Hi! I was just thinking about wife or girlfriend reader who is waiting for Michael at home after the allegations first surface and she is there reassuring him that she will be there for him and that she believes him. Just fluff and heartbreak 😭 i wanna give him the biggest hug and he deserves the world’s biggest apology
believe you | michael jackson
- summary: michael comes home to you for a brief moment's peace amidst being thrown to the wolves during his dangerous world tour
word count: 3.6k
warning: angst. really just that, but there is some fluff. mentions of the false allegations. reader curses. i kept it vague though, i honestly think everything in this is kept vague. i'm sorry, it's just quite a hard topic for me to really delve into. but reader comforts michael, and i wish someone did irl. it's not all mediocre angst, i promise. it's mediocre fluff too! pacing is rushed
* no usage of y/n, michael refers to reader as 'baby' and 'sweetheart'
author's note: Hi, hi, hi anon! I hope this goes okay for you. And I hope you understand why this particular one is a lot shorter than all my other works. My heart hurts for him during these times, as do all the others' I assume. I know he felt the comfort of hundreds of fans back then, but I know he still must've felt so slighted. The sweetest angelface, I wish so much for so many things to be different for him. Anyway, I'm so sorry for the delay. I really hope this is okay enough for you ♡
Also note, I'm not kidding I actually kept this pretty vague. No namedrops, because none of it is worth the effort. And there is no instance where the reader feels any negativity towards Mike himself. Reader is there for him, through and through.
+++ not proofread, though everyone knows this by now. so beware of mixed usage of us and uk english xx
+++ english isn't my first language! and i'm not a professional writer by any means! regardless, I'm really hoping you all love this.
The silence in your apartment is almost deafening. It's practically suffocating, and if it wasn't for the sound of your pacing on the carpeted floor, you'd think you somehow have had a loss of hearing.
Biting the nail on your thumb, you eye the tabloid crap on the tabletop. The headlines beckoning, mocking you. The mute TV is currently broadcasting the news channel, reporting the same hellish thing, and you've never wanted to jump out the window the way you do now. Your mind feels like it’s going to explode.
Your heartbeat thunders in your ribcage, anxiety thrumming off of you. He's supposed to be here any second.
After the news broke last night, the first thing Michael did was call your landline from his hotel room in Bangkok. In a matter of a few hours, tickets have been bought and concert dates have been postponed a few days late because Michael specifically told everyone in a quiet, distressed manner, that the one thing he needed for just a fucking second is to come back to you to ground himself.
You heave a deep sigh and start nibbling on your nail again, eyes staring a hole into the clock on the wall. The quick glance to the junk on the tabletop again, you bite back a sob and pinch the bridge between your brows. God, how did everything turn to absolute shit in such an abrupt way? It's been so difficult trying to avoid thinking of how Michael's faring right now.
Your Michael. The sweet, loving man who has been your favourite person for so many years. Remembering the phone call last night, you hold back another sniffle and manage to turn off the TV.
The phone rings and your heart drops. You've only just ended a call with your friend, just learning about what had transpired hours prior from her. And you knew in your gut that this was Michael. Despite your wishes, you also knew he'd learned about what had happened as well.
Hurriedly picking up the telephone receiver, you squeak out in an urgent tone. “Mike?”
From the other side of the telephone, a shaky breath follows. Then, a sniffle. And you could collapse from the ache in your heart at hearing the sounds he was making. A shaky intake of his breath makes you weak.
“Sweetheart… I…”
“Mike, I know.”
“I would… I would nev– God, I wouldn't dare to—”
You interrupt him with a firm voice, trying to ignore the tears in your eyes. “Don't, Mike. I'm here with you, okay? I know you. Come home. You need to come home for just a bit. I don't want you there alone.”
“Me neither,” he breathes out, another sniffle. “I've already told them. They're buyin’ a ticket for me and I'm comin’ to you tomorrow.”
“Good,” you nod to yourself, worryingly gnawing on your bottom lip. Another moment of silence brews, and you clear your throat.
“Mike?”
“... Hm?”
“Everything will be okay. Alright? Believe me on this, honey.”
His half-hearted hum of acknowledgement and the silence that followed brings an unwanted uneasiness in your chest.
Ever since then, the feeling hasn't left. And all you could do is wait for his arrival. The ticking clock on the wall feels as if it's mocking you, repeatedly telling you how time passes by and with every second, everything inside you tears apart even further, helplessly unraveling.
The front door opens, you hear.
Your eyes immediately flick from the clock on the wall to the hallway, your own feet taking a few steps towards the sounds of the other set of footsteps. When Michael appears in your eyesight, the distraught expression on his face causes a twinge in your chest, and you instinctively hold out your arms.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers with a crack in his voice, and the both of you rush towards each other and the hug he gives you is the most desperate he's ever given to anyone.
Your hand gently strokes the back of his head, and you pull him closer, if even possible. “It's okay, Mike, it's okay,” you whisper, knowing those words mean nothing to him at the moment but clueless on how else to get his mind to become less of a mess.
“Hello,” he greets you with an effort to sound stable, and you only hug him tighter in response.
*Long flight, hm? Why don't you go wash up? Are you hungry?” You bombard him, trying to bring some sense of normalcy to the situation, lying to yourself as well as him. Reaching a shaky hand to cradle the side of his face, you're met with a gaze of a tired, resigned man.
“I'll go take a shower,” Michael replies with a soft voice. “I'm not hungry, sweetheart. Thank you. Can we just rest? Are you… are you busy tonight?”
The hesitation in his voice and question makes your frown deepen. Shaking your head, you reassure him with a small smile. “Nothing tonight, Mikey. I'm right here with you, okay? Always.”
He nods along to your words, biting his lip nervously. Nudging for him to head to your bedroom, you help him with his bags, despite his protests. The walk to your room is slow, timid. Dropping the bags with a thump on the carpet, you move to the drawer and pull out a pair of his silk pyjamas. Michael observes this as he unbuttons his shirt, his gaze unreadable. Soft, tender… almost terrified.
Glancing his way, you lock eyes with him, and you tilt your head questioningly. Asking him with a gentle voice, “What is it, honey?” Putting the clothes on the foot of your bed, you step closer to him, holding out your hands.
Responding immediately, Michael grips onto your hands as if they're his lifeline.
And maybe for him, at this very moment, they might as well be.
“I…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I'm not sure.”
Detecting the unwillingness to explore his feelings just yet, you only nod and leave a gentle peck on his cheek. “Go ahead, Mike. I'll be here,” you whisper to him. The man nods again before leaning in to kiss you on the forehead. Shifting away, your hands pull apart ever so slowly. The last thing either of you wants is to part right now, the need for comfort almost overtaking everything else that needs to be done.
As he shifts away to the bathroom, you quietly decide to make yourself busy and reheat some light dinner for Michael. Heading to the kitchen, you take your time as the sound of the shower running echoes from your bathroom. You know he's still trying to gather his thoughts, registering the events that had led up to him standing here instead of preparing for the show in Bangkok. You're also sure he's trying to simultaneously think of ways to handle this. Expecting it would be practically impossible for him to have a good rest tonight, your heart twists even further at the thought.
About twenty minutes later, Michael finally walks out of your bedroom. His voice calls for you timidly from the hallway. “Sweetheart?”
When he appears in the kitchen, his eyes soften at the sight of you carefully plating what he assumes is dinner for him. Walking up to you, Michael gently rests his palm on your back, pressing a kiss on your temple. He whispers in your ear, “You didn't have to do this, my love.”
You turn to him with a soft smile, reaching to stroke the apple of his cheek. “I wanted to. You need to eat something, honey.”
He wants to say no. He wants to tell you he's tired and wants to sleep and forget the world, preferably with you next to him. But at the look of your worried gaze on his body, his resolve weakens. And at the sight of your smile becoming more dire, it completely disappears.
“We're sharin’, okay?” He asks after a moment's thought, not letting you answer as he pulls you to sit next to him.
Nodding your agreement, you only stare at him as his whole figure relaxes just a smidge, the tension from earlier dissipating as he stares off into space, chewing on the food absentmindedly. You wish it didn't take zoning out for him to relax, but when his mind is a mess and there's nothing that can be done to fix it instantly, this is the next best move.
You let Michael feed you, seeing his withdrawn gaze nonetheless. Tightening your grip on the back of his chair, you could only hope the helplessness brewing in between the two of you lessen with time.
•
It doesn't take much for Michael to agree with you over heading to bed after dinner. His tiredness didn't only come from the events from the day before; he's been touring for months, the traveling as well as the third leg of the tour taking a huge toll on his body. He usually doesn't mind, the noise and cheering from the fans keep him sated and motivating him to push harder and forget about the fatigue. But as he was forcefully and cruelly dragged back down to the humble ground, postponing the shows and faced with a jarring reality, the only thing Michael wants to do is sleep. And he thanks everything in the stars that you're there with him.
You're tucking him in now, not unlike a mother comforting a child. He misses being taken care of by you, and he constantly wishes for it every night. But to have this whole thing happen for it? He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
As you slowly pull away, Michael's hand shoots out and gently grips your upper arm, stopping you from moving any further.
“Where are you going, sweetheart?” The mild panic lacing his words breaks your heart.
“I'm just changing, Mikey. I'll be right back in a second.”
Letting out a low sigh of relief, Michael nods and throws you an apologetic look. You hush him and leave a kiss on his temple before parting fully away.
Changing into a simple T-shirt and silk pants, you return to the bed and switch off the bedside lamp. The room goes dark, the only source of light coming from the moon through the thick curtains heavily pressed against the glass window. The quiet isn't very quiet, when the sounds of Michael's breathing as well as yours fill the silence, comfort in its wake.
In spite of this, you're wide awake. And it doesn't take much to know how awake he is, too. Turning to the side, you face him in the dark. Following the outline of his figure swallowed by shadows with your gaze, stopping when it reaches his face. Some of it is exposed by the soft light from outside, and gives you the terrible help of seeing his eyes filled with hurt and mild frustration.
“Mike?” You ask him gently.
His breathing hitches.
“Mike,” you ask him again, desperate this time. “Please talk to me.”
Michael closes his eyes tightly, as if shutting out everything. His brows furrow, but it lessens when his hand reaches slowly to take yours, resting in between the two of you on the center of the bed.
“You believe in me, don't you?” He asks with a crack in his voice, after a few moments of painful quiet.
“Of course, I do,” you reply in a firm tone. “There's nothing else to believe. Not a damn thing.”
Swallowing harshly, he opens his eyes and looks at you, expression filled with understanding and deep affection. “I was just thinkin’ of how when this gets worse, and how I might lose you.”
Your heart stops. You look at him with the most offended look you could muster before nudging his chest, speaking brokenly. “Mike, stop. What are you talking about?”
He shakes his head and turns to lay on his side properly, gripping onto your hand and kisses it feverishly as he keeps his gaze locked onto yours. With a soft whisper, he says, “Sweetheart… this is gonna get worse. You know it. I know it, too.”
You're about to protest when he continues, his voice becoming more sullen and words lacing with a deepening ache. “These people are going to do everything they can to get what they want… and it might hurt you in the long run, too. I don't want that, baby. Not with you. And I don't want anything to change the way you look at me. I can't take that. Not when others will do– do the same,” he breaks off with a sob, and your heart breaks into a million pieces.
You shift closer and hush him, wiping his tears and kissing his forehead, cheeks, and every bit of his face your lips could reach. “Honey, please, don't think that.”
Michael shakes his head, burying his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his trembling lips to your skin. Sobbing quietly, he speaks. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I never thought they would— that he would—” he cuts himself off, shaking away his thoughts urgently.
“Baby, it's going to be alright,” you whisper to him desperately, softly stroking his back up and down. “We're going to have so many people supporting us, you’ll see. I know the truth, and so do others. Nothing will change that.”
He slightly pulls away, and your chest throbs at the sight of tears running down his cheeks. His eyes remain closed, and he bites back another sob, making you cradle his face softly and press your forehead against his.
“Mike… Baby, can you look at me?”
He opens his eyes ever so slightly, meeting your gaze. The wisps of his shaky breaths can be felt on your skin, and your thumb strokes the apple of his cheek. You continue, voice quiet against the fire burning underneath your skin and the agony brewing under his.
“Do you remember all those years ago, when we hit a rough patch, and I promised you that I wouldn't ever leave you? Unless you tell me to?”
Michael only nods, eyes welling up again.
“Well, are you telling me to leave now?”
“God, no, sweetheart,” he instantly replies with a hoarse voice, horror and heartbreak marring his face. “I would never do that.”
“Then with all that's coming out way, I'm not fucking leaving. Ever,” you emphasize, nodding reassuringly at him. “Not when they're throwing those tabloid junk at my face about your supposed secret scandal, not when the fans go crazy at me, and certainly not when a good-for-nothing piece of shit decides to rain hellfire on the sweetest man I know.”
The man in front of you stays quiet, his laboured breathing calming down. You continue on. “Mikey. You're not defenseless. You're strong. You've been surviving through so much bullshit since forever. You got people behind you, and most especially you will never have to worry about me. Not when I'm with you.”
You let out a shaky breath, heartstrings tugging at the sight of the man you're in love with looking so defeated, and added quietly. “I'm always okay when I'm with you.”
Michael's face crumbles, and he pulls you into a hug again, not letting any chance of space in between your bodies. Melting at his warmth, you quietly hold him just as tightly.
“This is big, baby,” he whispers softly. “It'll only grow bigger from here.”
“And so will we,” you immediately respond in a firm manner. “We can handle this, Mikey.”
It's quiet for just a second, before Michael swallows and nods. Closing his eyes, he sighs out as he pulls you closer.
“I believe you.”
•
Michael's eyes open a little before sunrise, and he sees you already awake, staring off into space as you stroke his chest slowly. The room feels warmer, and though it's still dark, it feels as if he could see you better. His heart lightens up at the sight of the domesticity you're presenting to him, with him. For a few glorious minutes, he's forgotten everything outside the sanctuary you've made for him.
“Baby?” He slowly speaks with a hoarse voice from the night of crying, intruding on the lull of the dawn and the quaint sanctity he's made up in his head.
Your eyes flicker to his face, softening up at his half asleep expression. “Morning, honey… how are you feeling?”
Staying quiet for a moment, he feels the warmth of your palm running up and down his chest, focusing on your breathing and the way your worried gaze lands on his face. Michael clears his throat. The fatigue from last night catching up to him. The shock, disbelief and terror are slowly creeping up his back.
But he feels something else too.
“Angry,” he says, almost thoughtfully. Your face contorts into a surprise, and your hand stops its movements on his chest.
“Can I know more?”
His eyes are swollen, and there are remnants of hurt and pain in his eyes, but even as the both of you are laying down, he holds himself in such a way as to reassure you, that he's long past the ache taking over his soul.
Biting his lip, Michael sniffles and reaches out to take your hand, ghosting his breath against the skin. He replies to your question with a soft voice, tender. “I could have never expected this… not from people that I'd cared about. I don't think I've ever done anything to warrant this kind of… contempt. I truly hope I didn't.”
You shake your head in response, murmuring softly. “You didn't.”
Michael exhales shakily, “Maybe if we'd just have a talk, with all parties involved—”
“They're past talking, Mike,” you interrupt him, guilt gnawing at your chest for denying his hopes for a more peaceful approach. “Not with what's been said and done. They knew it would take, and the news fell for it hook, line, and sinker. They're fucking animals.”
A sigh escapes him. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he sniffles again. “You're right. But I can't blame the news crowd… it's headline material, for sure,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “And once again, when it's me, it's not anything good.”
“Baby…” you softly call for him, at a loss for words on how to tell him otherwise. Because that would've been a lie, and the both of you know it.
“I'm so tired, sweetheart,” Michael whispers against the cold breeze. Holding back a stilted sob, he continues. “Everything I do, it just never lands right on these people. And here they are, the minute a false attempt at bringing me down happens, they're bendin’ over backwards to fan the fire. Always perceivin’ me, always snaking around my life.”
Staying silent, you let him express his frustration, wiping away the tears brimming in his eyes.
“I just…” he shakes his head, his frown deepening. “I just thought they'd come to care for me the way I do them.”
The ache in your chest expands and clenches your heart painfully, its weeping at the unjust of it all consuming your whole being. You cover up a sniffle and clear your throat, “I think nobody is as much of a loving person as you are, Michael.”
He looks at you then. “There's you,” he whispers. And your ache lifts just a little, recognizing the familiar look of adoration in his eyes.
You shift, digging your elbow onto the bed and resting your head on the free hand. Gaze locking with his, you ask him softly. “Have you thought of what you're going to do?”
Michael absentmindedly presses a kiss to your knuckles. His eyes having that faraway look. With a voice finding its strength, he answers. “A public statement. And I'm continuing the tour. They're not stoppin’ me from that. And when it gets blown out of proportion…”
“Which you think will happen,” you remark, looking at him carefully. The man nods and tightens his grip on your hand.
“Yes. And when it does, I'll… I'll be ready, I guess. I know the truth,” his gaze flickers to yours, desperation resurfacing in the depths of the brown of his eyes, “And so do you, right?”
“Of course, Mike,” you whisper, nodding incessantly.
He sniffles again, eyes welling up. “Then, that's enough for me.”
You take your hand and place it against his cheek. With a quiet, trembling voice, you tell him. “Michael. Bad things happen to good people. But no matter how bad it gets, there's always a light in you that's bright– and bright enough to help you out of anything. All I know is that, and how much I love you. And how much I wish you're in the better hands of fate.”
Michael manages a half smile, but the genuinity shines through. He shifts and you pull him into your arms properly, his head resting on your chest. Letting out a deep and heavy sigh, he speaks into the quiet.
“You're my strength, sweetheart. Thank you for being that.”
The both of you hold each other through the dawn making its way through the curtains. His body firmly pressed against yours, the warmth shared filling every crevice of his heart. He's absolutely downright terrified of what's to come. He knows there will be a moment soon, where anxiety, fear and crippling melancholia will come creeping in and knocking on the doors of his mental state.
But in this room, on this particular day?
Just the presence of you is enough to tell him that he'll be alright.
warnings: 18+ smut, michael is inexperienced and a virgin, sub michael, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), handjob
pairing: otw!michael!jackson x best!friend!reader
request: michael asks y/n to help him practise kissing, and it evolves into him learning a little more from her too. requested by @sicklyswirly 🤍🪽
masterlist
thinking about otw!michael who’s been working up the courage all afternoon to ask y/n the question that’s been lingering at the back of his mind.
“just ask, michael,” he whispered to himself, eyebrows drawn together in frustration at his own hesitation, “the worse she can say is no,”
instead, he ends up following y/n round the house like a lost puppy, opening his mouth every few seconds, before snapping it shut promptly, unable to force the words out.
“you okay?” she finally asks, eyebrow raised.
his head darts up, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, like he’d just been caught doing something bad.
“hm?”
“michael, i know there’s somethin’ on your mind,” she says, hands on hips. sometimes he cursed how well she knew him.
otw!michael who plays with the friendship bracelet on his wrist, before looking to her shyly, unsure how to approach the topic.
in his mind, he imagined taking her to the garden, or maybe sitting in the living room, holding her hands, and asking it sweetly.
“can i ask you somethin’?”
y/n nods.
“would you…teach me how to kiss?” he blurts out. nothing like he imagined.
she blinks at him, words struggling to form in her throat.
“‘cause-,” he starts, the words rushing out of his mouth, “i don’t mean-it doesn’t have to be you, i just…i dont really know how and…i trust you,”
otw!michael who somehow finds himself sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his lap.
he looks up for a split second, his gaze on her lips, before he looks back down to his hands again, the tips of his ears burning hot.
”just relax,” y/n says, her voice soft as she looks to him, “you’re stiff as a board,”
“can’t help it,” he mumbles back, shoulders curling in on themselves as y/n sits on her heels, taking one of his hands in hers. that makes him go a little looser.
“my heart’s beatin’ so fast,” he whispers, eyes wide, “look,” he takes her hand, spreading her hand flat against his chest.
“it is,” she says, “just relax, baby,”
otw!michael who just nods, and he swears he can feel his heart stutter at the nickname. baby.
he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, his entire focus on y/n as she leans forwards, her breath hot against his lips.
she’s gentle with him at first, her hand cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over his pretty, heart shaped lips.
he goes less tense as she pouts at him, nodding for him to copy.
and when their lips meet?
it’s almost like he doesn’t know what to do, frozen as she pressed her lips to his, her tongue hot and wet against his lower lip.
“…oh,” he says, when she pulls back.
