asks already knowing what the issue is

wiping your tears you gently pat on your face to get the excess off “sadly yes, i just don’t understand it sometimes, we’ve been here together for a week and i’ve treated her better than kc in a week than 3 weeks”

you say ranting to them “ this is so ridiculous and i told myself that i wasn’t gonna cry but God” letting the tears fall trinity hugs you and rubs your back

“just let whatever happens, happens you’re always gon be our girl even if you go home tonight” trinity said holding your face

“i was gonna talk to her but melanie told me not to” kayda said with an eye roll

after they get you cleaned up you all walk down the stairs

you sit on one of the bar stools and as soon as you sit down you get a text

everyone jumps up and screams no once they hear the sound

you stand up and nervously grab your phone reading the text out loud”I GOT A TEXTTT” everyone cheers

“islanders tonight please head to the fire pit for the casa amor recoupling” y/n said closing the phone and her eyes immediately meet with aniya making her look away quickly

everyone making their way to the fire pit the casa amor girls standing on front of the fire pit

“hello islanders” ariana says standing next to the girls

“tonight will be casa amors recoupling, tonight we will see if your connection have decided to stay loyal or recouple”

kayda and melanie couple up leaving zach and sincere single

kenzie coupled up with dylan, corbin coupled up with parmida

jen coupled up with gal

trinity and bryce have stayed loyal to each other

last but not least is aniya+y/n & titi+kc

“My journey here with y/n has been amazing she’s shown me what reassurance, respect, and safety feels like, when i’m with her i have no worries, she’s beautiful, smart, kind, outgoing, loving, and she has a beautiful soul.” her eyes never leave yours

“so the girl i would like to couple up with is….”

“y/n” you lift up your dress walking towards the fire pit, you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her in for a kiss as her arms snake around your waist

“congratulations on your new couple y/n and aniya” ariana says beaming with joy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~after the recoupling~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“cmere” aniya said grabbing your wrist taking both of you to say less

you place your legs over hers and lean back against the pillows while you play with her fingers

“thank you for choosing me” you said softly laying a couple of kisses on her neck

“it was always gonna be you” she tilts your head up and kisses you holding your waist

you sit up straddling her lap whilst yall are still kissing

your nails on the back of her neck and her hands rubbing up and down your back

she grips your ass making you moan into the kiss and move your hips back and forth

pulling away giving her one last peck before it got too far

you wipe your lipstick off her lips and face and sit back on the pillows you were on before

“i genuinely thought i was gonna go home”

her hands rub up and down your legs

“i would never send you home, plus the girls would kill me”

sighing you lay your head on her shoulder “it’s been a long day and it’s so colddd”

“cmon let’s get ready for bed, i know you’re sleepy” she holds both hands out and you take them giving her one last peck on the lips before walking out of say less

you sleepily brush your teeth feeling yourself nod off you quickly hurry up so you don’t fall asleep standing up

you put on your pink 2 pc night set and white socks fixing your anklet with your initial on it

“you ready baby?” aniya said peeking her head in the bathroom

“not yettt can you help me with this, my hair isn’t cooperating” you said sighing loudly

she helps you put your bonnet on and kisses your neck “there now let’s go to sleep” she grabs your hand and leads you to the beds already having the covers pulled back you lay down and put your head on the pillow

“goodnighttttt everyoneee” melanie says winking at you and aniya

she pulls you closer you being the little spoon and holds your waist and as you slowly drift off to sleep she kisses your neck and ear

“goodnight my love”

───────────────

a/n!!: i will be taking request soon!!!

[vetapr]

Brandy

[thepinkernet]

mis-teeq at the "hello kitty celebrates 30 years of cute" event in 2004 🎀

[blackmalibubarbie]

Christina Aguilera on VH1 Maxim Hot 100 (2007)

[achillesinhighheels]

[angeluary]

🧸👼🏽🌷🦙🪽 - melanie moreno with hair by hairqueen_la

[achillesinhighheels]

[loluaintvalentine]

accidentally sending your nudes to your best friend’s fiancé, instead to your boyfriend.

warnings: smut.

authors note: this story was inspired by @youluvyanni <333 and i think a reboot of break up with your fiancé, i’m bored

you’d just gotten out of the shower, skin warm and soft, when the quiet ache of missing jude got the best of you. he’d been away for days and you wanted to give him something sweet to come home to. you let the towel drop just enough, posed in the gentle glow of your bedroom lamp, and took a few intimate photos—nothing too wild, just you looking soft and a little shy for the camera. after picking the nicest ones, you typed a quick loving message and sent them off without checking the name at the top.

you sat on the edge of your bed, smiling to as you rubbed lotion into your legs, imagining his reaction.

a few minutes passed in silence. you frowned and reached for your phone again.

the second you opened the chat, your heart sank straight to your stomach.

those photos hadn’t gone to jude.

they were sitting in jaafar’s messages—your best friend’s fiancé, the sweet, charming guy who was always part of your group, someone you were never supposed to cross any lines with.

every picture already marked as seen.

your cheeks burned instantly. before you could even think, his reply popped up.

jaafar: hey… i think you sent these to the wrong person

you froze for a second, then started typing fast, embarrassment flooding through you.

you: oh my god jaafar i’m so sorry those were meant for jude i didn’t realize i sent them to you 😭

you: i’m really sorry again

jaafar: it’s okay, don’t worry about it. accidents happen. you’re fine, i promise.

his words felt gentle, almost reassuring, and something in your chest eased just a little. still flustered, you sent back a soft pleading eyes emoji and a simple “thank you” before locking your phone. you didn’t say anything else. you didn’t mention the photos at all after that. you just hoped the moment would disappear quietly.

but in his quiet apartment across town, jaafar couldn’t let it disappear.

your best friend was out with friends for the night, leaving the place peaceful and empty around him. he sat on the couch, phone still in his hand, staring at the photos you’d accidentally sent. the soft light kissing your skin, the gentle curves of your body, that shy look in your eyes—it all hit him harder than he expected.

guilt settled heavy in his chest because this was wrong. you were his fiancée’s best friend. but the warmth spreading through him was stronger.

he saved the photos to a hidden folder without thinking twice.

leaning back, he pushed his sweatpants down and freed his aching cock, already hard just from looking at you. he wrapped his hand around the thick length and started stroking slowly, long smooth movements that made his breath catch.

short, breathy moans filled the quiet room—“ahh… fuck”—as his hips started rocking up to meet each stroke. the guilt twisted with the heat, making everything feel sharper, more intense. he kept going, lost in the fantasy of you, until the pressure became too much.

with one deep, guttural moan he came hard, thick pulses spilling over his fist while his body trembled through the waves.

even after his breathing slowed, he didn’t close the photos. he just sat there for a while longer, heart still racing, knowing this was only the beginning of something he probably shouldn’t want.

your phone kept buzzing.

jaafar sent photos

jaafar sent a short video

jaafar: :)

you didn’t reply. you couldn’t.

the words stuck in your throat, shame and something dangerously warmer fighting inside you.

he kept going, like he couldn’t help himself.

more photos arrived—his strong hand wrapped around his hard cock, stroking slowly. another short video followed, his fist moving with building urgency, abs tightening, soft ragged breaths audible. another :) emoji, quiet and simple, like he was just as lost as you were.

you were completely taken aback, heart racing with shock and crushing guilt.

this was your best friend’s fiancé. you knew you should close the chat. you knew you should tell him to stop. but you couldn’t look away.

you turned off the lights, slipped under the covers, and let the videos play on loop, the soft sounds of him filling your quiet room.

you rolled onto your stomach, desperate, and started grinding against your pillow. slow at first, then harder, hips rolling with needy little whimpers. soft, breathy moans escaped you as the friction built—“mmh… ahh…”—your body trembling with every movement. the guilt only made everything feel sharper, more intense.

it still wasn’t enough, you flipped onto your back, legs spreading as your hand slid down.

your fingers found your soaked heat and pushed inside, stroking deep while your thumb circled your clit. your legs shook uncontrollably, a few more quiet moans slipping out despite how hard you tried to hold them back. the pleasure and shame twisted together until you couldn’t hold back anymore.

with a trembling cry you came hard, body arching off the bed, walls pulsing around your fingers as waves of overwhelming sensation crashed through you. tears slipped down your cheeks while your legs continued to shake long after.

you lay there afterward, chest tight, staring at the ceiling as fresh guilt settled heavy over your heart. jaafar’s messages still waited on your phone, unanswered. you knew you should feel nothing but regret… but the pull between you both had already grown too strong to ignore.

jaafar: oh that was supposed to be for maddie

jaafar: accidents happen