“close your eyes,”
his lashes flutter against his cheek as he does what she says, her lips on his once again.
she’s soft, she’s gentle, she’s perfect.
y/n moves a little more faster this time, her tongue pressing to his lips until he parts them to give her way, his hands sliding up her waist.
it felt…good.
really good.
otw!michael who doesn’t push her back when she moves forwards, settling on his lap, instead helping her get comfortable, hands trailing along her thighs, under her skirt.
it’s like a sense of confidence came over him, his fingers splayed against her hot skin.
they both pull back - not because they want to, but because they need air - before their lips are back on each other’s.
it feels more sensual this time, their heads at opposite angles, tongues moving in tandem.
otw!michael who’s hands moved further up her skirt, his fingers tips brushing the cotton of her panties as her hands come to his shoulders.
he pulls back at the next gasp for air, y/n’s hands twisted tight into his shirt.
he looks so perfect, lips coated in her salvia, his heart-shaped lips glossy. his eyes are dazed too, blurry and out of focus.
so damn beautiful.
“…michael?”
his attention snaps onto her almost embarrassingly fast.
“y’ever had sex?”
otw!michael who’s face heats up at the question, fingers pausing under her skirt, before he shakes his head. he hadn’t expected that of all things.
“who?” he doesn’t know how to explain it, the twist in his stomach at the idea of some other guy being intimate with her like that.
“doesn’t matter,” she just shrugs, “don’t remember anyways,”
before he can question it, she presses her lips firmly back onto his lips, a rough kiss that he returns immediately.
“teach me,”
otw!michael who can’t even explain where the confidence to say those two words even came from, but he doesn’t have time to wonder anyways.
y/n watches him for a split second, before she nods.
he barely has any time to register what’s going on, before she kisses him again, but this time, she grinds her hips down onto him, just enough to make him squirm.
he’s not quiet, either.
he lets out a sharp gasp, before a mix of a moan and a whine leaves his pretty lips, humming against her lips.
“my baby’s hard f’me already,” y/n coos, her voice soft, melting into his mouth, “barely even did anything,”
the way he looks at her, like she’s a goddess, his lips parted softly, and pupils blown wide.
otw!michael who drags his lips desperately down her neck as she rocks her hips against him, feeling him hardening underneath her, his hips twitching to meet hers.
his eyes darted to her chest, the swell of her breasts, visible beneath her cotton top.
“like what you see?” she leaned back so he could get a better view as he swallowed, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.
“michael?” y/n said, his eyes jumping to her face, face heating up again as she moved her hand to his face, pulling his lip free.
otw!michael who felt like an absolute idiot, the prettiest girl he’d ever met on his lap, and he didn’t even know what to do with himself or her.
she notices his hesitation too, the way he looks so unsure, nervous as hell.
“jus’ let me take the lead, okay?” she says, watching as he nods.
he’s so cautious with her, hands moving gently over her body, groping and squeezing, seeing what made her moan louder, or what made her gasp.
“y’gotta touch me more, mike,” y/n leans forwards, her voice almost taunting him before she moves off his lap, his boner painfully obvious in his pants.
he watches with baited breath as she lays back on the sheets, legs parted.
he can see her panties were wet, a little patch on her core from where she’d been rubbing against him.
“gonna touch me?” she pulls her legs obscenely apart as he swallows. he felt so wrong for looking.
y/n takes his hand, guiding his hand between her legs. her arousal was sticky as he pushes his hand under her panties, collecting the sweetness on the tip of his finger.
“that’s it, baby,” she whispers, voice thick, “be gentle with me,”
she let out a soft mewl as he traces a finger through her wet folds, before she pulls her underwear down to her ankles, letting him pull them off fully.
otw!michael who pushes his fingers onto her with a bit more force this time, the pad of his finger on her clit, as her head tips back.
he watches with wide eyes as she moves her own hands to her pussy, spreading her sweet lips apart for him.
the sight is heavenly.
he can feel his own dick hard in his pants, throbbing, aching. he could’ve finished right there just at the sight of her.
he almost feels disappointed when she moves up, sitting on her knees on the bed, but that feeling quickly fades as she tugs his waistband forwards so she can slide her hand down his trousers.
he moans, a lewd sound, as she wraps her hand round his dick.
he’s hard, thick, and long, twitching against her hot palm.
“y-y/n…” he whines, pathetic as he stands in front of her, “feels s’good, i love you, please,” he babbles.
she uses her other hand to tug his trousers out the way, his dick springing hard against his abdomen.
“so pretty,” she coos, pretty a hot, wet kiss to pretty tip, a gorgeous shade of maroon, “didn’t know it was so big, mike,”
otw!michael who’s face heats up at that, one large hand covering his face.
“don’t,” he mumbles, only for his hand to jump to the back of y/n’s head when she sucks hard on his tip.
“oh god,” he chokes, “don’t-don’t do that,”
“sorry,” she bats her lashes up at him, wrapping both hands round his thick dick, stroking long up and down his length, “so pretty ‘n’ big…gotta use both hands,”
“stop,”
“but y’like it, don’t you? can feel you gettin’ hard in my hands right now,” y/n hums as he groans.
he wishes it wasn’t so obvious.
she watches him for a second, before she leans back.
“c’mere,” she beckons him over with one movement of her hands, and he goes immediately. god, he’d do anything she’d tell him.
he sits right where she asks him too, dick still hard against his abdomen, as she moves onto his lap.
his thighs are thick and muscular, hot beneath her as his dick twitches, so close to her heat.
“gonna give it t’you, don’t worry, m’kay?”
otw!michael who just nods desperately as she hovers over hip, his tip so close to her wet heat, before she sinks down slowly.
“i’m a virgin,” he blurts out, eyes blown wide as she freezes.
“…i know,”
he pauses for a second, and then he nods. god, why did he say that?
she hisses at the first few inches, only noticing the panic on his face when he stops her, hands tight on her waist.
“did i hurt you? i didn’t mean to, i’m so sorry, pretty-,”
“michael,”
he stops.
“it’s okay, it feels good, alright? just stretchin’ me out to fit it in me,”
otw!michael who seems content with the answer after a soft peck from y/n on the lips.
they both moan in sync as y/n settles down, his dick fully inside of her, coated in her warmth.
“how’s it feel?” she whispers, leaning forwards.
“like heaven,”
his slurred, sweet words are all she needs, before she moves with a filthy little sound, her pussy wet round him as she lifts, settling back down.
otw!michael who could’ve finished right there, but y/n sets a pace on top of him as his fists scrunch into the duvet.
“oh god it’s s’good,” he gasps, head thrown back, his afro soft as she leans forwards, peppering kisses on his jaw and cheek.
her pussy sucks him in with every bounce, his hands coming to her chest and pulling her top off with newfound confidence, her breasts bouncing with every movement.
“oh michael,” she throws her head back as he cups them, squeezing just the right amount of pressure.
he lets out a whimper, moving his own hips to meet hers as she gasps, eyes rolling.
how he was a virgin, she’d never know.
“that’s it, pretty boy, jus’ like that,” she whispered, egging him on as he moaned again.
“oh god, oh god,” he chokes out, “this is so dirty, it’s so wrong, y/n, i can’t stop-,”
“don’t stop,” y/n was almost clawing at him, “i need you, okay? don’t stop f’me,”
otw!michael who just nods - he’d do anything for her.
“feels s’good, oh god, y/n- feels like heaven-,”
a few more bounces, and he can feel his cum burst inside of her, hot and thick as his hips stutter and come to a stop, eyes wide.
“y/n,” he says, voice almost panicked, “i finished, ‘m not s’pposed to finish before you,”
y/n slows down her bounces, his cum leaking from her pussy, thick and gorgeous, confused.
“what?”
“‘m s’pposed to make you finish first,” he says, voice quiet, “that’s what those articles all said. to make your girl finish first like a gentleman,”
“fuck them,” y/n waves a hand, “a real gentleman would still be fuckin’ me right now,” she emphasises her teasing words with a bounce as he gasps.
otw!michael who nods again, lifting his hips to meet hers as she moans.
y/n grabs his hands, planting them on her chest as she rides his dick - she was so close.
a few more harsh bounces, and she gasps, head thrown back, lips parted as she clenches round him, making him hiss, his dick twitching inside of her.
for a few seconds, she’s silent, and he watches her pretty face, until she presses a soft, dazed kiss to his lips.
“best sex of my life,” y/n whispers, cupping his pretty face.
“‘m sorry i finished first,” he said, voice quiet, and full of genuine regret as she blinks again.
“don’t matter about that, there isn’t rules to it,” she said, her voice soft, “besides, if we keep practisin’, we can get better,”
“practise?”
“yeah. before y’know it, soon you’ll make me finish 3 times before you cum,”
“three times? it can happen multiple times?” his voice was full of wonder, eyes wide as y/n nodded, “i wanna try that,”
“soon,” she whispered, “let’s go clean up, okay, pretty boy? we can practise every day if you want,”
otw!michael who mumbles a gentle, “i’d like that,” and follows her to the bathroom, still living in the high of what just happened.
you guys don’t understand, i’m genuinely so proud of this one, oh my god.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: pre-otw!michael jackson x blackfem!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: stifled by the suffocating pressures of fame, you offer an escape for michael, an after-hours date at the local roller rink. amidst the flashing neon lights, smooth hardwood floors, and the heavy funk groove of chaka khan, their playfulness shifts into something far deeper.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: friends turned to secret romance?, fluff, smut, mutual loss of virginity, consent is key, michael being sweet, but ends up being a freak, cunnilingus (f.receiving), unprotected p in v (practice safe sex please!), don't worry he pulls out in time, reader is thicc.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6k
𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was supposed to be a double post but i finished late asf. i like to try out different aspects of black women in my writing so having a plus sized woman as the reader was a no brainer. don't worry, mikey knows how to handle it all. also, i know that i've put '70s michael out back to back, but if you can't tell; its one of my favorite eras of his. and obviously i know he definitely did not lose his virginity during this time period, but there’s something about two twenty year olds being so in love and lost within one another that they explore sexuality. i'm also gonna drop the song that's used in the story if you wanna hear it. rufus and chaka khan have a special place in my heart. as usual, if you have requests, hit me up! :)
June 16, 1979
The engine of the rented, unpretentious Chevy Nova purred softly against the curb of Hayvenhurst, its dark green paint bleeding into the shadows of the overhanging oak trees. It was just past eleven o’clock on a warm june night. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the faint, sweet tang of exhaust.
Inside the car, you gripped the steering wheel, your heart doing a rhythmic tap-dance against your ribs. You adjusted the rearview mirror, checking your reflection under the dim dome light. Your afro was picked out perfectly, a soft, rounded halo that framed your face. You wore a pair of high-waisted, fitted denim shorts that hugged your curves, paired with vibrant orange and yellow striped halter top that tied securely behind your neck. You looked good–curvy, soft, and distinctly, undeniably ‘70s.
A shadow darted from the side gate of the Jackson family home. The figure was slender, wearing an oversized, floppy newsboy cap pulled low, a corduroy jacket despite the warmth, and thick-rimmed glasses that obscured half of his face. He moved with a dancer’s innate grace, even while trying to appear small.
The passenger door opened, and Michael slipped inside, closing it with a muted thud. For a second, he sat rigid, peering through the windshield to ensure no cameras or overzealous fans had materialized from the bushes. When the street remained quiet, he let out a long, shuddered breath, his shoulders dropped a full two inches.
He turned to you, and the most radiant, brilliant smile broke across his face, instantly melting the tension in the car.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice soft, high-pitched, and laced with that distinct, gentle sweetness that defined him outside the recording studio. “We made it. I can’t believe I actually sneaked out.”
“I told you I had it covered,” you laughed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. His skin was warm, his fingers long and elegant. “You ready for a real night out, honey? No bodyguards, no press, no autograph books. Just you and me.”
Michael laughed, a high, fluttering sound that made your chest ache with affection. He pulled off the ridiculous glasses and tossed the newsboy cap into the backseat to reveal his beautiful, tight afro and those deep, expressive brown eyes. He was twenty years old, at the absolute peak of his youthful radiant beauty, yet he so rarely got to just live it.
“Man, you don’t even know,” Michael said, turning in the vinyl seat to face you, his eyes scanning your appearance. A soft, distinct blush crept up his high cheekbones, and his gaze lingered on the soft swell of your chest beneath the halter top before dropping to the curve of your thighs. “You look… wow.” You look really beautiful, girl. Serious. That outfit is just… far out.”
“Thank you, Mike,” you said, feeling an intense flush of heat rise up your neck that had absolutely nothing to do with the California summer. “You don’t look too bad yourself, even in that disguise. Now hold onto to your seat. We’re going to the rink.”
As you shifted the Chevy into drive and pulled away from the curb, Michael reached down and turned up the volume on the radio. A heavy bassline filled the cabin, and within seconds, his right foot was tapping a frantic rhythm against the floorboard, his fingers drumming a complex, syncopated beat against his knee. He looked out of the passenger window, watching the neon signs of los angeles bleed together in a blur of gold and electric blue.
“It’s just so nice,” he murmured softly, almost to himself, his eyes reflecting the passing streelights. “To not have to be ‘Michael Jackson’ for a few hours. To just be Mike. People… they don’t see me as a real person sometimes, y’know? They just see the records, or the television shows. But with you… it’s different. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“You deserve to be a normal twenty-year-old, Michael,” you replied gently, taking one hand off the wheel to place it flat against his thigh. The denim of his jeans was rough beneath your palm, but the muscle underneath was solid and warm. “Tonight, you’re not a superstar. You’re just a guy out on a date with a girl who really, really likes him.”
He placed his larger hand directly over yours, intertwining his long fingers with yours, pressing your palm closer against his leg. “I like you too. A whole lot. More than I probably say. It’s just… sometimes I get real nervous around girls. But not with you. Well, maybe just a little bit right now,” he confessed with a shy, breathless laugh.
The venue was called The Cosmic Roller, a local slightly tucked-away spot nestled in a valley strip mall. On a typical Friday night, the place would be packed to the gills with teenagers and young adults sweating under black lights, the air thick with the smell of cheap concessions and teenage hormones. But tonight, the asphalt parking lot was completely empty, illuminated only by a single, buzzing sodium light.
You had pulled some massive favors–and spent a considerable portion of your savings to rent the entire venue out for three hours after closing. The manager, an older gentleman who had been a fan of the Jackson 5 since their early Motown days, had promised absolute discretion, leaving the back employee door unlocked and the main system primed for your arrival.
When you pulled the car around to the rear entrance and killed the engine, Michael peered out the window at the glowing neon sign of a winged roller skate in the window, his eyes wide with pure, childlike wonder.
“We really have the whole place?” he asked, turning back to you with an expression of utter disbelief. “Nobody else is gonna walk in? Not even Marlon or Randy?”
“Nobody but us, Mike. I promise. Come on.”
You grabbed your custom outdoor skates from the trunk–classic white leather with bright pink polyurethane wheels while Michael carried the brown leather rental pair the manager had left on the bench for him. Stepping inside the darkened rink was like entering a temple of pure, unadulterated funk culture.
The floor was a massive, gleaming expanse of polished hardwood, reflecting the overhead neon rings of hot pink, electric blue, and vibrant green that hovered like flying saucers above the track. The air smelled familiarly of floor wax, popcorn, and old vinyl records.
Michael practically bounded over to the carpeted benches near the rental counter, his earlier hesitation completely evaporated. He kicked off his loafers and began lacing up the high-top skates with quick, eager movements, his tongue sticking out slightly between his teeth in concentration.
“I used to skate a lot when we were younger, you know.” he said, looking up at you through his eyelashes, a playful, competitive glint dancing in his dark eyes. “Back in Gary, and when we first moved out here to Encino, Marlon and I used to tear up the rinks. I’ve got some serious moves, girl. Don’t think you’re gonna have to carry me around the floor tonight.”
“Oh, really?” You stood up, testing your balance on your wheels, your hips automatically swaying to the faint, ambient hum of the building’s amplifiers. You looked down at him, letting your eyes track the lean, elegant line of his torso, the way his black silk button-down shirt was tucked neatly into his high-waisted denim. “We’ll see about that, Jackson. Let’s see if you can keep up with a girl with a little more cushion to her pushin’.”
Michael’s jaw dropped slightly, a deep, breathless chuckle escaping him as a dark contrast to his usual high laugh. “Oh, you’re bad. You think you’re real bad, don’t you? Saying stuff like that. Man, you make my head spin.”
“I know I am,” you winked, rolling backward toward the rink entrance with effortless, practiced grace, the wheels humming smoothly against the wood.
Michael stood up, his long, slender legs slightly wobbly at first as his center of gravity adjusted to the slickness of the hardwood. He let out a dramatic, high-pitched yell, his arms flailing for a split second before he caught his balance, locking his core with the instantaneous control of a master dancer. He skated toward the track, his movements a bit stiff initially, but gaining an undeniable rhythm with every passing stride.
You rolled over to the master control booth near the edge of the floor, flipping a heavy toggle switch. Instantly, the house lights dimmed into a deep, atmospheric twilight, leaving only the vibrant, rotating neon wheels to cast long, dramatic shadows across the empty room. You pressed the heavy play button on the reel-to-reel tape deck.
The heavy, unmistakable bassline of Rufus and Chaka Khan’s “Any Love” began to throb through the massive house speakers. Chaka’s rich, velvety, impassioned voice filled the cavernous space, the slow-to-mid tempo funk groove pulsing right through the floorboards and into the soles of your feet.
Michael was already out on the floor, gliding into a wide, sweeping circle. The neon lights washed over him in successive waves–blue, then pink, then gold highlighting the sharp, gorgeous geometry of his cheekbones and the damp, shining curls of his hair. He began to catch the rhythm of the track, his shoulders dipping low, his hips swaying to the heavy plucking of the bass guitar.
“Oh, this is my jam!” He calls out, his voice echoing in the empty rink. He attempted a quick spin, his wheels clicking sharply against the wood, though he stumbled slightly at the tail end, his arms shooting out to stabilize himself against the air.
You skated out to meet him, moving with smooth strides that accentuated the fullness of your frame. Your hips rolled perfectly with the music, the denim shorts showcasing the soft curve of your backside. When you reached him, you didn’t stop; you looped tightly around his body, brushing your shoulder against his chest, leaving the scent of your perfume in his wake.
“You call that a spin?” you teased, looking back over your shoulder with a playful smile. “Come here, let me show you how we do it on the West Coast.”
Michael skated up beside you, his breathing already a little heavy from the excitement and the physical exertion. “Show me then, big shot. Let’s see what you got.”
You reached out, taking both of his hands in yours. His palms were warm, slightly damp, his long fingers wrapping securely around your wrists. “Okay, look at my feet. You gotta keep your center of gravity low, Mike. Don’t stand up so straight. Use those hips. I know you know how to use ‘em.”
Michael laughed, his eyes fixed intently on yours, ignoring his feet entirely. “I know how to use ‘em on stage, but this is friction, girl! The floor is slippery. You trying to make me break my legs?”
“Trust me,” you murmured, stepping closer until the space between your bodies virtually disappeared. You dropped one of his hands, placing your palm flat against the small of his back, right above the waistband of his jeans. You guided him, pulling him directly into your specific rhythm. “Feel the bass. Cross your right foot over your left, then slide. There you go. Just let it flow.”
Michael followed your lead, his movements smoothing out as his natural, unparalleled sense of timing took over. He stopped overthinking the mechanics of the skates. He crossed his foot, slid and suddenly he was gliding perfectly in sync with you, his chest almost pressed flush against yours.
The proximity was dizzying. Every time the overhead neon wheel spun, it illuminated the intense, burning heat gathering in his dark eyes, mixed with raw vulnerability. He wasn’t looking at you like a casual friend anymore; he was looking at you with a deep, concentrated longing, his gaze dropping repeatedly to your lips before sliding down to the exposed skin of your collarbone and the heavy swell of your breasts lifting and falling against the tight halter top.
“You’re real good at this,” Michael whispered. His voice had dropped an octave, becoming that raspy, intimate murmur he used when he was being completely, entirely serious. He moved his hand from your waist, his long fingers sliding up the bare skin of your back, his palm resting right between your shoulder blades where the fabric tied. The heat of his touch sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
“I have a good student,” you breathed, your wheels naturally slowing down until you were both just drifting at a snail’s pace near the center of the rink, completely enveloped in the dark, warm atmosphere and Chaka Khan’s soaring vocals.
“No, it’s not just that,” Michael said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He stopped moving entirely, locking his skates. He pulled you a fraction of an inch closer, his chest pressing against your breasts. “It’s you. The way you move, girl. You got so much rhythm, so much soul. It drives me crazy, y’know? Just watching you walk down the street drives me wild. It makes me feel… real grown up, but real scared too.”
“Michael…” you whispered, your hand resting on his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt was thin, and you could feel the rapid, hard thud of his heart hammering against his ribs. You shared that exact fear, the electric terror of the unknown.
“I mean it,” he said, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy emotion. “I spend all day with people telling me what to do, who to be, how to sing. But when I’m with you… I just feel so free. Like I can breathe. And you look so beautiful tonight. I can’t stop looking at you. I don’t want to look at anything else.”
He leaned down, his face inches from yours. You could smell the sweet, clean scent of his cologne mixed with the faint, musky heat of his skin. His lips, full, soft, and slightly parted, brushed against yours in a teasing light soft ghost of a kiss.
Before you could close the gap to deepen it, Michael attempted to shift his weight to bring both arms completely around your waist. His rear wheel caught a microscopic groove in the hardwood floor.
“Whoa—!”
He lost his footing, his long arms flailing. In a sudden panic, he grabbed onto your waist for dear life. But your center of gravity was already compromised by the sudden shift. With a loud yell and a chaotic, echoing clatter of wheels against the wood, both of you went down.
You hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud, landing squarely on your backside, which fortunately provided plenty of natural padding against the impact. Michael landed right over you, his long legs tangling completely with yours, his hand planting firmly on the hardwood floor on either side of your head to prevent his full weight from crushing you.
For a long second, the massive rink was completely silent save for the echoing music of Rufus and Chaka Khan, the horn section currently blaring a triumphant, funky solo through the overhead speakers.
You looked up at Michael. His hair was slightly mussed, a few tight curls falling over his forehead, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with surprise, and then, the pure absurdity of the moment hit him.
He burst into a loud, uninhibited roar of laughter. It was a deep, infectious belly laugh, the kind he rarely let out when the cameras were rolling. He collapsed forward slightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his chest vibrating intensely against yours as he laughed until his ribs ached.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “Oh man! Did you see that? I totally wiped out! The great Michael Jackson, flat on his face in front of a pretty girl!”
You laughed too, your hands automatically coming up to wrap around his back, holding his slender, muscular frame close to you. “I told you to keep your center of gravity low, Jackson! You got cocky because Chaka came on!”
“I did, I did,” he chuckled, lifting his head slowly. But as his eyes traveled down to meet yours, the laughter died instantly in his throat.
The position you were in was intimate. You were flat on your back, your legs spread slightly with his torso positioned right between them. The friction of the fall had caused your halter top to shift slightly sideways, exposing a deep, tantalizing glimpse of your full cleavage. Your hips were pinned flat beneath his, and through the heavy denim of his jeans, you could feel a distinct, rigid hardness pressing right against your pelvic bone.
The mood in the vacant rink shifted instantly, the playful energy evaporating into something thick, heavy, and suffocatingly hot. The rotating neon wheel above turned a deep, seductive crimson, casting a red, primal glow over the sharp lines of Michael’s face.
Michael’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating until they were almost completely black, swallowing the brown. His breath hitched, his lips parting as he stared down at your mouth. His hands, still planted on the floor, twitched against the wood. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his weight, pressing his groin down just a fraction of an inch into your softness. A nervous tremor ran through his frame, a silent acknowledgement that neither of you had ever been this close to anyone before.
A soft, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, your hips tilting up slightly in response.
“Mike…” you breathed, your voice trembling with a sudden, overwhelming need, your own heart thudding in time with the anxiety of the unknown.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered, his voice completely stripped of its usual boyishness. It was deep, gravelly, and dripping with a raw, adult desire that made your stomach clench. “Every time I touch you, you’re just so soft and warm. It’s all I think about when I’m in the studio. It’s all I dream about. But… I don’t want to mess up, y’know? I want to make it nice for you.”
“You won’t mess up, Mike,” you whispered back, tracing the line of his jaw. “We can just go slow.”
He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your earlobe. A violent shiver tore through your entire body. He licked a wet slow path up your jawline, his tongue warm and rough, before his mouth finally crashed against yours.
The kiss wasn’t just passionate; it was an exploration of two people learning the contours of desire together. It was hungry, desperate, filled with the pent-up frustration of months of longing, of secret glances in crowded recording rooms, of quick, stolen touches backstage. Michael’s tongue slid into your mouth, deep and demanding, swirling against yours with a possessive tempo that mimicked the heavy funk beat pulsing through the floorboards.
You groaned into his mouth, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down as hard as you could. Your thighs clamped around his hips, your heavy skates providing a strange, grounding weight that anchored you to him on the hard floor.
Michael groaned—a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat that made you wet between your legs. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild and unfocused as he looked down at you, the heavy weight of his innocence and yours hovering in the air.
“Not out here,” he panted, his chest heaving against your breasts. “Someone… what if the manager comes back early? What if someone sees us through the glass? I want to be alone with you. Really alone.”
“The manager’s office,” you whispered, your hands reaching up to cup his face, your thumb rubbing over the smooth, warm skin of his cheekbone. “He said it’s unlocked. In the back, past the arcade games.”
Michael didn’t say another word. He scrambled to his feet, his skates clicking loudly and frantically against the hardwood. He reached down, grabbing both of your hands, and hauled you up with a surprising, wiry strength. Without letting go of your hand, he began rolling toward the back of the rink, his movements urgent, completely discarding any pretense of smooth skating.
You followed him, your heart hammering violently against your ribs, the thrill of the illicit encounter making your blood feel like liquid fire.
The manager’s office was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single desk lamp casting a warm amber glow over wood-paneled walls, green filing cabinets, and old concert posters from the early ‘70s. A large, worn leather sofa sat against the far wall, looking ancient but deep and comfortable.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Michael threw the deadbolt lock. He turned around, and before you could even draw a full breath, he pinned your body against the heavy wooden door.
His mouth crashed onto yours again, harder this time, his hands flying directly to your waist. He gripped your fleshy hips, his fingers digging deep into your skin, molding your curves to his body. He lifted you slightly, and because you were still wearing your roller skates, the heavy pink wheels scraped against the wood of the door, providing a strange, rough friction that forced your pelvis directly against his rigid length.
“Mm, god,” Michael groaned against your lips, his hips rolling forward in a slow grind that made you whimper. He was rock-hard now, the thick, unyielding length of his dick burning through his denim right into your sensitive core. “You feel so good. You don’t even know what you do to me, girl. You drive me crazy. I’m… man, I’m shakin’ inside.”
“Me too, Mike,” you confessed against his mouth, your breath hot. “It’s okay. It’s just us.”
“I want to see you,” he whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your skin. His long, nimble fingers moved to the back of your neck. With a quick, deft pull, he untied the strings of your halter top. The fabric fell away instantly, exposing your full, heavy breasts to the warm amber light of the office.
Michael let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes wide as he looked at you. “Look at you… you’re so beautiful. s’full. Look at all this woman. You’re perfect. I’ve never… I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”
He reached out, his warm, large palms cupping the undersides of your breasts, lifting them. His thumbs brushed repeatedly over your nipples, which hardened instantly under his touch. You let out a loud cry, your hands flying to his hair, weaving through the tight, soft curls of his afro as he leaned down and took one dark nipple into his mouth.
He sucked heavily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before drawing the entire aureole past his lips. The sensation was so intense, so raw, that your knees buckled. If he hadn’t been holding you tightly against the door, you would have slid right down to the floorboards.
“Mike, oh my god, Mike—”
He switched to the other breast, his teeth grazing the tip, his hand sliding down to the button of your denim shorts. He popped it open with one hand, the zipper rasping loudly in the quiet room. He shoved his hand down into your panties, his palm cupping your warm mound.
You were already soaking wet, the heat and slickness of your pussy coating his fingers the moment he slid them past the cotton barrier. Michael let out a triumphant, ragged gasp into your skin, his fingers twitching slightly with a burst of sweet, nervous energy as he encountered your wetness for the first time.
“Oh, you’re so wet for me, girl.” he purred, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.
His fingers moved tentatively, parting your lips to find your clit hidden underneath. He stroked it once, twice, his long finger applying just the right amount of pressure as he paid close attention to the way your body reacted.
You screamed into the empty room, your body convulsing against him. The heavy wheels of your skates rolled back and forth against the bottom of the door, a frantic, rhythmic clicking sound that filled the small space.
“Come here,” he panted, breaking away from your chest. He took your hand and guided you over the leather sofa.
You collapsed onto the cracked leather, your legs sprawling over the edge, your skates dangling off the side. Michael immediately dropped to his knees on the floor between your thighs. He didn’t care about the dust, he didn’t care about his clothes; his entire focus was fixed on the space between your legs, his expression a mix of absolute devotion and quiet anxiety.
He gripped your thighs, pushing them wide apart. The amber lamp light caught the wet, glistening sheen of your pussy.
“Michael…” you murmured, a sudden wave of self-consciousness hitting you as you looked down at your soft, curvy stomach and the fullness of your thighs. “The light… and I… I haven’t ever done this before, Mike. With anyone.”
He looked up, his expression melting into something incredibly tender and fiercely protective. “Don’t you dare hide from me. You’re perfect. You hear me? Every single inch of you is perfect. And… I haven’t either. You’re my first, too. That’s why I want to see everything. I want to just be you and me, learning each other.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He leaned forward, burying his face in your pussy.
The first touch of his tongue was a broad, wet, slightly hesitant stroke from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit. You shrieked, your hands gripping the leather cushions so hard your nails dug into the seams.
Michael was a performer; he understood rhythm, tempo, and control and even in his inexperience, his natural instinct took over. His tongue became a weapon of pure pleasure, darting in and out of your pussy, tasting your sweetness, before focusing entirely on your swollen clit. He sucked it into his mouth, using a firm suction that had you writhing beneath him.
“Oh god, Michael! Yes, right there, please!”
He moaned against your wet skin, the vibration of his voice sending ripples of pleasure straight to your pussy. While his mouth continued its relentless assault, he slid two long, slender fingers inside you.
You were incredibly tight, a pure testament to your shared innocence, but so slick that his fingers slid in all of the way to the knuckles with ease. He hooked his fingers upward, finding the magical, ribbed spot inside you, and began to pump them in a fast, wicked pace that perfectly matched the frantic pace of your breathing.
The combination was too much. The heavy leather couch, the warm amber light, the distant, muffled sound of Chaka Khan singing about love, and Michael Jackson worshipping your body between your legs.
Your hips began to thrust wildly against his face, your skates kicking out into the empty air of the office.
“I’m gonna cum, Mike! I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he growled against your flesh, his fingers accelerating, his tongue swirling frantically. “Cum for me, girl. Give it all to me. I got you.”
With a loud, broken cry, your body shattered. Your walls clamped down violently around his fingers, and your core spasmed in a powerful, prolonged orgasm that had you shaking from head to toe. Michael didn’t pull away; he held you tight, drinking in your slick, his tongue catching every drop until your whimpers finally subsided into soft, panting gasps.
Michael stood up slowly, his face flushed; his lips wet and shining in the dim light. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with an unresolved hunger. He stood over you, his hands flying to the buttons of his shirt, ripping them open with an urgency that sent a tiny plastic button flying across the room, clicking against the filing cabinet.
He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, revealing his lean, beautifully sculpted torso. His skin was smooth, his chest glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. He quickly unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans and briefs down, kicking them away.
When he stood before you fully naked, your breath caught. He was magnificent–lean, muscular, and beautifully, heavily endowed. His dick standing proud and rigid, your eyes taking the time to trace over every vein as it trembled slightly with anticipation and the sheer gravity of what was about to happen.
He climbed onto the sofa, hovering over you. He grabbed your waist, pulling your hips to the very edge of the cushions. He lifted your legs, draping your heavy, skated feet over his shoulders. The cold metal of the skate trucks rested against his bare collarbones, but he didn’t care. The added lift gave him the perfect angle into your soft, welcoming body.
“Look at me,” Michael whispered, his voice trembling as he guided the tip of his dick against your still-throbbing entrance. He rested his forearms on either side of your head, his face inches from yours. A sudden wave of nervousness washed over his features, his chest heaving. “Are you sure? Does it feel okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”
You looked up at him, your vision slightly blurry with tears of pleasure, your own heart racing with the beautiful finality of the moment. “I’m sure, Michael. Please. I want it to be you.”
He pushed forward.
He went slow at first, stretching your tight walls, his eyes closing tightly as a low groan tore from his chest. The barrier of your shared virginity resisted for a brief second before giving way, a sharp intake of breath leaving your lips as he slipped deeper. “Oh, man… you’re s’tight… s’warm… hold on, just hold onto me, girl…”
He paused, burying his face in your neck, letting both of your bodies adjust to the sudden, overwhelming fullness. You wrapped your arms tightly around his back, feeling the tense, solid muscles of his shoulders. After a few long, quiet breaths, the initial sting faded, replaced by a deep, pulsing warmth.
“You okay?” he whispered against your skin, his voice incredibly gentle.
“Yes, Mike. I’m okay. Move… please, move.”
He pushed deeper, his hips sinking down until he was buried completely to the hilt inside of you, his hips crashing against yours. The fullness of the sensation was overwhelming. You let out a long, breathless wail, your hands wrapping around his biceps, feeling the hard, flexed muscle beneath your fingers.
Then, he began to move.
He started with long, slow, agonizingly deep strokes, careful and protective at first. Every time he pulled out almost completely, he would pause before plunging back in, driving himself deep into your pussy. As the rhythm settled, his confidence grew, the soft, fleshy curve of your thighs gripping his hips, creating a tight, suctioned seal that made every stroke sound wet and loud in the quiet office.
“Ah… yes, Mike… just like that,” you chanted, your head tossing from side to side on the leather cushions.
His rhythm began to speed up, shifting from a slow groove to a fast, frantic funk beat as the initial nervousness dissolved into pure passion. He was losing control, his usual precision giving way to pure, unbridled animal instinct. He gripped your hips harder, his fingers leaving marks on your skin as he slammed into you, his breathing turning into a series of sharp, guttural pants.
“You’re mine tonight,” he whispered, his eyes opening, burning into yours with a possessive intensity that made you tremble. “Nobody else… just us. You feel so good… damn, you feel so good.”
The heavy wheels of your skates, still draped over his shoulders, rattled with every heavy thrust of his hips. The strange, industrial sound of the skates mixed with the wet slapping of your bodies and the desperate, breathless noises you were both making created a symphony of pure passion.
You could feel the tension building inside him, the way his muscles locked up, the skin of his back turning hot and damp. Your own orgasm was rushing back, triggered by the relentless, hard pounding against your g-spot.
“Michael, I’m close! I’m–oh my god!”
“Me too,” he gasped, his thrusts becoming short, fast, and incredibly deep. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he gave three final, devastating thrusts. “I’m gonna… oh god, I’m gonna—!”
He drove himself in as deep as he could go and held himself there. He finally came to his senses as a loud, ragged scream tore from your throat, your muscles clamping down on him that drew another desperate groan from his lips. You were so caught up in your orgasm, you could barely feel him pulling out of you until you felt ropes of his cum against the plush flesh of your thighs and the curve of your stomach, desperate groans leaving his lips.
For a long time, neither of you moved. He remained over you, his entire weight resting heavily on your soft body, his heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs. The office was completely silent now, save for the sound of your combined breathing.
Slowly, Michael eased himself off of you and as he slid down onto the floor beside the couch and pulled his legs up to his chest, utterly spent but wearing a massive smile. You sat up slowly, your body aching in the most delicious way possible. You reached down and began the awkward task of unlacing your skates, tossing the heavy leather boots onto the floor with a loud clunk. Your feet felt light, your toes curling against the cool air.
You slid off the couch and sat on the floor right next to Michael, leaning your head against his bare shoulder.
He immediately wrapped his long arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He reached over and with his free hand, grabbing his discarded shirt, and gently wiped away the stray droplets of sweat and his cum from your thighs and stomach, his movements tender.
He looked down at you, his eyes soft, gentle and filled with profound, peaceful quiet that you had never seen in him before. The frantic energy of the pop star was completely gone, replaced by a young man who felt safe, loved, and entirely whole after crossing the threshold into adulthood with the person he trusted most.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, kissing the top of your afro, his voice full of concern. “Did I… was it okay for your first time?”
“I’m better than okay, Mike,” you smiled, looking up at him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “It was perfect. That was… far out.”
Michael let out a soft, beautiful laugh, his nose crinkles showing a massive wave of relief washed over him. “Yeah. It really was. Out of this world. Man, I was so scared I’d do something wrong, but you just… you made it so easy.”
He looked around the room, at the scattered clothes, the heavy skates on the floor and the dim light. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you so close you could feel the steady, calming sound of his breathing.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that sweet, sincere tone. “For the date. For everything. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy like this before. Just…being me. Being a man with you.”
“You can always be just you with me, Michael,” you said, turning to kiss his chest right over his heart. “Anytime you need to escape, I’ll have the keys ready.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, girl,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he drifted into a peaceful, contented state of rest, completely wrapped up in the warmth of your embrace while the faint, distant sounds of the ‘70s night hummed outside the office door.
summary 𑣲 to the first half of sinners that brought us here. Michael wants to eat tf out of you.
𝒻. singer!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 instructions 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 a woman’s, his eyes widened hearing Michael’s name being moaned out with such a pleasurable tone.
Marlon grinned, letting out a chuckle “Guess Michael found that 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.
“Ah— Mike…” “..You taste so’good baby…” Michael whined. Randy was full on shocked hearing those words come out of his brother's mouth, following with your satisfied noises in response, 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 “Michael–!” 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.
it’s so sad seeing the ‘michael jackson x reader’ tag deteriorate in real time. cause why are my favorite writers getting a hundred to two hundred likes. when they usually get thousands. plus I feel like we all knew this was gonna happen with the craze of the movie. but shit. it happened to fast for my liking
"trying to forget you was like trying to forget my name."
new york city, 1977
Camille Beaumont; previous child star to now actress, and Michael Jackson; the new up and coming king of pop, are both trapped between their past and who they're becoming. They both live in the eye of society; preforming instead of being. When they reconnect after a decade, their relationship blurs the line between want and need.
when is love no longer enough to keep the flame lit?
warnings
none
tags
slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort, off the wall era, jacksons era, slow build, eventual romance, new york city, los angeles, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fame, right person wrong time, miscommunication, 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, french oc, intimacy, character study, yearning, bittersweet ending, meet cute, implied/referenced sex
℘ pt2 of one shot read pt1 here (it can lowkey be read as a stand alone since i mention details from pt1 anyways <3)
℘ Tags: Fluff, sfw, suggestive but no actual smut
℘ WC: 6.8k words (idk how to stfu clearly 💀)
A/N: Tysm for the love on pt1!! it was my first fic and i feel like i lowkey could’ve wrote it better 😩 so trust i tried to make this one as better as possible considering i feel like my writing has improved! srry it took so long to make pt2, i hope you guys enjoy <3
June 28th 1984
Two months ago today the grammy awards took place. It still felt like a dream to you, you were unable to fathom the fact that you actually got to attend such a prestige award show and be under the same roof as many of the people you idolised.
It was exactly two months since you saw him in person. Since you locked eyes with him from that balcony, since he delivered his speech and took off those glasses, revealing the eyes that still haunt you in your dreams. And since you bumped into him backstage where he took your phone number.
The same phone number you’ve been waiting for exactly eight weeks for him to call.
It was laughable really, i mean who were you kidding? This is Michael Jackson. He had thousands of females surrounding him and in his life, who were you a mere fan who he decided to flirt with during the grammys?
You’d be lying if you said the fact that he didn’t call you hadn’t stung. You thought you and him had hit it off well with the short five minute conversation you both had. You weren’t dumb, you had enough confidence to know you felt a spark, along with the small chemistry that started to form despite it being the first time you met him.
And the kiss he gave you on the side of your lips before he left? Boy had you been thinking about it in every waking moment you had.
You were currently on your bed in your small yet comfortable studio apartment in New York, notepad and pencil in hand as you sketch a new design. Another thing that you failed to forget about that night was Michael’s compliment.
“change that fun into something bigger, i promise you with talent like that i could be dressed in one of your pieces by the next Grammys.”
Michaels words stuck with you more than you’d like to admit. Sure you always got compliments on your work but it never felt as genuine as the way Michael had said it. It spoke life into you. Which is why the design you were currently sketching, was indeed a piece for Michael.
It’s not like he’d actually ever wear it, Michael only dressed himself up in the most luxurious brands and pieces from top tier tailors worth more than you’re entire existence and it’s not like you’d actually ever show it to him considering the fact that your flirtatious interaction was probably the first and last you’d ever have with him in your life.
or so you’d thought.
𓂃⋆.˚
As if mirroring your same emotions, You’ve also been living in Michael’s mind rent free. Humming and scribbling down lyrics onto his notepad in Westlake’s recording studio with his producer and friend in one—Quincy Jones. You’d think after creating an album that went platinum Michael would maybe take a few months maybe even a year off to himself so he could relax but no, Since a kid, for as long as he could remember and since he mentally gained consciousness hes been working.
Coming into the studio, Quincy pats Michael’s back sliding him a bottle of oj he bought him when he went for his coffee break as he lights his cigar plopping himself down on the other spinning chair beside Michael.
“How’s the lyrics goin mike?” He asks puffing on the brown cylinder.
Michael looks up from his notes grabbing the bottle of orange juice taking a sip of it before responding “Pretty good Q, i’m just letting it flow y’know? letting the creator do his magic.”
Quincy hums with a nod watching as his talented music partner scribbles down melodies “Mike as much as i love seeing ya thrive in ya creative process, don’t you think you deserve a break son? I mean since '82 you been writing and working back to back.”
Michael pauses his writing looking up meeting the eyes of his concerned producer and friend “I’m alright quince, i promise. Y’know how i am, if i ain’t writing or working i feel like im not myself.”
Quincy sighs exhaling the tobacco “I know Mike, but cmon just one day off hm? It won’t kill ya, how about you go see a pretty girl or sum? Oh speaking of, back in February after the Grammys i saw you talkin to a lil pretty young thang, who was that?”
Dropping his pen completely on his notepad, Michael clears his throat straightening “Oh uh, yeah it was just sum pretty fan or whatever” He says trying to play it cool despite feeling the electric jolt that shot into his chest at the mention of you.
Seeing the very obvious reaction from Michael Quincy lowers his cigar with a smirk and a look that says ‘ah huh!’
“Just a fan hm?” He says with a teasing condescending tone.
Michael groans seeing how his producer is trying to coax more out of him “Cmon quince, i mean it, she was just a pretty fan—well a beautiful fan actually”
“Beautiful huh? Well i can tell if she’s got you actin so flustered.” He replies chuckling loudly at how Michael swats his arm in embarrassment “Cmon Mike, take a day off and see her. Please tell me you got her number?”
Michael licks his lips sighing tipping his head back on the headrest of the spinning chair “Yeah i did…i just haven’t called her yet.”
“You ain’t called her? Mike you serious? why?” Quincy says out loud voicing out everything that the inner voice in Michael’s brain has been screaming at him for the past eight weeks.
“I know i just- i’ve been real busy quince that is the honest truth, and on top of that im…kinda nervous? I don’t know why maybe it’s because she’s my exact type.” He finishes off with a dreamy tone.
And it was true, you were his exact type. And ever since he laid eyes on you from where you were standing at the top of the balcony with the other fans, where he sat amongst his other famous peers, you’ve driven him crazy. He can’t stop thinking about you, replaying your flirtatious wave, replaying your backstage conversation, thinking about how beautiful you were up close, how smooth your mahogany skin looked and how well it looked against the red dress that you had designed yourself. As if his daytime reminiscence wasn’t bad enough, he started dreaming about you—not that he was complaining, in fact when he woke up he was angry at the interruption from his body.
But to actually unfold the note where you wrote your number that’s been sitting in his pocket for the past four months and to actually give you a call like he promised he’d do? Michael would confidently admit he was a chicken.
His switch of behaviour made even him laugh, he was acting all flirty and big shot with you but to actually dial your number and speak to you over the phone? It made his palms sweaty just thinking about it. And it wasn’t like he didn’t try to because boy he did. Any time he’d get all comfy in his bed after a long day at the studio and try to pick up the phone to call you, he was either interrupted on several occasions by Joseph requesting a meeting downstairs with his brothers, or his own nervousness making him chicken out.
He knew from your perspective it looked like a dick move, to be all flirty with you and create a small chemistry just to never give you the call you’ve been desperately waiting for.
“Busy and nervous my ass Michael. You put that pen and paper down and get the hell outta here, give that pretty girl a call. I’m serious, music can wait, you’re twenty five years old without a pretty babe on your arm.”
“Ouch quince—”
“It was meant to be offensive. Now go before i shove ya out myself.”
𓂃⋆.˚
Huffing softly with the vinyl record playing lady in my life in the background, you sit at your small kitchens stool treating yourself to a tub of your favourite ice cream after a long day of sketching both the piece for Michael along with potential future dresses.
You may or may not have started sewing a dress that your delusional brain pictured you could wear on a date with him.
You hum along to the song swinging your bare legs under your nightgown when the sound of your telephone on the coffee table startles you, your eyebrows raise in confusion looking at the time on the clock above you seeing its ten—almost eleven pm.
You place your spoon and ice cream down sliding off the stool to head to the still ringing phone “I’m coming, i’m coming” you speak aloud before picking up the receiver placing it on your ear with a monotone voice as you sit on the couch “Hello?”
“Hi pretty.”
Your heart jumps into your throat at the sound of the voice that comes from the other end. The voice that couldn’t be mistaken by anyone who wasn’t living under a rock. The voice that spoke to you when you collided into him at the grammys four months ago.
“Michael?” you reply in trepidation trying to see if it was really him who was calling.
“Yeah, hi it’s me.” You hear his voice reply almost with a matched nervousness in his tone.
“I thought you wouldn’t answer.” You hear him say shortly afterwards
“And i thought you were never gonna call.”
You respond back with a hint of sass that causes Michael to release a short breathy chuckle from the other end
“I know im so sorry— i never meant to take this long.”
“Yeah well, four months is pretty long Michael…i know you don’t owe me anything i’m just a fan but i was looking forward to hearing your voice again after you asked for my number.”
“I know pretty, and you’re not just some fan, i looked forward to hearing yours too, i’m sorry i made you wait so long.”
You bite down on your lip concealing your growing smile at the nickname—No you were supposed to be mad, get it together!
“It’s okay, i know your schedule must be insanely busy.” You say despite the voice in your head screaming that you’re giving in too easily—he made you wait for four months for goodness sake.
“Yeah i have been, but truth is i prolonged it because…i was kinda nervous….and shy.”
Your eyes widen slightly in surprise at the revelation, i mean you knew Michael was a shy guy, majority of the world did, but the guy who you saw at the grammys backstage was anything but shy with the way he was flirting with you—and the way he kissed you.
“Shy? But i thought—”
“I know, i was more confident seein you up close which is funny huh? I don’t know i guess i just realised how much I’m attracted to you that it made me nervous to actually call you, along with the fact that i was super busy.”
His words swarm your head like flies as you process them—Michael Jackson was attracted to you?
Realising you’ve been quiet for a minute you repeat his words “You’re attracted to me?”
You hear the smile in Michael’s words as he softly replies “Of course pretty, why do you think i use that nickname hm?”
“You probably use it on other girls and celebrities all the time.”
“Yeah well, this is the first time i actually mean it.”
And there it went. Straight out the window— any strength you had at standing your ground with him as a wide smile plasters your face.
“What do you…find attractive bout me?” You say propping your legs up on the couch and continuously twirling the phone cord like a teenage girl calling her crush.
He blows out a breath “Oh boy where do i start? Hm, for starters the first thing that caught my eye when i looked up at that balcony was how pretty your skin was.”
Your heart flutters in your chest at your skin being one of the things that Michael adored, you loved your melanin and took great pride in it so the fact that the pop star liked it aswell made your whole night.
“And…your smile. When we bumped into each other and the awkwardness finally dissipated, you flashed a less nervous smile and it took my breath away.”
“Gosh you’re such a smooth talker” You chuckle bashfully.
“No i’m just honest, there’s a difference angel.”
“Oh really?” You smile as the same playful banter you had backstage that day makes another appearance.
“Really. And another thing— wait….is that my song?”
Your eyes narrow in confusion before they enlarge as you realise you still had lady in my life playing in the background—shit. Well michael already knew you were his fan but a part of you for your own pride didn’t want him to think you were that obsessed to the point where you have him playing in your home.
“Uh…yeah” You reply slowly with a hint of awkwardness worried at his reaction. But the soft genuine laughter on the other end has your shoulders relaxing.
“Lady in my life huh? You like it pretty?” You could hear the cockiness in his tone.
You clutch the receiver to your ear more as you grin shaking your head “Maybe….”
“Maybe? Seems like you like it enough to play it in your home.”
“Well everyone plays your music in their home.”
“I don’t care about everyone i care about you.” There he goes again, making your insides feel like jelly with his words.
“Michael…stop speaking like that.”
“It’s true, i mean it pretty, i care about you. I ain’t been able to get you out of my mind since we met.”
Your breath hitches—which he hears, at his words and how matched his feelings sound.
“You been feelin the same way?”He asks after a beat.
“Yeah i have…i was really bummed when you didn’t call.”
You the hear soft sigh of guilt that escapes his lips before he speaks “I know angel i’m really sorry, i’m such an idiot i should’ve called you the minute i got home from the grammys.”
“It’s okay Michael, it was probably an extremely long day for you so i never expected you to call immediately. But after a week had passed i guess my hopes went down.”
“God angel i’m sorry, our interaction was on my mind every waking moment i hope you believe that.”
“I do”
“Good.” He replies with a tone of relief. “Now that that’s settled, when are you free? I wanna take you out.”
You almost choke on your spit at his words moving the phone away from your ear to take a deep breathe before clearing your throat and playing it cool “Oh uh..i’m free any day.”
“Yeah? How about tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night…? uh…..” You turn your head to look at the halfway done dress you were sewing still hooked to the machine—Thank you delusional brain.
“Yeah, yeah i can do tomorrow night.”
“You like Thai food?” He asks
“I love Thai food.”
Michael smiles widely from the other end of the line as he holds the phone closer to his ear. “Perfect. Tell me your address and i’ll pick you up at eight.”
“But i’m all the way here in new york, you’re in California that’s like a five hour fli—”
“I’ll be there.” He cuts you off immediately
His certainty squeezes your chest before you tell him your address as he scribbles it down on a random piece of paper on his nightstand “It’s a date. I’ll see you tomorrow pretty.”
You bite your cheek to tame the already big smile you have on your face “It’s a date.” You repeat “I’ll see you tomorrow michael.”
“Goodnight angel.”
“Goodnight.”
When he drops the phone you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding before getting up from your couch jumping up and down squealing.
“Oh my fucking gosh i’m going on a date with Michael— i’m going on a date with Michael Jackson.” The reality dawns on you before you start squealing and jumping again.
“HEY! knock it off!” The neighbour from below you shouts from outside.
“Sorry!!!” You yell back
Whoops….
𓂃⋆.˚
After arriving in New York around 9 hours ago, freshening himself up and getting into the smooth backseat leather of Bill’s Mercedes, Michael adjusts his leather jacket and the dress shirt underneath it before respraying his cologne. Bill looks at him through the rear view mirror before laughing “Look at you getting all dolled up” He teases as Michael lets out his own laugh playfully rolling his eyes at him.
“Oh stop it. I gotta make sure i look and smell good okay? Been a while since i went on a date.”
“I know son, trust me i was surprised when you told me about today’s plans at the airport. You look good kid, promise.”
“Thanks bill” Michael says giving him a pat on the shoulder before leaning back and sighing “You sure she can be trusted Michael? I mean she is a fan” Bill says slightly skeptical due to knowing how crazy Michael’s fans were.
“She’s not just a fan Bill it’s more than that, and she’s lovely from the interactions i’ve had with her.”
Bill nods knowing that despite the protectiveness he feels for Michael, he’s glad he’s finally going out instead of working.
“Plus after tonight, she won’t be just a fan anymore i wanna pursue her if this goes well.”
Shortly after, the car pulls up to a red brick apartment block with rusted stairs and gates with graffiti sprayed on them—this is no place for a pretty girl to be living in, Michael thought.
Getting out of the car he puts on his dark aviators leaning against the Mercedes, the sleeves of his leather jacket are rolled up and his lean figure is complimented by the dark bootcut jeans he’s wearing. His dark jheri curls are neatly styled to perfection with a few stray curls resting on his forehead the way he loves.
Right on time at exactly eight pm the sound of a door shutting makes Michael look up and he sees the woman who’s had him wrapped around her finger descending the metal stairs. The sight of you has his heart hammering in tachycardia—just when he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful than you were at the grammys, you’ve proved him wrong.
The brown skin he couldn’t wait to kiss and feel was now complimented by the coral mid thigh dress that hugged your curvy figure. Your beautiful dark coils that was in a half up half down hairdo at the grammys, is now completely let loose in a blow out reaching your mid back—even Bill who was patiently waiting inside the car had his own eyes fixated on you.
When you finally reach the bottom and head towards him your heels clicking on the pavement with a timid smile hoping the dress you quickly finished sewing this morning looked good on you, he takes off his aviators as if repeating his actions from the grammys where he had first locked eyes with you.
“Hey” He manages to find his voice.
“Hi” Your glossed lips stretch into a smile meeting his big doe eyes with your own not failing to catch the way they’ve darkened slightly as they trail over you before flickering back to yours again.
“Hi pretty, you look…..pretty.” He huffs out your beauty making him out of breath as you both laugh at his use of words before he leans in to give you a hug and kiss on the cheek “C’mere.”
You lean into him as the scent of his musky masculine cologne fills your senses, the electric touch of his palms spread like a wildfire on you as he rests one hand on your mid back and the other on your waist giving you a tight hug with your chests flush together he leans down inhaling your own sweet perfume before you feel the softness of his lips on your cheek.
“I’m serious, you look stunning.” His kind but desire filled words come out as he leans back to look down at you still keeping you close with his hand resting on your cotton clad waist.
“Thank you, you clean up nicely yourself” You smirk slightly as you adjust his jacket collar making him match your smile. “How was your flight?”
“It was good, the five hours felt longer than usual though, i was so excited to see ya.”
His words make your heart squeeze impossibly more “Me too, i was so stressed about my hair and outfit—i had to finish sewing this as fast as i could.”
“You sewed this?”
“Uh huh, i told you i was a fashion designer remember?”
“Of course pretty i can never forget. This dress looks….just… wow on you.” He says his hand that’s on your waist coming up to rub and feel the skin of your arm swallowing hard before shaking his thoughts away and grabbing your hand.“Cmon, the venue is in thirty minutes.”
He uses his other hand to open the car door like a gentleman whilst his other hand ushers you inside shortly following you in afterwards.
“This is Bill my bodyguard.” Michael says introducing you to the friendly older man who greets you with a smile before giving Michael a knowing wink and starting the engine.
When the drive starts the two of you initially stay in silence not an awkward one but one that indicates two people who like each other and are trying to find the right words to come out.
“So—”
“How are—”
Both of you start at the same time making your shared laughter fill the backseat before Michael turns to look at you “You first angel.”
“I was just gonna ask how you’ve been since the grammys.”
He smiles softly at your question as he thinks “i’ve been great. Extremely busy y’know writing new music and stuff.”
Your eyes light up “Really? that’s amazing, are you working on a new album?”
“Hopefully yeah, i just like writing all my ideas down, i like letting God just guide me.”
You nod listening with full interest “I’ve always wondered how your creative process works, i mean your songs Michael they’re just, they’re one of a kind.”
His eyes soften at the compliment“Thank you pretty, i’ll invite you down to the studio one of these days, give you a proper insight. You can even be my muse if you want.”
“Sure i’d like that.” You say with a warm smile as he reaches out placing your hand in his.
“I’d like to see you design somethin one day.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand.
“Sure, maybe you show me how you do your music and i’ll show you how i design my clothes.”
“It’s a second date then.”
You laugh at his confidence.
“What? i’m serious. This won’t be the last time i see you pretty, ima make sure of it.”
His words make you turn your head to stare out the window hiding your cheesy grin at how flustered he’s making you.
“Like i said on the phone, you’re such a smooth talker.”
He laughs “It comes naturally with you.”
𓂃⋆.˚
When it’s time to step out of the tinted car which Bill has parked in a discreet area at the back of the restaurant away from any potential paparazzi and fans, he looks around making sure everywhere is clear before opening the door letting you and Michael out. Michael gets out first before extending his large palm which you hold onto as you get out fixing your dress catching the way his eyes watch the movement before he flickers them away.
“I’m sorry it looks weird, but this is how i have to enter restaurants and public spaces.”
You nod sympathetically understanding the circumstances Michael has to face in order to keep himself protected from cameras constantly flashing in his face and fans charging at him the minute they get a glimpse of him. Living a normal life was non existent to him.
“It’s okay Michael don’t apologise.” You respond leaning your cheek on his shoulder as your heart beats faster at the beautiful smile he gives you, he leans in to peck your forehead before leading you into the restaurant.
“Good evening Ma’am, Mr Jackson, your table for two is right this way.” The host says politely with a slight bow as he leads you and Michael through the most extravagant looking restaurant you’ve ever seen in your life.
Michael grins at the way your jaw drops “You like it?”
“Like it?—Michael it’s incredible in here.”
The soft sound of traditional Thai instrumental music flows through the air of the amber lit setting, the ceiling was high with carved wooden panels of lotus and a hanging chandeliers that were draped with vines and orchids. The unmistakable smell of Jasmine rice and lemongrass floated in the air making your stomach gurgle.
As the host continues to lead you both with your hand in Michael’s, you start to notice the lack of conversations, laughter and cutlery tapping against plate wear. The restaurant was completely empty, belonging to you and Michael only.
“Michael, why’s it so empty?” You ask as he leans his ear down to catch what you said.
“Oh i asked them to close for the evening.”
You blink
“You rented out the restaurant?”
“Mhm” He nods as if it’s the most casual thing as you have to remind yourself for the millionth time tonight you were on a date with Michael Jackson.
The host finally stops at a table that’s tucked just beside the large floor to ceiling windows that overlooks the famous beautiful city of New York, from here the statue of liberty looked almost touchable. The hand crafted wooden table was draped with a silk white table cloth, two gold candle holders holding burning wax in both, polished silverware on each side and a vase with a single rose in it.
When Michael pulls your chair out for you, you almost flinch back into reality that this was actually real— this was actually happening.
Sitting opposite you, he takes his own seat as the host gives you both a fancy velvet book like menu which you open with shaky hands.
“Order whatever you like angel.”
You hear Michael say as your eyes scan over the dishes. You decide to settle with your favourite—Pad Thai, whilst michael tells the waitress that comes to the table his own order along with yours.
When the waitress walks away he turns his face to yours reading your facial expression, his big doe eyes searching yours.
“Too much?”
It’s now that you realise you’re still speechless at the sight of the restaurant.
“N-no, no well- i’ll admit i’m not used to this at all.” You huff out a soft laugh as Michael gives you a gentle smile watching you still look around in amazement.
“I told you pretty, i really, really like you.”
You rest your chin on your palm trying to conceal your growing smile.
“Well you barely know me…”
“Exactly. Tell me about yourself, please.”
You pause to think before rambling on about your whole life, from being the middle child, how your love for fashion design began, your other hobbies, when and how you discovered his music and how you got a ticket to the grammys due to your uncle being one of the journalists there that night.
The whole time you spoke you can barely meet Michael’s eyes due to how intensely he’s looking at you and how intently he’s listening to everything you’re saying as if you’re the only thing that could possibly matter to him right now.
When you finish your life story you finally meet his eyes before shrinking into your seat seeing his soft smile.
“What?”
“What?” He repeats poking his tongue on his cheek trying not to smile.
“Why are you lookin at me like that?”
“Like what?” He smirks enjoying how shy you’re getting—for once in his life he wasn’t the shy one.
You playfully roll your eyes catching onto his tone “You’re so annoying.”
He laughs finally stopping the tease “Okay okay, i was just admiring your life story, it’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure it’s very boring compared to yours.”
“Not at all” Michael says staring off into the distance as if remembering things from his own childhood and upbringing. His thoughts are interrupted when the waitress finally arrives wheeling in the food that’s in steel cloches as she places it before you both lifting the lids up as steam follows revealing the delicious Thai dishes that makes both your mouths water.
“This looks incredible thank you.” You say politely.
“Do you drink wine love?” Michael asks and when you nod the waitress pulls out a fine bottle of red wine pouring it half way into your glasses.
After both of you politely thank her you raise your wine glass holding it up.
“Cheers to you finally calling me.”
Michaels eyes widen before he bursts out laughing.
“I deserved that. Cheers.”
He clinks his glass with yours before you both take a sip and savour the taste of the bitterly sweet wine that costed more than your whole rent.
Digging into the best Pad Thai you’ve ever had in your entire life, you and Michael continue to get to know each other, he tells you about his life, his siblings and the things he’s most proud of. You learn about all his different animals with excitement—letting Michael know you were obsessed with them yourself. He learns about your life goals and how much you love children and Michael could’ve sworn he was about to get down on one knee when he heard that.
You two had so much in common it almost scared you both—same interests, artists, films along with the genres of film, comics and rollercoasters. Michael was continuously making mental notes on places he planned to take you.
By the time the dinner was over you and him were happily tipsy, cheeks feeling warm, lingering shyness completely vanished, and laughter from your table being the only thing heard other than Thai intrusmental. Not too drunk but also not too sober, a perfect balance of euphoria
After seeing the massive bill that michael pays as if the amount was pocket change to him—along with giving the waiters and host massive tips, your arm is hooked around his as you head back to Bill’s waiting car.
When you get into the backseat you stay close to him, thigh against thigh enjoying his warmth as you rest your cheek on his shoulder—your arm still hooked through his.
He kisses your forehead looking down at you “You alright pretty?”
You sigh gently “Mhm, just stuffed.” You giggle as he smiles.
“I hope you had a nice time w’me tonight.”
“I did.” You say immediately before lifting your head up to meet his eyes that was already focused on you.
Michaels eyes slowly flicker down to your lips watching as you lick them, he raises his hand to cup your jaw with his thumb rubbing caresses along your chin
Before you can prevent the words from spilling you speak “I remember backstage at the grammys….before you left you—”
“Gave you a kiss?” He finishes.
You nod slowly.
“I think about it all the time” He whispers, his voice growing husky.
“You do?”
“Yeah, you smelt so good and your skin was so soft….i regretted not kissing you properly when i entered the limo.”
His words make your heart hammer in your chest as you watch his perfectly straight teeth fold his bottom lip between them, your eyes flicker down to the sight feeling the heat rush straight to your core.
“I wish you had.”
Is all you said before Michael’s lips came crashing down onto yours, you can’t help the soft moan that erupts from your throat which goes straight to Michael’s crotch as he moves the hand that was cupping your jaw to the side of your face.
You lean forward deepening the kiss accepting his tongue that was patiently asking for permission as you wrap yours around his cupping the side of his own face as the kiss grows hungrier.
Michaels other hand wanders down to your waist pulling you impossibly closer as you use your other hand to rest on his thigh feeling it tense from your touch as he releases a soft whimper into your mouth.
Using the arm that was on your waist to push you more forward he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue making you finally understand the rumour you’ve heard for years—Michael was indeed a great kisser.
Pulling his mouth away from yours to breathe he chuckles softly against your lips as you chase after his in desperation. He uses his thumb to swipe your now swollen lips as both of you catch your breath.
“That is the kiss i wish i had given you.”
Twenty minutes later after more kisses and caresses, that causes Bill to turn the radio up, Michael walks you up to your apartment, when you meet your door you turn to him giving him a hug wrapping your arms around his neck as he wraps his own around your waist leaning his face into your neck breathing in your soft skin.
“Thank you for tonight” You say into his shoulder as he pulls back still keeping his hands on your hips as he leans down giving you another tongue filled kiss that you smile into.
“If you keep kissing me like that Michael we’ll break the famous sex on the first date controversy.”
Michael laughs into your neck before pulling back.
“You’re right angel, i am a gentleman i promise.” He says before pecking your cheek.
“Goodnight pretty.”
“Goodnight Michael” You say before entering your key and stepping into your apartment.
𓂃⋆.˚
Six months later, you were chilling on your bed with Michael who was now your boyfriend, he had asked you to be his after several dates within the span of two months. His chin was on your shoulder as he watched you lightly drag your pencil lead across the cartridge paper in wonder at how you drew the silhouettes effortlessly along with the pieces to go on them.
“You’re so talented baby.” He kisses your shoulder.
“This is coming from the king of talent himself.” You chuckle.
“m’serious, baby you gotta take this fashion design more serious.”
You sigh softly with a shrug “Maybe, i mean it’ll be my dream to.”
“I’m gonna make it happen. I swear on it.”
You smile at his faith in you turning your head as you lean into his lips giving him a warm kiss which he reciprocates.
The door knocker slams indicating the pizzas finally here.
“I’ll go get it” You say shoving away Michael’s cash that he protests to pay with as you head to the door.
Whilst you’re gone, Michael places your sketchbook in his lap flipping through your designs with a prideful smile on his face.
“So beautiful” He whispers to himself seeing the sketch of the dress you wore to see him on your first date.
He flicks to the next page seeing a sketch which takes his breath away—a sketched male sillouhette adorned in a powerful suit jacket, midnight almost black if you focused carefully blue painted the sketched jacket with a lighter shade to match the vest that had lightly sketched embroidered floral patterns. A yellow gold pocket watch chain hanging from the third button of the vest—the same shade of the gold accents that spread like vines all over the jacket, pulling the entire design together. Michael knew if he saw this concept turn into reality, he would lose his mind over it.
His eyes continue to trail across the page as his eyes landed on your handwriting ‘For Michael Jackson’ at the right bottom corner of the page.
You come back in carrying the two pizza boxes heading back to the side of your studio apartment where your bed is when you almost drop the boxes seeing Michael staring at the sketch you drew for him—his design.
You wanted nothing more than for the ground of your home to open and swallow you.
“Baby…is this for me?” He asks looking up in shock.
You squeeze your eyes shut groaning in embarrassment as your boyfriend chuckles softly, standing up to take the boxes out of your hands placing them on the bed, he holds your hands in his sitting back down on the comforter and pulling you to sit down on his thigh.
“Yeah..it’s just a silly little sket—”
“Nonsense. Baby this is incredible, i love it.”
“Mike you’re just saying that—”
“No i’m not. i’m serious, this is everything to me.”
The honesty in his tone makes you curl into him kissing his cheek “Thank you baby. Honestly it’s just something i created when i was bored.”
“I’m wearing this.”
Your eyes widen “What!? Michael don’t be silly it’s not even finished.”
“Well finish it. I’m serious baby, remember what i said to you at the grammys? I said i’d wear your next piece and i meant it.”
You stare at him as if he’s crazy but you’ve never seen him look so determined and set on something.
The next grammys was now two months away, meaning you had more than enough time to add a few tweaks here and there make this piece even better than you have sketched before bringing it to life.
“Please.” He pleads making you melt
“Okay, okay fine.”
“You promise?” He says holding out his pinky making you giggle.
“I promise Michael. I’ll finish working on it for you.” You lock your pinky with his sealing the childlike promise as he leans in kissing both of them.
𓂃⋆.˚
And just like you had promised him—Grammys '85 red carpet with flashing white lightening from cameras in every direction blinds him behind his aviators, Michael wears the manifested suit jacket in all its picture perfect glory, the jackets gold accents and chain scream for attention along with the embroidered florals that were stitched with such precision it was hard not to admire, with dark tailored suit pants and loafers to match, the jacket clings to his lean upper body as if it was made for him, because it was and it was why his smile was so big knowing he’s wearing his baby’s piece—his girl’s piece.
“Michael this jacket looks spectacular on you, which designer is it?”
One of the journalists yells from behind the loud cameras holding up their reporter mic.
Michael catches the journalists question before proudly answering “My beautiful lady made this for me.”
Everyone around from the other stars who were close enough to hear, to the fans behind the gate and the other reporters, gush at his words speaking amongst themselves, and on cue, Michael extends his palm out from his left as you make your way to the carpet protectively escorted by his bodyguards, the flashing cameras that were once directed at Michael are now snapping towards you at your sudden appearance as you give a shy polite smile stunning everyone with your beauty, your mermaid cut dress that perfectly pushed up your cleavage and clung to your hips, was the same shade of blueish black and gold accents as Michael’s suit jacket, it was almost sinful the way it looked on your brown skin, your thick hair was in a high elegant updo pulling back your beautifully made up face.
The curve of your waist was possessively held by Michael’s arm as you both smile wide for the cameras looking every bit of the power couple you both were.
Your heart was racing behind your gorgeous smile—this was your first red carpet ever and it took Michael weeks of begging for you to be convinced.
Thousands of questions were being thrown at you both but it might aswell have been background noise for Michael because his eyes and focus were only trained on you the entire time. His lady, his everything, the fan who he saw on the balcony a year ago today who had captured his heart and mind before he could even fight it. Was now by his side for the world to see as he proudly wore your design, one of the best of many pieces the world had seen on him.
Feeling his longing gaze, you turn your head and focus away from the cameras to lock your eyes with his brown ones that were free from the aviators he took off ages ago, that are trained so intently in adoration for you.
And just like him, the flashes and the shouting faded into nothing and it was only the two of you.
‘i love you’ you mouth seeing his face soften as he leans forward meeting your glossed lips with his soft ones, flourishing the warmth that settled in your chest.
“I love you too pretty.”
𑣲⋆｡˚
Thank you so much for reading !! <𝟑 .ᐟ
Tags: ppl who wanted to be tagged in this pt2! & My beautiful moots: @carouselgirl77 — tysm for motivating me ily!!) @loves2tour @muddyloserlia @tlcfrmmike @kalista-101 @darkgreengrl @khxna @bambijackson @curlypytclubx
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jacksonsera!michael jackson x black bsf!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: sneaking into a cramped tour bus bunk at 3:00 am changes everything between you and your childhood best friend. trapped behind a velvet curtain mere feet from his sleeping brothers, the unspoken tension finally breaks in the dark. but in a world where everyone is watching, a single sound could cost you everything.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: friends to lovers, established friendship, forbidden, high stakes, slow burn to high heat, fluff, smut, fingering (f.recieving), cunnilingus (f.receiving), p in v, creampie, afterglow, emotional shift, set around the destiny tour.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.7k
𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first and foremost, i wrote this at the request of my sistas (they know who they are). this is another idea that popped in my head when i found myself watching the destiny tour footage last night cause i couldn't sleep. michael in the 70's? untouchable, beautiful, brilliant.
The digital clock on the small dashboard up front glowed a faint, radioactive green: 3:14 AM.
Outside the tinted windows of the Custom Coach tour bus, the dark, flat stretches of the Midwestern highway blurred past in a monotonous hum. Inside the cabin was a narrow cavern of shadow, smelling of stale upholstery, Aqua Net, leather jackets, and the lingering, sweet scent of fast-food grease from a late-night pit stop three states back. The engine vibrated beneath the floorboards, a steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of tires against the asphalt seams that acted like a mechanical lullaby for the ten exhausted people crammed into the vehicle.
You lay perfectly still in your narrow, mid-level bunk, your eyes wide open, staring at the padded vinyl ceiling just a foot above your face. You couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t slept properly since Pittsburgh.
Being hired as a wardrobe assistant and personal coordinator for the Jacksons’ 1979 Destiny Tour was supposed to be the break of a lifetime. As a young black woman trying to break into the industry, having the biggest family in music on your resume was golden. But the reality was a dizzying whirlwind of high-stakes pressure, endless rows of silver-sequeled shirts, ironing out creases under the blinding backstage lights, and navigating the intense, chaotic energy of the five Jackson brothers.
And then, there was Michael.
Your best friend. The boy you’d known since you were kids, back before the world fully claimed him, back when he was just the skinny kid with the biggest laugh and the loudest talent in the neighborhood. You’d stayed close through the Motown transition, through the move to Encino, through the name change to the Jacksons, and now into this monumental moment where he was shedding his teen-idol skin and stepping into something terrifyingly mature, brilliant, and magnetic.
But being his best friend on a tight, claustrophobic tour bus where his overprotective brothers, an eagle-eyed tour manager, and their security detail were always watching? It was a recipe for pure, agonizing tension. Because lately, the way Michael looked at you hadn’t felt very brotherly at all. And the way your heart hammered against your ribs every time he leaned in close to whisper a joke in your ear was getting impossible to hide.
A sudden, sharp rattle from the bus’s suspension made you flinch. You held your breath, listening.
Across the narrow, carpeted aisle, tucked behind a matching set of heavy, dark blue velvet curtains, Marlon was snoring softly. Below him, Jackie was dead to the world. The whole bus was an obstacle course of sleeping bodies and strict boundaries.
J*e Jackson wasn’t on this particular leg of the tour, but his spirit lingered in the rigid discipline expected of the brothers. No distractions. No scandals. No messing around with the crew. If anyone caught you so much as holding hands with the lead singer, you’d be off the tour and on a greyhound bus back home before sunrise, and Michael would face the wrath of a family dynamic that demanded absolute focus.
Suddenly, the soft, distinctive slide of plastic rings against a metal rod broke the silence of the cabin. Your chest tightened. You froze, your ears straining over the low drone of the engine.
Slow, hesitant footsteps padded softly against the thin carpet. They were weightless, almost silent–the unmistakable gait of someone who spent his life dancing on his toes. The footsteps stopped right outside your bunk.
For a second, there was nothing but the steady hum of the highway. Then, the heavy velvet curtain of your bunk parted an inch. A silver of the low, amber floor lighting cut across the dark interior, revealing a familiar, striking silhouette.
Michael.
His massive, perfectly rounded afro was backlit by the faint amber glow, framing his face in a halo of soft shadow. He was wearing his favorite, oversized red and white striped pajama pants and a thin, white cotton shirt that clung to the lean, dancer-cut lines of his chest and shoulders. His brown skin, smooth and dark, caught the dim light, looking damp and glowing. His large, expressive doe eyes searched the darkness of your bunk, wide and restless.
“You awake?” he whispered.
The sound of his voice was barely a breath, a soft, raspy murmur that vibrated straight through the quiet air and sent a shiver down your spine. He sounded so young, so gentle, yet there was a heavy, breathless weight to it that made your pulse instantly quicken.
“Michael?” you breathed, pushing yourself up slightly on your elbows, the thin cotton sheet pooling around your waist. “What are you doing? Oh my god, go back to bed.”
“I can’t,” he whispered back, his bottom lip turning out in a slight, boyish pout that you could just make out in the dim light. He shifted his eight from one foot to the other, looking around the dark cabin nervously before looking back around the dark cabin nervously before looking back at you. “My brain won’t turn off. I’ve been laying there for three hours just staring at the ceiling. The music won’t stop playing in my head. It’s just… buzzing.”
“Michael, your brothers are right across the aisle,” you hissed under your breath, your heart beginning to slam against your ribs like a trapped bird. You glanced frantically toward Marlon’s curtain, terrified it would twitch open. “If Jackie wakes up, or if the driver looks in the rearview mirror and see you standing here—”
“They won’t,” Michael cut in softly.
A tiny, teasing smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and pure exhaustion. He leaned a little closer, lowering his head into the opening of your bunk. “Marlon sleeps like a log, you know that. You could fire a cannon in here and he’d just roll over. Please? Just let me sit with you for a little bit. Just until I calm down.”
You looked at him–really looked at him. Away from the stage lights, away from the screaming fans and the demanding producers and the pressure of his family’s expectations, he just looked like the boy you loved.
There was a raw, vulnerable tiredness in the slope of his shoulders, a quiet plea in his eyes that you had never been able to resist. You had been his safe haven for years, the one person who didn’t want anything from him except his happiness.
You let out a long, defeated sigh, though your heart was hammering so loud you were certain he could hear it.
“You are going to get me fired, Michael Joe Jackson,” you muttered, shifting your body all the way back against the cold, carpeted wall of the bus to create a narrow sliver of space on the mattress.
“No, I won’t. I promise,” he whispered, his smile widening, instantly lighting up his features.
With agonizing slowness, he lifted one long leg and slid into the bunk, his movement incredibly fluid and careful to avoid making the mattress creak. He pulled his other leg in, turning around so his back was to the opening, and reached out. His long, slender fingers gripped the heavy velvet curtain, pulling it completely shut until the plastic rings clicked softly together.
Instantly, the ambient amber light was cut off. You were plunged into total, velvety darkness.
The atmosphere inside the tiny bunk shifted instantly. It was a space designed strictly for one person; with Michael inside, it became an impossibly tight, suffocatingly intimate cocoon. You were forced chest to chest, your knees tangling with his long legs beneath the sheet just to fit within the narrow confines.
The first thing that hit you was his warmth. Michael radiated heat like a stove, his skin burning through the thin cotton of his shirt. The second thing was his scent–that intoxicating, distinct mixture of classic Bal à Versailles musk, clean sweat from the high-energy performance he’d given hours earlier, and the faint, comforting smell of cocoa butter. It filled the tiny space, completely overwhelming your senses.
“Gosh, it’s small in here,” Michael murmured, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating directly against your collarbone.
“I told you,” you whispered back, your hands instinctively coming up to rest against his chest to keep a sliver of distance between you. You could feel the rapid, steady thudding of his heart between your palms. He was just as wound up as you were. “You shouldn’t be here, Mike. Seriously. If your brothers find out, they’ll think… they’ll think something else is going on.”
“Let ‘em think,” Michael whispered softly.
Your breath hitched. That wasn’t the shy, giggly boy from the afternoon interviews. That was the voice he used when he commanded a room, low and steady and filled with a quiet, undeniable confidence.
In the pitch black, you felt him shift. His long arms came around your waist, his large hands spreading across the small of your back, pulling you firmly against him. The friction of his satin-lined pajama pants against your bare legs made your skin tingle. You were so close that every time he breathed, his chest expanded against yours, his nose brushing against the soft cloud of your hair.
“You smelled s’good today backstage,” Michael murmured, his voice a raspy, warm current against your ear. He tilted his head down, burning his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “I was on stage, singing ‘Rock With You’, and I looked out into the wings and saw you holding that silver jacket, just smiling at me. I swear, I forgot the words for a split second. You just… you just looked so beautiful.”
A hot flush traveled up your neck, your cheeks burning in the dark. “Michael…” you breathed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t say things like that. You know we can’t. We’re best friends. And this… this tour is everything to your family. You can’t let anything mess it up.”
“You’re not a mess-up,” he said softly, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin right beneath your jaw as he spoke, sending a wave of electric goosebumps cascading down your arms. “You’re the only thing that keeps me sane out here. Everyone wants a piece of me. Everyone’s pullin’ at me, telling me how to sing, how to dance, who to be. But when I’m with you… ‘m just Michael. I’m just me.”
He pulled back just enough so that you could feel the warmth of his gaze, even if you couldn’t see his eyes in the dark. His hand slid up from your waist, his long fingers framing across the side of your face. His thumb, slightly calloused from years of holding microphones, gently traced the line of your cheekbone, smooth and tender against your brown skin.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about you all night,” he confessed, his voice dropping into a desperate, breathy register that made your pussy ache with a sudden, sharp heat. “Ever since we left the venue. I just… I want to be close to you. s’close.”
The sheer honesty in his voice broke something inside of you.
The walls you had spent months building up–the professional distance, the reminders that he was a global superstar and you were just a girl from the neighborhood crumbled to dust in the dark of that tour bus bunk. You loved him.
You loved him in silence for god knows how many years, burying the need beneath laughter and shared secrets. But tonight, with the world locked outside that velvet curtain and the steady rumble of the highway beneath you, the temptation was too beautiful, too overwhelming to fight.
“Michael,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you leaned into the touch of his hand. “We have to be quiet. If anyone hears…”
“Shh,” he whispered, his thumb moving to brush against your lower lip, tracing its fullness. “I’ll be quiet. I promise. Just let me… let me love you tonight.”
Before you could respond, his head tilted, and his lips found yours.
The kiss was a revelation. It started soft, hesitant, a gentle press of warm, plush lips in the dark, testing the waters, asking for permission. But as you let out a soft, shaky sigh against his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck, the kiss deepened with a sudden, intoxicating hunger.
Michael groaned softly into your mouth–a low, throat-centered sound that you quickly swallowed, terrified it would travel past the curtain. His lips were incredibly soft, moving against yours with a natural, rhythmic grace that matched the way he moved his body on stage. He tasted like the peppermint candies he always sucked on before bed, sweet and sharp.
His tongue swept out, lightly tracing the seam of your lips, and when you opened for him, the kiss became deep, possessive, and thick with a desire that had been building between you for years.
His hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you so flush against him that you could feel the hard, unmistakable ridge of his dick pressing through his pajama pants straight against your thigh. A sharp gasp caught in your throat, but Michael caught it with his lips, his tongue tangling with yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that made your head spin.
He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, both of you panting softly, your hot breaths mingling in the confined space. He didn’t let you go; instead, he rained a trail of soft, biting down the line of your jaw, his lips finding the sensitive pulse point on your neck. He sucked gently, his teeth grazing your skin, and you had to bite down hard on your own lip to keep from crying out as a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure shot straight between your plush thighs.
“Michael… oh god,” you whimpered, your fingers tightening in his thick, soft afro, holding him close.
“You’re so soft,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, his breath hot against your collarbone. “s’beautiful. Gosh, you drive me crazy…”
His hand slid down, his long fingers hooking into the hem of your oversized nightshirt. With slow, deliberate care to avoid any sudden movements that might rock the bunk, he pushed the fabric up, his warm palms skimming over the smooth skin of your thighs, your curvy hips, until the shirt was bunched around your ribs. When his bare hand made contact with the bare skin of your waist, you both shivered at the contrast of the cool air of the bus and the intense heat of his skin.
He shifted his weight, his knee gently prying your legs further apart so he could settle himself directly in between them. The sheer weight of him, lean but incredibly muscular from hours of daily dancing, pressing down onto you blew your mind. The bunk creaked–just a tiny, metallic groan from the springs, and you both instantly froze.
Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest. You lay completely paralyzed, your eyes wide in the dark, listening intensely.
Outside the curtain, the steady thump-thump of the tires continued. Then, a heavy, rustling sound came from Jackie’s bunk across the aisle. Someone turned over, a low, sleepy mumble echoing in the dark cabin before settling back into silence.
Michael let out a silent, shaky laugh against your neck, his shoulders trembling slightly against yours. The sheer, dangerous adrenaline of the moment was like gasoline on a fire, making the desire between you burn twice as hot.
“See?” he whispered, his lips brushing your earlobe. “We’re okay. We’re okay, mama. Just stay right here with me.”
Instead of pressing forward immediately, Michael began to slide downward, his chest brushing against your abdomen as his hands firmly but gently gripped the supple flesh of your thighs, parting them wider.
“Michael, wait, what are you doing?” you gasped in a frantic whisper, realizing he was moving toward the foot of the bunk. The danger felt amplified tenfold now.
“Shh, let me,” he murmured from the darkness near your hips. “I want to taste you. Let me take care of you first.”
Your breath completely caught as you felt his warm, large hands slide under the small of your back, tilting your hips upward. You clenched your jaw, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the thin mattress beneath you. His fingers gently pulled aside your panties and when his warm, wet tongue made its first slow stroke from the entrance of your pussy up to your aching clit, a bolt of pure electricity shot straight up your spine.
You had to shove the fabric of your nightshirt into your mouth to muffle the high, desperate moan that tore from your throat. Michael was incredibly attentive, his mouth alternating between sucking your clit in and a soft, rhythmically flicker of his tongue.
He swirled his tongue over your clit, parting your lips with his fingers to lay the hood bare. He sucked gently, drawing the tiny, swollen bud into his mouth, finding a steady, agonizingly perfect lap that drove you absolutely wild. The heat radiating from his face against your inner thighs was overwhelming, making your dark skin slick with a mix of sweat and pooling slickness.
He paired the relentless friction of his tongue with his fingers, his slender index finger gently pressing against your entrance, slicked completely by your own heavy cream, before slowly sliding all of the way inside of you.
The sudden, blunt stretch of him filling you made you gasp against the cloth that was lodged between your teeth.
His finger pushed deep, tracking your internal curves. Michael let out a muffled hum against your pussy, clearly pleased by how hot and ready you were for him. He added a second finger, spreading you open from the inside, his long digits pumping slowly, deeply, curling upward to stroke the ribbed wall of your g-spot in a slow, bedroom groove that mimicked the heavy basslines he danced to every single night.
“Michael… please,” you whimpered through the cloth in your mouth, your thighs shaking violently, your lower body completely at the mercy of his tongue and his hands.
He was slicking your folds, his mouth widening to suck more of your flesh, his fingers thrusting in a wet, heavy rhythm that had your slick dripping down his hand. You were right on the edge, the coil of white-hot tension in your stomach tightening into an unbearable, beautiful knot.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He quickened the pace of his tongue, flicking hard and fast against your clit while his fingers bottomed out inside you, over and over. The dual sensation shattered you.
The dam broke, and you went completely rigid, a violent, trembling orgasm cascading through your entire body. Your muscles clamped down like a vise around his fingers as you shook, your muffled cries completely swallowed by the fabric of your shirt as your cum flooded over his hand.
Michael stayed right there, drinking in your orgasm, lapping up the sweet taste of you as your body bucked. He held your trembling hips steady until the last pulsing waves rippled through you, then pulled his fingers out slowly with a soft, squelching sound. He kissed the inside of your thighs before crawling up the length of your body, panting softly.
When he reached your face, he gently pulled the shirt from your mouth, slamming his wet mouth over yours to taste yourself on his lips. The kiss was deep, sloppy, and thick with shared, reckless passion. He reached behind himself, his long arm moving with fluid grace as he pushed his pajama pants down, his thick, heavy dick springing free in the dark. It was fully erect, dark and glistening with pre-cum, pulsing with a life of its own against your hip.
When the warm, blunt tip of his dick brushed against your dripping pussy, a sharp gasp caught in your throat. You didn’t waste time, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, the need to be filled by him overriding every ounce of fear left in your body.
“Michael, please,” you begged in a frantic, barely audible whisper, your hands gripping his broad shoulders, feeling the defined muscles of his back ripple under your touch. “I need you. Please.”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered back, his voice trembling with the effort it took to control his own breathing. He raised himself up on his forearms, his hands coming up to trap your wrists gently against the padded vinyl wall of the bunk right above your head to anchor you both. “Look at me. I know it’s dark, but look at me. Hold onto my arms. Don’t make a sound, okay? Just let me love you.”
You nodded frantically in the dark, your eyes locking with where you knew his were.
Slowly, deliberately, Michael shifted his hips forward, aligning himself perfectly. He plunged into you with one, smooth but slow push.
The feeling was so intense, you felt so overwhelmingly full and hot, that your mouth flew open to scream. He was thick, stretching your gummy walls to their absolute limit as he sank deeper and deeper, the wet friction making a soft, sliding sound between your thighs. But Michael was already prepared.
He dropped his head, catching the high, breathless cry in the back of his throat with his own mouth. He groaned deep in his chest, a low, vibrating rumble that you felt through his chest walls as he sank completely inside of you, burying his hips hard against yours until he was fully bottomed out.
You broke the kiss, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, your teeth gently biting into the hot skin of his shoulder to keep yourself silent. Your fingers dug into your palms as he began to move.
Because of the incredibly tight space, he couldn’t take long, sweeping strokes. Instead, he moved with short, shallow deep thrusts. His hips rolling against yours in a slow rhythm that mirrored the sensual, funky groove of his own music. He pulled out nearly all of the way, letting the slick head of his length graze your entrance, before burying himself back inside you with a heavy, wet thud of his hips.
It was pure, concentrated friction, every single movement designed to maximize the pleasure while keeping the physical impact completely silent.
“Oh, gosh,” he rasped, a breathy, broken sound escaping him as his pace quickened just a fraction.
His forehead rested against yours, his afro mixing with your own curls as his sweat began to drop onto your skin, warm and slick. “You feel so good. s’tight… s’warm. I can’t… I can’t get close enough.”
Your hips instinctively rolled up to meet every deep, heavy thrust, your slickness squelching loudly between your bodies in a way that made your face flush with heat. The pleasure was building rapidly all over again, a tight, second wave of tension that threatened to shatter you. Every time his dick hit that perfect, deep spot inside you, your toes curled and a wave of pure euphoria washed over you.
The high-stakes nature of the environment only heightened every single sensation. The danger of the dark cabin, the knowledge that his brothers were sleeping mere feet away, the rhythmic thump-thump of the bus tires acting as a metronome to your hidden sin–it made every touch feel forbidden, sacred, and incredibly intense.
Michael’s control was staggering, but you could feel him reaching his limit. The muscles in his back were tight as steel cords under your hands. His breathing coming in shallow, ragged gasps that he forced himself to smother against your hair. He unpinned your wrists, his large hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting your legs higher onto his shoulders to drive himself deeper, harder, with a quiet, desperate urgency.
He began to pound into you faster, his hips slamming against yours in a frantic, quiet rhythm, his dick sliding through your cream over and over again until you were completely delirious.
“Hold onto me,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the sheer force of his movements. “Don’t let go. I’m right here. I’m right here with you.”
You wrapped your hands around his biceps, pulling him down until there was absolutely no space left between you, your bodies completely fused together in the dark, sweating and slick. You rocked against him, your rhythm matching his perfectly, driving him wild.
“I’m close, Mike… I’m gonna…” you breathed, a tear of pleasure slipping from the corner of your eye.
“Cum for me, mama,” he rasped into your mouth, his lips finding yours again, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, more intense, bottoming out against your cervix with every strike. “Do it for me. Keep it quiet… just let it go.”
With one final, deep, rolling push of his hips, the coil inside you snapped for a second time. A beautiful wave of release crashed over you, your internal muscles clamping down tightly around his dick in a series of intense, pulsing contractions. You bit down so hard on his shoulder that you could taste the salt of his skin, your entire body trembling as you came harder than you have ever done before.
The tight, intense clenching of your body instantly pushed Michael over the edge. He let out a muffled, broken groan against your mouth. His body tightening into a rigid cord as a violent shudder wracked his frame. He split himself deep inside you, pulsing hard as he flooded your walls with thick, hot ropes of his cum. He gave two more slow, heavy, trembling thrusts, driving himself as deep as he could possibly go, before freezing completely. His forehead resting against your shoulder as his breath came in ragged, gaspy hitches.
For a long time, neither of you moved.
The only sound in the tiny bunk was the heavy, synchronized sound of your breathing, gradually slowing down to match the steady, familiar drone of the tour bus engine. Michael remained buried deep inside you, his heavy body pressing you comfortably into the mattress, his skin warm and slick against yours.
Slowly, the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a deep, heavy, and incredibly fluffy wave of warmth.
Michael shifted, letting out a long contented sigh that ruffled the hair near your ear. He carefully slipped out of you, a soft and wet sound breaking the silence that made you smile in the dark. He reached down, finding his discarded shirt at the foot of the bed, and gently cleaned you both up in the dark, his touch incredibly tender and sweet.
Once finished, he didn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he pulled the thin cotton sheet back up over you and him, shielding you from the cool air of the bus. He shifted his long body, pulling you back against his chest so that you were cradled perfectly in his arms, his chest to your back, his knees tucked behind yours in a perfect spooning position.
His long arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you tightly against his warm, bare chest. He tilted his head down, kissing the back of your neck softly, his lips lingering against your skin.
“You okay?” he whispered, his voice returning to that soft, gentle, boyish register you knew so well.
“Yeah,” you whispered back, a soft smile spreading across your face as you rested your hands over his large ones that were splayed across your stomach. “I’m more than okay, Mike. But you really need to go back to your bunk before the sun comes up. If Marlon wakes up and sees your curtain open…”
“Five more minutes,” Michael murmured, his voice already sounding heavy and thick with sleep.
The restlessness that had plagued him hours ago was completely gone, replaced by a deep, profound peace. He snuggled closer, burying his nose into the soft curls of your hair, his grip tightening just a fraction around your waist. “Just five more minutes. This is the best sleep I’ve threatened to get all week.”
You let out a soft, quiet laugh, closing your eyes as the steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the highway tires lulled you both into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped up into the beautiful, forbidden warmth of the night.
saw someone say that everyone always talks about dangerous michael & bad michael bc they’re colorist…. and it lowk makes sense
bc otw mike doesn’t get as much recognition, and ik i said this about how fine he was but it’s not even just that. that era in general does not get enough love for how iconic it was.
ꫂ᭪݁ Type: pt2 of one shot read pt1 here (it can lowkey be read as a stand alone since i mention details from pt1 anyways <3)
ꫂ᭪݁ Warnings: Fluff, sfw, suggestive but no actual smut
ꫂ᭪݁ WC: 6.8k words (idk how to stfu clearly 💀)
A/N: Tysm for the love on pt1!! it was my first fic and i feel like i lowkey could’ve wrote it better 😩 so trust i tried to make this one as better as possible considering i feel like my writing has improved! srry it took so long to make pt2, i hope you guys enjoy <3
June 28th 1984
Two months ago today the grammy awards took place. It still felt like a dream to you, you were unable to fathom the fact that you actually got to attend such a prestige award show and be under the same roof as many of the people you idolised.
It was exactly two months since you saw him in person. Since you locked eyes with him from that balcony, since he delivered his speech and took off those glasses, revealing the eyes that still haunt you in your dreams. And since you bumped into him backstage where he took your phone number.
The same phone number you’ve been waiting for exactly eight weeks for him to call.
It was laughable really, i mean who were you kidding? This is Michael Jackson. He had thousands of females surrounding him and in his life, who were you a mere fan who he decided to flirt with during the grammys?
You’d be lying if you said the fact that he didn’t call you hadn’t stung. You thought you and him had hit it off well with the short five minute conversation you both had. You weren’t dumb, you had enough confidence to know you felt a spark, along with the small chemistry that started to form despite it being the first time you met him.
And the kiss he gave you on the side of your lips before he left? Boy had you been thinking about it in every waking moment you had.
You were currently on your bed in your small yet comfortable studio apartment in New York, notepad and pencil in hand as you sketch a new design. Another thing that you failed to forget about that night was Michael’s compliment.
“change that fun into something bigger, i promise you with talent like that i could be dressed in one of your pieces by the next Grammys.”
Michaels words stuck with you more than you’d like to admit. Sure you always got compliments on your work but it never felt as genuine as the way Michael had said it. It spoke life into you. Which is why the design you were currently sketching, was indeed a piece for Michael.
It’s not like he’d actually ever wear it, Michael only dressed himself up in the most luxurious brands and pieces from top tier tailors worth more than you’re entire existence and it’s not like you’d actually ever show it to him considering the fact that your flirtatious interaction was probably the first and last you’d ever have with him in your life.
or so you’d thought.
𓂃⋆.˚
As if mirroring your same emotions, You’ve also been living in Michael’s mind rent free. Humming and scribbling down lyrics onto his notepad in Westlake’s recording studio with his producer and friend in one—Quincy Jones. You’d think after creating an album that went platinum Michael would maybe take a few months maybe even a year off to himself so he could relax but no, Since a kid, for as long as he could remember and since he mentally gained consciousness hes been working.
Coming into the studio, Quincy pats Michael’s back sliding him a bottle of oj he bought him when he went for his coffee break as he lights his cigar plopping himself down on the other spinning chair beside Michael.
“How’s the lyrics goin mike?” He asks puffing on the brown cylinder.
Michael looks up from his notes grabbing the bottle of orange juice taking a sip of it before responding “Pretty good Q, i’m just letting it flow y’know? letting the creator do his magic.”
Quincy hums with a nod watching as his talented music partner scribbles down melodies “Mike as much as i love seeing ya thrive in ya creative process, don’t you think you deserve a break son? I mean since '82 you been writing and working back to back.”
Michael pauses his writing looking up meeting the eyes of his concerned producer and friend “I’m alright quince, i promise. Y’know how i am, if i ain’t writing or working i feel like im not myself.”
Quincy sighs exhaling the tobacco “I know Mike, but cmon just one day off hm? It won’t kill ya, how about you go see a pretty girl or sum? Oh speaking of, back in February after the Grammys i saw you talkin to a lil pretty young thang, who was that?”
Dropping his pen completely on his notepad, Michael clears his throat straightening “Oh uh, yeah it was just sum pretty fan or whatever” He says trying to play it cool despite feeling the electric jolt that shot into his chest at the mention of you.
Seeing the very obvious reaction from Michael Quincy lowers his cigar with a smirk and a look that says ‘ah huh!’
“Just a fan hm?” He says with a teasing condescending tone.
Michael groans seeing how his producer is trying to coax more out of him “Cmon quince, i mean it, she was just a pretty fan—well a beautiful fan actually”
“Beautiful huh? Well i can tell if she’s got you actin so flustered.” He replies chuckling loudly at how Michael swats his arm in embarrassment “Cmon Mike, take a day off and see her. Please tell me you got her number?”
Michael licks his lips sighing tipping his head back on the headrest of the spinning chair “Yeah i did…i just haven’t called her yet.”
“You ain’t called her? Mike you serious? why?” Quincy says out loud voicing out everything that the inner voice in Michael’s brain has been screaming at him for the past eight weeks.
“I know i just- i’ve been real busy quince that is the honest truth, and on top of that im…kinda nervous? I don’t know why maybe it’s because she’s my exact type.” He finishes off with a dreamy tone.
And it was true, you were his exact type. And ever since he laid eyes on you from where you were standing at the top of the balcony with the other fans, where he sat amongst his other famous peers, you’ve driven him crazy. He can’t stop thinking about you, replaying your flirtatious wave, replaying your backstage conversation, thinking about how beautiful you were up close, how smooth your mahogany skin looked and how well it looked against the red dress that you had designed yourself. As if his daytime reminiscence wasn’t bad enough, he started dreaming about you—not that he was complaining, in fact when he woke up he was angry at the interruption from his body.
But to actually unfold the note where you wrote your number that’s been sitting in his pocket for the past four months and to actually give you a call like he promised he’d do? Michael would confidently admit he was a chicken.
His switch of behaviour made even him laugh, he was acting all flirty and big shot with you but to actually dial your number and speak to you over the phone? It made his palms sweaty just thinking about it. And it wasn’t like he didn’t try to because boy he did. Any time he’d get all comfy in his bed after a long day at the studio and try to pick up the phone to call you, he was either interrupted on several occasions by Joseph requesting a meeting downstairs with his brothers, or his own nervousness making him chicken out.
He knew from your perspective it looked like a dick move, to be all flirty with you and create a small chemistry just to never give you the call you’ve been desperately waiting for.
“Busy and nervous my ass Michael. You put that pen and paper down and get the hell outta here, give that pretty girl a call. I’m serious, music can wait, you’re twenty five years old without a pretty babe on your arm.”
“Ouch quince—”
“It was meant to be offensive. Now go before i shove ya out myself.”
𓂃⋆.˚
Huffing softly with the vinyl record playing lady in my life in the background, you sit at your small kitchens stool treating yourself to a tub of your favourite ice cream after a long day of sketching both the piece for Michael along with potential future dresses.
You may or may not have started sewing a dress that your delusional brain pictured you could wear on a date with him.
You hum along to the song swinging your bare legs under your nightgown when the sound of your telephone on the coffee table startles you, your eyebrows raise in confusion looking at the time on the clock above you seeing its ten—almost eleven pm.
You place your spoon and ice cream down sliding off the stool to head to the still ringing phone “I’m coming, i’m coming” you speak aloud before picking up the receiver placing it on your ear with a monotone voice as you sit on the couch “Hello?”
“Hi pretty.”
Your heart jumps into your throat at the sound of the voice that comes from the other end. The voice that couldn’t be mistaken by anyone who wasn’t living under a rock. The voice that spoke to you when you collided into him at the grammys four months ago.
“Michael?” you reply in trepidation trying to see if it was really him who was calling.
“Yeah, hi it’s me.” You hear his voice reply almost with a matched nervousness in his tone.
“I thought you wouldn’t answer.” You hear him say shortly afterwards
“And i thought you were never gonna call.”
You respond back with a hint of sass that causes Michael to release a short breathy chuckle from the other end
“I know im so sorry— i never meant to take this long.”
“Yeah well, four months is pretty long Michael…i know you don’t owe me anything i’m just a fan but i was looking forward to hearing your voice again after you asked for my number.”
“I know pretty, and you’re not just some fan, i looked forward to hearing yours too, i’m sorry i made you wait so long.”
You bite down on your lip concealing your growing smile at the nickname—No you were supposed to be mad, get it together!
“It’s okay, i know your schedule must be insanely busy.” You say despite the voice in your head screaming that you’re giving in too easily—he made you wait for four months for goodness sake.
“Yeah i have been, but truth is i prolonged it because…i was kinda nervous….and shy.”
Your eyes widen slightly in surprise at the revelation, i mean you knew Michael was a shy guy, majority of the world did, but the guy who you saw at the grammys backstage was anything but shy with the way he was flirting with you—and the way he kissed you.
“Shy? But i thought—”
“I know, i was more confident seein you up close which is funny huh? I don’t know i guess i just realised how much I’m attracted to you that it made me nervous to actually call you, along with the fact that i was super busy.”
His words swarm your head like flies as you process them—Michael Jackson was attracted to you?
Realising you’ve been quiet for a minute you repeat his words “You’re attracted to me?”
You hear the smile in Michael’s words as he softly replies “Of course pretty, why do you think i use that nickname hm?”
“You probably use it on other girls and celebrities all the time.”
“Yeah well, this is the first time i actually mean it.”
And there it went. Straight out the window— any strength you had at standing your ground with him as a wide smile plasters your face.
“What do you…find attractive bout me?” You say propping your legs up on the couch and continuously twirling the phone cord like a teenage girl calling her crush.
He blows out a breath “Oh boy where do i start? Hm, for starters the first thing that caught my eye when i looked up at that balcony was how pretty your skin was.”
Your heart flutters in your chest at your skin being one of the things that Michael adored, you loved your melanin and took great pride in it so the fact that the pop star liked it aswell made your whole night.
“And…your smile. When we bumped into each other and the awkwardness finally dissipated, you flashed a less nervous smile and it took my breath away.”
“Gosh you’re such a smooth talker” You chuckle bashfully.
“No i’m just honest, there’s a difference angel.”
“Oh really?” You smile as the same playful banter you had backstage that day makes another appearance.
“Really. And another thing— wait….is that my song?”
Your eyes narrow in confusion before they enlarge as you realise you still had lady in my life playing in the background—shit. Well michael already knew you were his fan but a part of you for your own pride didn’t want him to think you were that obsessed to the point where you have him playing in your home.
“Uh…yeah” You reply slowly with a hint of awkwardness worried at his reaction. But the soft genuine laughter on the other end has your shoulders relaxing.
“Lady in my life huh? You like it pretty?” You could hear the cockiness in his tone.
You clutch the receiver to your ear more as you grin shaking your head “Maybe….”
“Maybe? Seems like you like it enough to play it in your home.”
“Well everyone plays your music in their home.”
“I don’t care about everyone i care about you.” There he goes again, making your insides feel like jelly with his words.
“Michael…stop speaking like that.”
“It’s true, i mean it pretty, i care about you. I ain’t been able to get you out of my mind since we met.”
Your breath hitches—which he hears, at his words and how matched his feelings sound.
“You been feelin the same way?”He asks after a beat.
“Yeah i have…i was really bummed when you didn’t call.”
You the hear soft sigh of guilt that escapes his lips before he speaks “I know angel i’m really sorry, i’m such an idiot i should’ve called you the minute i got home from the grammys.”
“It’s okay Michael, it was probably an extremely long day for you so i never expected you to call immediately. But after a week had passed i guess my hopes went down.”
“God angel i’m sorry, our interaction was on my mind every waking moment i hope you believe that.”
“I do”
“Good.” He replies with a tone of relief. “Now that that’s settled, when are you free? I wanna take you out.”
You almost choke on your spit at his words moving the phone away from your ear to take a deep breathe before clearing your throat and playing it cool “Oh uh..i’m free any day.”
“Yeah? How about tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night…? uh…..” You turn your head to look at the halfway done dress you were sewing still hooked to the machine—Thank you delusional brain.
“Yeah, yeah i can do tomorrow night.”
“You like Thai food?” He asks
“I love Thai food.”
Michael smiles widely from the other end of the line as he holds the phone closer to his ear. “Perfect. Tell me your address and i’ll pick you up at eight.”
“But i’m all the way here in new york, you’re in California that’s like a five hour fli—”
“I’ll be there.” He cuts you off immediately
His certainty squeezes your chest before you tell him your address as he scribbles it down on a random piece of paper on his nightstand “It’s a date. I’ll see you tomorrow pretty.”
You bite your cheek to tame the already big smile you have on your face “It’s a date.” You repeat “I’ll see you tomorrow michael.”
“Goodnight angel.”
“Goodnight.”
When he drops the phone you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding before getting up from your couch jumping up and down squealing.
“Oh my fucking gosh i’m going on a date with Michael— i’m going on a date with Michael Jackson.” The reality dawns on you before you start squealing and jumping again.
“HEY! knock it off!” The neighbour from below you shouts from outside.
“Sorry!!!” You yell back
Whoops….
𓂃⋆.˚
After arriving in New York around 9 hours ago, freshening himself up and getting into the smooth backseat leather of Bill’s Mercedes, Michael adjusts his leather jacket and the dress shirt underneath it before respraying his cologne. Bill looks at him through the rear view mirror before laughing “Look at you getting all dolled up” He teases as Michael lets out his own laugh playfully rolling his eyes at him.
“Oh stop it. I gotta make sure i look and smell good okay? Been a while since i went on a date.”
“I know son, trust me i was surprised when you told me about today’s plans at the airport. You look good kid, promise.”
“Thanks bill” Michael says giving him a pat on the shoulder before leaning back and sighing “You sure she can be trusted Michael? I mean she is a fan” Bill says slightly skeptical due to knowing how crazy Michael’s fans were.
“She’s not just a fan Bill it’s more than that, and she’s lovely from the interactions i’ve had with her.”
Bill nods knowing that despite the protectiveness he feels for Michael, he’s glad he’s finally going out instead of working.
“Plus after tonight, she won’t be just a fan anymore i wanna pursue her if this goes well.”
Shortly after, the car pulls up to a red brick apartment block with rusted stairs and gates with graffiti sprayed on them—this is no place for a pretty girl to be living in, Michael thought.
Getting out of the car he puts on his dark aviators leaning against the Mercedes, the sleeves of his leather jacket are rolled up and his lean figure is complimented by the dark bootcut jeans he’s wearing. His dark jheri curls are neatly styled to perfection with a few stray curls resting on his forehead the way he loves.
Right on time at exactly eight pm the sound of a door shutting makes Michael look up and he sees the woman who’s had him wrapped around her finger descending the metal stairs. The sight of you has his heart hammering in tachycardia—just when he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful than you were at the grammys, you’ve proved him wrong.
The brown skin he couldn’t wait to kiss and feel was now complimented by the coral mid thigh dress that hugged your curvy figure. Your beautiful dark coils that was in a half up half down hairdo at the grammys, is now completely let loose in a blow out reaching your mid back—even Bill who was patiently waiting inside the car had his own eyes fixated on you.
When you finally reach the bottom and head towards him your heels clicking on the pavement with a timid smile hoping the dress you quickly finished sewing this morning looked good on you, he takes off his aviators as if repeating his actions from the grammys where he had first locked eyes with you.
“Hey” He manages to find his voice.
“Hi” Your glossed lips stretch into a smile meeting his big doe eyes with your own not failing to catch the way they’ve darkened slightly as they trail over you before flickering back to yours again.
“Hi pretty, you look…..pretty.” He huffs out your beauty making him out of breath as you both laugh at his use of words before he leans in to give you a hug and kiss on the cheek “C’mere.”
You lean into him as the scent of his musky masculine cologne fills your senses, the electric touch of his palms spread like a wildfire on you as he rests one hand on your mid back and the other on your waist giving you a tight hug with your chests flush together he leans down inhaling your own sweet perfume before you feel the softness of his lips on your cheek.
“I’m serious, you look stunning.” His kind but desire filled words come out as he leans back to look down at you still keeping you close with his hand resting on your cotton clad waist.
“Thank you, you clean up nicely yourself” You smirk slightly as you adjust his jacket collar making him match your smile. “How was your flight?”
“It was good, the five hours felt longer than usual though, i was so excited to see ya.”
His words make your heart squeeze impossibly more “Me too, i was so stressed about my hair and outfit—i had to finish sewing this as fast as i could.”
“You sewed this?”
“Uh huh, i told you i was a fashion designer remember?”
“Of course pretty i can never forget. This dress looks….just… wow on you.” He says his hand that’s on your waist coming up to rub and feel the skin of your arm swallowing hard before shaking his thoughts away and grabbing your hand.“Cmon, the venue is in thirty minutes.”
He uses his other hand to open the car door like a gentleman whilst his other hand ushers you inside shortly following you in afterwards.
“This is Bill my bodyguard.” Michael says introducing you to the friendly older man who greets you with a smile before giving Michael a knowing wink and starting the engine.
When the drive starts the two of you initially stay in silence not an awkward one but one that indicates two people who like each other and are trying to find the right words to come out.
“So—”
“How are—”
Both of you start at the same time making your shared laughter fill the backseat before Michael turns to look at you “You first angel.”
“I was just gonna ask how you’ve been since the grammys.”
He smiles softly at your question as he thinks “i’ve been great. Extremely busy y’know writing new music and stuff.”
Your eyes light up “Really? that’s amazing, are you working on a new album?”
“Hopefully yeah, i just like writing all my ideas down, i like letting God just guide me.”
You nod listening with full interest “I’ve always wondered how your creative process works, i mean your songs Michael they’re just, they’re one of a kind.”
His eyes soften at the compliment“Thank you pretty, i’ll invite you down to the studio one of these days, give you a proper insight. You can even be my muse if you want.”
“Sure i’d like that.” You say with a warm smile as he reaches out placing your hand in his.
“I’d like to see you design somethin one day.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand.
“Sure, maybe you show me how you do your music and i’ll show you how i design my clothes.”
“It’s a second date then.”
You laugh at his confidence.
“What? i’m serious. This won’t be the last time i see you pretty, ima make sure of it.”
His words make you turn your head to stare out the window hiding your cheesy grin at how flustered he’s making you.
“Like i said on the phone, you’re such a smooth talker.”
He laughs “It comes naturally with you.”
𓂃⋆.˚
When it’s time to step out of the tinted car which Bill has parked in a discreet area at the back of the restaurant away from any potential paparazzi and fans, he looks around making sure everywhere is clear before opening the door letting you and Michael out. Michael gets out first before extending his large palm which you hold onto as you get out fixing your dress catching the way his eyes watch the movement before he flickers them away.
“I’m sorry it looks weird, but this is how i have to enter restaurants and public spaces.”
You nod sympathetically understanding the circumstances Michael has to face in order to keep himself protected from cameras constantly flashing in his face and fans charging at him the minute they get a glimpse of him. Living a normal life was non existent to him.
“It’s okay Michael don’t apologise.” You respond leaning your cheek on his shoulder as your heart beats faster at the beautiful smile he gives you, he leans in to peck your forehead before leading you into the restaurant.
“Good evening Ma’am, Mr Jackson, your table for two is right this way.” The host says politely with a slight bow as he leads you and Michael through the most extravagant looking restaurant you’ve ever seen in your life.
Michael grins at the way your jaw drops “You like it?”
“Like it?—Michael it’s incredible in here.”
The soft sound of traditional Thai instrumental music flows through the air of the amber lit setting, the ceiling was high with carved wooden panels of lotus and a hanging chandeliers that were draped with vines and orchids. The unmistakable smell of Jasmine rice and lemongrass floated in the air making your stomach gurgle.
As the host continues to lead you both with your hand in Michael’s, you start to notice the lack of conversations, laughter and cutlery tapping against plate wear. The restaurant was completely empty, belonging to you and Michael only.
“Michael, why’s it so empty?” You ask as he leans his ear down to catch what you said.
“Oh i asked them to close for the evening.”
You blink
“You rented out the restaurant?”
“Mhm” He nods as if it’s the most casual thing as you have to remind yourself for the millionth time tonight you were on a date with Michael Jackson.
The host finally stops at a table that’s tucked just beside the large floor to ceiling windows that overlooks the famous beautiful city of New York, from here the statue of liberty looked almost touchable. The hand crafted wooden table was draped with a silk white table cloth, two gold candle holders holding burning wax in both, polished silverware on each side and a vase with a single rose in it.
When Michael pulls your chair out for you, you almost flinch back into reality that this was actually real— this was actually happening.
Sitting opposite you, he takes his own seat as the host gives you both a fancy velvet book like menu which you open with shaky hands.
“Order whatever you like angel.”
You hear Michael say as your eyes scan over the dishes. You decide to settle with your favourite—Pad Thai, whilst michael tells the waitress that comes to the table his own order along with yours.
When the waitress walks away he turns his face to yours reading your facial expression, his big doe eyes searching yours.
“Too much?”
It’s now that you realise you’re still speechless at the sight of the restaurant.
“N-no, no well- i’ll admit i’m not used to this at all.” You huff out a soft laugh as Michael gives you a gentle smile watching you still look around in amazement.
“I told you pretty, i really, really like you.”
You rest your chin on your palm trying to conceal your growing smile.
“Well you barely know me…”
“Exactly. Tell me about yourself, please.”
You pause to think before rambling on about your whole life, from being the middle child, how your love for fashion design began, your other hobbies, when and how you discovered his music and how you got a ticket to the grammys due to your uncle being one of the journalists there that night.
The whole time you spoke you can barely meet Michael’s eyes due to how intensely he’s looking at you and how intently he’s listening to everything you’re saying as if you’re the only thing that could possibly matter to him right now.
When you finish your life story you finally meet his eyes before shrinking into your seat seeing his soft smile.
“What?”
“What?” He repeats poking his tongue on his cheek trying not to smile.
“Why are you lookin at me like that?”
“Like what?” He smirks enjoying how shy you’re getting—for once in his life he wasn’t the shy one.
You playfully roll your eyes catching onto his tone “You’re so annoying.”
He laughs finally stopping the tease “Okay okay, i was just admiring your life story, it’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure it’s very boring compared to yours.”
“Not at all” Michael says staring off into the distance as if remembering things from his own childhood and upbringing. His thoughts are interrupted when the waitress finally arrives wheeling in the food that’s in steel cloches as she places it before you both lifting the lids up as steam follows revealing the delicious Thai dishes that makes both your mouths water.
“This looks incredible thank you.” You say politely.
“Do you drink wine love?” Michael asks and when you nod the waitress pulls out a fine bottle of red wine pouring it half way into your glasses.
After both of you politely thank her you raise your wine glass holding it up.
“Cheers to you finally calling me.”
Michaels eyes widen before he bursts out laughing.
“I deserved that. Cheers.”
He clinks his glass with yours before you both take a sip and savour the taste of the bitterly sweet wine that costed more than your whole rent.
Digging into the best Pad Thai you’ve ever had in your entire life, you and Michael continue to get to know each other, he tells you about his life, his siblings and the things he’s most proud of. You learn about all his different animals with excitement—letting Michael know you were obsessed with them yourself. He learns about your life goals and how much you love children and Michael could’ve sworn he was about to get down on one knee when he heard that.
You two had so much in common it almost scared you both—same interests, artists, films along with the genres of film, comics and rollercoasters. Michael was continuously making mental notes on places he planned to take you.
By the time the dinner was over you and him were happily tipsy, cheeks feeling warm, lingering shyness completely vanished, and laughter from your table being the only thing heard other than Thai intrusmental. Not too drunk but also not too sober, a perfect balance of euphoria
After seeing the massive bill that michael pays as if the amount was pocket change to him—along with giving the waiters and host massive tips, your arm is hooked around his as you head back to Bill’s waiting car.
When you get into the backseat you stay close to him, thigh against thigh enjoying his warmth as you rest your cheek on his shoulder—your arm still hooked through his.
He kisses your forehead looking down at you “You alright pretty?”
You sigh gently “Mhm, just stuffed.” You giggle as he smiles.
“I hope you had a nice time w’me tonight.”
“I did.” You say immediately before lifting your head up to meet his eyes that was already focused on you.
Michaels eyes slowly flicker down to your lips watching as you lick them, he raises his hand to cup your jaw with his thumb rubbing caresses along your chin
Before you can prevent the words from spilling you speak “I remember backstage at the grammys….before you left you—”
“Gave you a kiss?” He finishes.
You nod slowly.
“I think about it all the time” He whispers, his voice growing husky.
“You do?”
“Yeah, you smelt so good and your skin was so soft….i regretted not kissing you properly when i entered the limo.”
His words make your heart hammer in your chest as you watch his perfectly straight teeth fold his bottom lip between them, your eyes flicker down to the sight feeling the heat rush straight to your core.
“I wish you had.”
Is all you said before Michael’s lips came crashing down onto yours, you can’t help the soft moan that erupts from your throat which goes straight to Michael’s crotch as he moves the hand that was cupping your jaw to the side of your face.
You lean forward deepening the kiss accepting his tongue that was patiently asking for permission as you wrap yours around his cupping the side of his own face as the kiss grows hungrier.
Michaels other hand wanders down to your waist pulling you impossibly closer as you use your other hand to rest on his thigh feeling it tense from your touch as he releases a soft whimper into your mouth.
Using the arm that was on your waist to push you more forward he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue making you finally understand the rumour you’ve heard for years—Michael was indeed a great kisser.
Pulling his mouth away from yours to breathe he chuckles softly against your lips as you chase after his in desperation. He uses his thumb to swipe your now swollen lips as both of you catch your breath.
“That is the kiss i wish i had given you.”
Twenty minutes later after more kisses and caresses, that causes Bill to turn the radio up, Michael walks you up to your apartment, when you meet your door you turn to him giving him a hug wrapping your arms around his neck as he wraps his own around your waist leaning his face into your neck breathing in your soft skin.
“Thank you for tonight” You say into his shoulder as he pulls back still keeping his hands on your hips as he leans down giving you another tongue filled kiss that you smile into.
“If you keep kissing me like that Michael we’ll break the famous sex on the first date controversy.”
Michael laughs into your neck before pulling back.
“You’re right angel, i am a gentleman i promise.” He says before pecking your cheek.
“Goodnight pretty.”
“Goodnight Michael” You say before entering your key and stepping into your apartment.
𓂃⋆.˚
Six months later, you were chilling on your bed with Michael who was now your boyfriend, he had asked you to be his after several dates within the span of two months. His chin was on your shoulder as he watched you lightly drag your pencil lead across the cartridge paper in wonder at how you drew the silhouettes effortlessly along with the pieces to go on them.
“You’re so talented baby.” He kisses your shoulder.
“This is coming from the king of talent himself.” You chuckle.
“m’serious, baby you gotta take this fashion design more serious.”
You sigh softly with a shrug “Maybe, i mean it’ll be my dream to.”
“I’m gonna make it happen. I swear on it.”
You smile at his faith in you turning your head as you lean into his lips giving him a warm kiss which he reciprocates.
The door knocker slams indicating the pizzas finally here.
“I’ll go get it” You say shoving away Michael’s cash that he protests to pay with as you head to the door.
Whilst you’re gone, Michael places your sketchbook in his lap flipping through your designs with a prideful smile on his face.
“So beautiful” He whispers to himself seeing the sketch of the dress you wore to see him on your first date.
He flicks to the next page seeing a sketch which takes his breath away—a sketched male sillouhette adorned in a powerful suit jacket, midnight almost black if you focused carefully blue painted the sketched jacket with a lighter shade to match the vest that had lightly sketched embroidered floral patterns. A yellow gold pocket watch chain hanging from the third button of the vest—the same shade of the gold accents that spread like vines all over the jacket, pulling the entire design together. Michael knew if he saw this concept turn into reality, he would lose his mind over it.
His eyes continue to trail across the page as his eyes landed on your handwriting ‘For Michael Jackson’ at the right bottom corner of the page.
You come back in carrying the two pizza boxes heading back to the side of your studio apartment where your bed is when you almost drop the boxes seeing Michael staring at the sketch you drew for him—his design.
You wanted nothing more than for the ground of your home to open and swallow you.
“Baby…is this for me?” He asks looking up in shock.
You squeeze your eyes shut groaning in embarrassment as your boyfriend chuckles softly, standing up to take the boxes out of your hands placing them on the bed, he holds your hands in his sitting back down on the comforter and pulling you to sit down on his thigh.
“Yeah..it’s just a silly little sket—”
“Nonsense. Baby this is incredible, i love it.”
“Mike you’re just saying that—”
“No i’m not. i’m serious, this is everything to me.”
The honesty in his tone makes you curl into him kissing his cheek “Thank you baby. Honestly it’s just something i created when i was bored.”
“I’m wearing this.”
Your eyes widen “What!? Michael don’t be silly it’s not even finished.”
“Well finish it. I’m serious baby, remember what i said to you at the grammys? I said i’d wear your next piece and i meant it.”
You stare at him as if he’s crazy but you’ve never seen him look so determined and set on something.
The next grammys was now two months away, meaning you had more than enough time to add a few tweaks here and there make this piece even better than you have sketched before bringing it to life.
“Please.” He pleads making you melt
“Okay, okay fine.”
“You promise?” He says holding out his pinky making you giggle.
“I promise Michael. I’ll finish working on it for you.” You lock your pinky with his sealing the childlike promise as he leans in kissing both of them.
𓂃⋆.˚
And just like you had promised him—Grammys '85 red carpet with flashing white lightening from cameras in every direction blinds him behind his aviators, Michael wears the manifested suit jacket in all its picture perfect glory, the jackets gold accents and chain scream for attention along with the embroidered florals that were stitched with such precision it was hard not to admire, with dark tailored suit pants and loafers to match, the jacket clings to his lean upper body as if it was made for him, because it was and it was why his smile was so big knowing he’s wearing his baby’s piece—his girl’s piece.
“Michael this jacket looks spectacular on you, which designer is it?”
One of the journalists yells from behind the loud cameras holding up their reporter mic.
Michael catches the journalists question before proudly answering “My beautiful lady made this for me.”
Everyone around from the other stars who were close enough to hear, to the fans behind the gate and the other reporters, gush at his words speaking amongst themselves, and on cue, Michael extends his palm out from his left as you make your way to the carpet protectively escorted by his bodyguards, the flashing cameras that were once directed at Michael are now snapping towards you at your sudden appearance as you give a shy polite smile stunning everyone with your beauty, your mermaid cut dress that perfectly pushed up your cleavage and clung to your hips, was the same shade of blueish black and gold accents as Michael’s suit jacket, it was almost sinful the way it looked on your brown skin, your thick hair was in a high elegant updo pulling back your beautifully made up face.
The curve of your waist was possessively held by Michael’s arm as you both smile wide for the cameras looking every bit of the power couple you both were.
Your heart was racing behind your gorgeous smile—this was your first red carpet ever and it took Michael weeks of begging for you to be convinced.
Thousands of questions were being thrown at you both but it might aswell have been background noise for Michael because his eyes and focus were only trained on you the entire time. His lady, his everything, the fan who he saw on the balcony a year ago today who had captured his heart and mind before he could even fight it. Was now by his side for the world to see as he proudly wore your design, one of the best of many pieces the world had seen on him.
Feeling his longing gaze, you turn your head and focus away from the cameras to lock your eyes with his brown ones that were free from the aviators he took off ages ago, that are trained so intently in adoration for you.
And just like him, the flashes and the shouting faded into nothing and it was only the two of you.
‘i love you’ you mouth seeing his face soften as he leans forward meeting your glossed lips with his soft ones, flourishing the warmth that settled in your chest.
“I love you too pretty.”
𑣲⋆｡˚
Thank you so much for reading !! <𝟑 .ᐟ
Tags: ppl who wanted to be tagged in this pt2! & My beautiful moots: @carouselgirl77 — tysm for motivating me ily!!) @loves2tour @muddyloserlia @tlcfrmmike @kalista-101 @darkgreengrl @khxna @bambijackson
note: i could never handle being fwb with michael. like nooo mooore big daddy !! anyways sorry it took me so long to drop sumn new..been busy giving my acct a bbl.
"M-Michael!" you yelled out, your voice fracturing into the heavy, heated air of your bedroom.
Hearing you scream his name was his absolute favorite sound, and it instantly made him work even harder, his hips driving into yours with a frantic, desperate rhythm because he knew that was exactly what would get you there. His large hand was tangled fiercely into your messy curls, while his other hand was gently but firmly wrapped around your neck, anchoring your body entirely to his. Sweat glistened over your beautiful brown skin, making you look like you’d been sun-kissed by God Himself as the explosive wave of pleasure finally crashed over you both.
You came down breathless, tangling in the messy sheets. For a few fleeting minutes, you just lay there together, desperately catching your breath in his heavy, safe embrace. But then, you glanced at the clock on the nightstand, and sheer panic set in.
You pushed gently against his chest, breaking the embrace, and immediately scrambled out of the bed. You grabbed your clothes from the floor, frantically rushing to pull your outfit together. "I'm going to be late," you muttered, aggressively fixing your hair. "I have to rush and meet a potential client to show that new property downtown."
Michael sat up slowly, the sweet, post-intimacy haze evaporating into a cold, thick tension. The longer this friends-with-benefits arrangement had progressed, the more intensely jealous both of you had become, and he absolutely hated seeing you with anyone else.
"A client?" he questioned, his jaw clenching tightly as his dark eyes critically tracked your every movement across the room. "Are you sure it's just a client, or is this a date? You're rushing out of my bed awfully fast just to go play realtor."
You stopped dead in your tracks, staring at him in utter disbelief. "Are you seriously doing this right now?" you shot back, frustration boiling over. "It is my job, Michael! Unlike you, I'm not actually out going on dates with other people!" You grabbed your purse and stormed out, leaving a heavy, unresolved tension suffocating the bedroom.
A few days passed without a single word between you two.
Then, you saw the tabloid photos online—Michael had been spotted out at a restaurant on a date with someone else. The jealousy completely burned a hole through your chest. Furious, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed his number.
He picked up on the second ring, answering with that same sweet, soft tone he always used for you. "Hello, beautiful."
"Mm mm, miss me with that 'hello beautiful' bullshit!" you cussed into the receiver, completely enraged. "You did all that questioning when I had to meet a client yet, here you are out parading around on a date?! You are out here making me look fucking stupid, Michael!"
Instead of getting defensive, Michael let out a low, cheeky chuckle on the other end of the line. "Why don't you come over here so I can fix that attitude of yours?"
His cocky response instantly set you off. "Don’t play with me right now!" you practically screamed. "Lately I gotta watch what I say 'cause you take things personal nowadays, but you think you can just—"
"I'm joking, baby, I'm joking! Relax," he quickly backpedaled, his tone softening as he realized he had pushed too far. "I promise you, the date wasn't anything serious. We both thought it was cool to cross the line, and I was convinced it would be alright, but you're making this so hard."
"Because nothing's the same anymore!" you yelled, hot tears blurring your vision. "We used to laugh and joke, we used to tell each other all our secrets! Honestly, I just want my friend back!" You hung up the phone before he could respond, sinking onto your couch.
Another few agonizing days of radio silence passed.
Then, late at night, there was a soft knock on your door. You opened it to find Michael standing in the shadows of your porch.
"I was in the area," he murmured, his dark eyes looking down at you.
You actually let out a dry, breathy laugh, leaning against the doorframe. "Michael, you live almost an hour away," you scoffed. "You were definitely not 'in the area.'"
Despite the obvious lie, you stepped aside and let him in, locking the door behind him. You didn't want to argue anymore. You just wanted to feel him. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips hungrily against his and trying to pull him straight into what you usually did when he came over late at night.
At first, Michael completely fed into your advances. He had come here with a speech prepared, but the second your soft lips crashed against his, his resolve instantly shattered. You were entirely irresistible to him; he had never been able to tell you no. You backed him aggressively against the heavy front door, jumping up so your legs could wrap tightly around his waist as he instinctively caught your thighs.
But the moment you ground your hips down against his, the agonizing reality of his pain crashed through the intoxicating haze.
He came violently back to his senses. This wasn't enough anymore. He suddenly broke the kiss, gasping for air. His large hands moved from your thighs to firmly grip your wrists, gently but firmly pulling your arms away.
"Stop," he commanded softly, setting you down on your feet and taking a definitive step back. He looked completely exhausted, stripping away all his pride. "I can't handle this arrangement anymore. My mind's gone crazy, I can't leave you alone."
He stepped directly into your space, his tall frame towering over you. "I want you to be with me officially. This friends with benefits thing is done. I'm giving you an ultimatum: we are either together for real, or we stop this completely. I want you, or I want nothing."
"Michael, no—"
"I mean it," he interrupted, his voice a raw, gravelly vibration. "I went out the other night. The other girls... they are okay. But they're not you. I keep searching for you in every single one of them, and I can't find it. Because they aren't you."
Your heart hammered violently against your ribs, terrified of the risk. "How can you be sure things won't end up bad?" you pleaded, pushing back against his ultimatum. "If we do this for real and we fail, I'd hate to walk away from you as if this never existed! I’m not ready to lose my best friend!"
"I don't want to hear that!" he demanded, refusing to entertain your doubts. But right now, with his chest heaving inches from yours and his masculine scent wrapping around you, you couldn't process the heavy ultimatum. Your body was aching for him.
"Michael, please," you begged, your hands sliding out of his firm grip to desperately grab the waistband of his trousers, pulling his hips closer. "I promise we’ll talk about this. I promise we’ll figure it out as soon as we're done. But please... just not right now. I need you right now."
He stared down at your beautiful, sun-kissed skin, his jaw clenching tightly. He had come here entirely prepared to put his foot down, but the absolute truth was, he could never tell you no.
"Damn it," he cursed in a low, defeated, gravelly vibration, completely surrendering as his lips crashed fiercely back onto yours.
Because he had given in, the encounter wasn't the slow, sweet lovemaking you were used to. It was much rougher, fueled entirely by his built-up frustration, the jealousy of your phone call, and the agonizing days of silence. His large hands gripped your waist tight enough to bruise as he backed you forcefully against the heavy wood of the front door again. He didn't even bother making it to the bedroom. One of his hands tangled fiercely into your messy curls, tilting your head back, while the other gripped your hip as he drove into you with a frantic, punishing rhythm.
He was pouring every ounce of his pent-up anger and deep, unyielding passion into the way he touched you. He was usually so controlled, but because it had been quite a while since you had been together like this, he was entirely at your mercy. The intense emotional friction pushed him over the edge incredibly fast.
"I can't get enough of you," he groaned roughly into your neck, his voice breaking as he hit his limit much faster than usual. His hips drove into yours with a final, desperate urgency, a heavy shudder ripping through his tall frame as the explosive wave of pleasure crashed over him, pulling you right over the breathless edge with him.
You both came down panting, his broad chest heaving erratically against yours as he kept you pinned flush against the door. The heat between you slowly began to settle into a heavy, suffocating reality.
As his breathing steadied, he didn't put an inch of space between you. Instead, he rested his forehead heavily against yours, his thumbs sweeping firmly across your collarbones. He hadn't forgotten your promise.
"Now talk," he breathed, his voice a rough whisper against your lips as he brought the ultimatum right back to the surface. He looked deep into your eyes, terrified but entirely resolute. "Are you mine, or am I walking out that door?"
heya first off, love your works Mikey is so cuteeee when you write him ahhh my angel face
Can I request off the wall michael x chubby reader?
Fluff, like him loving on reader and her curves tysm tysm
Love ya muahhhh
lit from within | michael jackson
- summary: reader decides to spoil off the wall!michael with a romantic night indoors, intending to make him forget all the noise outside
word count: 5.9k
warning: fluff all around, michael loves kissing, he actually just loves reader, he's this close to worshipping in fact he already does, poor writing btw, im serious, nothing happens, no plot, no tension, but also mentions of d*ana r*ss, sorry... And also SHORT as hell, rushed, im bad at kissing scenes, why is there so much of it here?? not sure
* no usage of y/n, michael refers to reader as 'baby' and 'sweetheart'
author's note: Hi hi hi, my love! Sorry for taking so long. Thank you so much for being patient, I really appreciate and love you for it. But I'd also like to say sorry if this doesn't go the way you want it too. Really, I am sorry!! You specifically asked for chubby!reader and I was unsure how to go about it, mostly because in my past writings, I don't think I've ever specified or did any descriptive writings on the reader's appearance for the sake of inclusivity, so this was a new thing for me. Reading it back, I don't think it translated very well, or at all even, but I do hope you enjoy this. Please, feel free to message to let me know on how I could do better, if needed! 💗
Also note, I'm genuinely serious. There's nothing here but fluff. And it starts off with potential but kind of blew up in my face, so do with that what you will. Also, there is no man on Earth that is capable of loving women the way Michael does. I'm being so for real, that man is obsessed. With women in general. He's so tea. Also, writing these fics give me a chance to slip in my faves from the past like old films. The Philadelphia Story is a really enjoyable film, guys. Loved the trio in it.
+++ not proofread, what else is new? the pacing is insanely rushed, and this is poorly written, but I'm hoping the fluff is enough to distract you...
+++ english isn't my first language! and i'm not a professional writer by any means! this will be apparent in my writings. hope you still like this regardless, please do...
Well, that's the newly made plan anyway. It's nearing the middle of the year now, and Michael and his brothers had finally taken a well deserved break from the Destiny tour, the management designing plans to continue again in a few months.
This break, however, is not being wasted by Michael at all. Almost every day, he enters the studio before the sun even rises, and only leaves hours after it has set. There's an air of intensity around him that couldn't be contained, or lessened. Not when he sets the pressure on himself, just as everyone else is. He's adamant to make this album great, and you've never been against that ambition and drive.
With that being said, the fact that you finally have him all to yourself tonight really pumps your excitement to another level.
Exiting your bedroom, you make sure everything is tidy along the way to the kitchen. Seeing him work so hard, you had an urge to give him a slow night in. You figured it's more than well deserved, with all his busyness and still not failing to somehow provide you just enough attention the whole time. Pulling out all the stops, you prepared a candlelit dinner, rented The Philadelphia Story for the night, even pulled out a record from its sleeve, already placed on the turntable and ready to be played the second he would enter your apartment.
Earlier in the day, there was also a voice in your head telling you to spoil yourself. So, that's exactly what you did. Knowing Michael would arrive pretty late, maybe 9.30p.m., it gives you a reason to purchase a brand new nightgown and preferably, drive the man crazy.
The sleek mesh fabric cascades beautifully, laid out on your curves in just the right places. The sweetheart neckline hugs your chest in the most flattering way, with lace stitched into the center of the top area, covering the inner contours of your front. Initially, you thought it wouldn't provide enough support you actually needed, but after wearing it, you find yourself immediately lost in the pure comfort of the gown. Ribbons are tied to keep the laces held together, and the gown descents into a sheerness ever so slightly, it's barely a tease.
But you knew it would drive Michael crazy anyway.
Just as you finish lighting up the final candle on the small table, your ears pick up the sound of keys and the front door opening.
“Sweetheart?”
Giggling to yourself, you rush to the turntable and lower the needle to the vinyl. Keeping it to a low volume, you check yourself again right before Michael walks down the hallway and sees you. The moment your eyes meet, you throw your arms up and give him a bright grin.
“Ta-da!” A playful wave of jazz hands and you almost snort at his face of surprise. He totally didn’t expect to walk into a dim setting with candles all around. And you swore to yourself years ago how you wouldn’t get romantic for a man. Funny how that turned out. You feel an innate sense of delight at his jaw slightly agape, awe filling his eyes. Dropping your gaze downwards, a gasp softly leaves your mouth, noticing his hands holding a bouquet of red lilies and a small box, wrapped neatly in wine red paper.
The two of you stare at each other with the same dumbfounded looks for a good few seconds. A snort finally escapes you, and that breaks him, and then the two of you are laughing like idiots standing five feet apart with gleeful surprise etched onto your faces.
“Baby, what is all this?” Michael finally asks you, stepping closer and giving you a slow kiss in greeting. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, humming against his lips. Slightly pulling away, you murmur shyly. “Just something I wanted to do for you. You've been so stressed lately.”
A look of pure adoration appears on his face, and he kisses your cheek, muttering quietly, heavy with love. “Thank you, my love. You're perfect.”
Taking a few steps back, his eyes trail down your figure, then back up. Then, back down. His gaze darkens by the second, and a sharp intake of his breath tells you just how right you were in buying this particular nightgown. Biting his lip, Michael shakes his head and shuts his eyes briefly, actively holding back from walking closer to you.
“So, so perfect. God, baby. This new?”
The hoarse in his voice makes you give an internal high five to yourself, and you nod while turning around slowly. Giving him the whole view, and hearing his grip on the wrapped box tightening. Stopping to face him again, you throw your hands up again for the sake of calming things down. There's dinner waiting after all.
“Yes! You like it?” You ask him, genuine excitement lacing your words. “I thought it was the prettiest thing in the store.”
“I love it,” Michael replies, his eyes softening at your delighted tone. “It's real pretty. Suits perfectly on you, my pretty baby.”
Your grin widens, thanking him before flicking your gaze at his full hands again. “Is that… for me, Mikey?”
“Hm?” He hums distractedly, still staring at your gown before his eyes widen, turning to look at you and the items in his arms. “Oh, yeah!”
A soft ‘yay’ leaves your lips, melting Michael's heart further. Walking closer to each other again, you slowly take the bouquet from his hands. “Oh, this is so lovely, sweetie. It's perfect for dinner. I'll go find a glass to put these in, just a second.”
“Oh, no need. The last time I was here I got a small vase and hid it behind your blanket cabinet,” he immediately replies, stopping you in your tracks. Disbelief crosses your face, and a soft laugh escapes you again.
“You're unbelievable,” you tell him.
“Why, thank you,” he bites back a grin. Less than a second after that, his face briefly twists into hard focus, ears pricking up as the record keeps playing quietly. The soft music causes his lips to slowly quirk up, gaze meeting yours.
“The Isley Brothers?”
“Go For Your Guns, 1977,” you reply with a nod, sheepishly fiddling with the flowers. “The first record you've ever given me.”
“Aw, sweetheart,” Michael coos and reaches to cup your cheek. “This is wonderful. But if my memory serves correctly, you practically blackmailed me into givin’ you the album, hm?”
Pouting at his teasing tone, you poke his chest. “I most definitely did not… And even if I did, it's only right. You have all those new records and I only had Rumours by then. I had to.”
He lets out a low chuckle, still holding your face. Leaning in to press soft kisses on your temple and down to your cheek, he trails his hand down to your waist, the other to intertwine with your fingers. Swaying from side to side, you laugh as he leads you into a half hearted slow dance. His hand on your waist isn't pressed against your skin however, as he was still gripping onto the small box.
When Footsteps In The Dark start playing, you hold back a laugh as Michael shifts closer and properly dances with you. “Mike, food is getting cold,” you softly speak into the quaint space, only smiling when he presses his forehead against yours.
“Hey, if I wanna dance with my girl for a minute, I'm goin’ to, okay?” He says, eyes closing in bliss as you move around the living room. A sigh escapes you, knowing whatever he wants, he would get. Especially when it comes to you. Although, your heart sings at the feel of him. The warmth he brings like no other, the utter openness he possesses when showing love to you. Being loved by Michael is otherworldly.
All your life, you've never had someone so… so passionate with life, and with love. Meeting him was something you thank the stars for every day.
You snap out of your thoughts when his hand leaves your back, and Michael presses another kiss to your temple and whispers excitedly, holding out the small box, the red of the paper almost translucent from the dim lights. “Take the gift, open it.”
Pulling away, you stroke his jaw before shaking your head. Before disappointment can wash over him, you motion to the kitchen. “Let's do that after dinner. Come on, it's gonna get cold, Mister.”
You turn up the volume on the turntable slightly before heading to the kitchen, gripping onto Michael's hand and leading him. Seeing the home cooked meal laid out nicely just for him, the man almost gets down on his knees right then and there to worship you. You pull away your hand to head somewhere else, but he doesn't argue when his eyes are still focusing on the beautifully plated dinner.
“Baby, did you somehow become a professional chef while I was workin’?” Michael calls out, smiling at the sound of your muffled laughter.
“Very funny,” you finally reply to him as you enter the kitchen again and position the small orange vase he got for you on the center of the table, this time the flowers arranged aesthetically inside. “I actually learned a lot from that cooking channel you're always watching. No wonder you love it so much.”
Clasping your hands under your chin in happiness, both of your gazes meet. A soft smile blooms into your face. “Dinner's ready!”
Making yourselves comfortable on the chairs, Michael places the small box near your plate. He asks you softly, distracting himself from the mouthwatering smell of the blessed food right in front of him. “Open after you finish eating?”
“Okay, Mikey,” you nod and lift your glass of wine. Clinking his against yours, Michael reaches to pinch your cheek softly, making you hold back a giggle and feign a glare. He chuckles and turns to his food, already brimming with pure joy at the mere thought of a meal cooked by you instead of cold takeouts like he's been having every late night in the studio.
The both of you talk about anything and everything that comes to mind during dinner. It's been a few days since you've last seen each other, and there's been quite a lot to catch up on. Well, for him, anyway.
“And then, Jeff just flipped out, yelling all around the office. Meanwhile Mr. Barrett just ignored him and told me to keep at it, he was really sorry about it and everything,” you ramble to him about your workplace, sipping on the glass before continuing to take another bite of the food.
Tilting his head, he looks at you curiously. “Don't you wonder why Mr. Barrett is always so nice to you, baby?”
“Well, he told me I reminded him of his daughter or something,” you say while shrugging. “And the fact I'm the youngest in that office probably helps a lot. Not with Jeff though, no. He sees anyone under the age of thirty and all he thinks is how unqualified they would be.”
Michael frowns while chewing his food, and you'd be lying if you said that's not the most adorable sight you've ever been blessed with. “That's terrible!” He exclaims after swallowing. “Y’know, baby, the more you talk about your new job, the less I like even hearin’ Jeff's name.”
“Well, what can you do, sweetie? A job's a job,” you shrug again. Softly nudging his feet with yours under the table, you smile at him. “Speaking of jobs, what about yours? How's the recording going?”
He lets out a heavy sigh, biting his lip and focuses his gaze on his plate. “Okay.”
Brows furrowing, you reach across the table and take his hand softly. “Uh oh... that sigh of yours didn't sound okay.”
“Well, no, it's just… it's going great, sweetheart, believe me.” Nodding reassuringly at you, he continues with a quieter tone. “It's just been so time consuming. And a lot of clashin’ heads, I hate when that happens. And I can't even call you as often anymore, so I'm practically deprived of you, baby.”
A half giggle leaves you, and you shake your head and squeeze his hand. “I hear you, Mikey. I'm sorry that it's been rough for you. But remember what you said to me all those months ago? It's gonna be worth every second when you see people dancing to your songs, right?”
“Yeah,” he finally says after a moment, eyes lighting up again, and in return, so does your heart at the sight. Holding himself with seemingly less weight on his shoulders, Michael continues. “It’ll all be worth it. But the recording is great, don't worry. I think it really speaks on how I wanna sound.”
“Hey, that's good, sweetie. That's the most important thing for you, right?” You softly stroke the back of his hand. He nods with a shy chuckle, and takes your intertwined hands to kiss the back of yours.
“A lot of voices, though,” he adds. “In the studio, I mean. Quincy has this to say, Mr. Temperton has that to say. Others involve themselves at times and I really don't like it when they talk over me. But they do try to listen, so I guess that's fine. And, y’know, Diana thinks because she linked me and Quincy together, she's entitled for some involvement and I don't know anythin’ about that.”
The fork’s halfway to your mouth before you momentarily freeze. “Diana as in Ross? That one?” You ask him, voice stilting.
Unaware of the twitch in your eye at the mention of her name, Michael nods as he takes another bite. “Yeah, she visits a lot. Mostly to see Quincy but then he'd tell me somethin’ about the tracks we're workin’ on right after, and I'm starting to think Diana's feedin’ him lines. But I never end up giving in, of course.”
“You shouldn't,” you reply sharply, finally taking the bite before almost stabbing at the rest of the food.
“I wouldn't,” he raises his brows, still eating and facing his food and clueless to your mildly heated state.
“Good, don't,” you say, curt while taking another sip of the wine.
“I won't,” Michael replies again, this time flicking his gaze to your face. Concern gleams in his eyes. “You okay, baby?”
“Mhm,” you nod and keep your lips glued to the rim of the glass, averting your eyes.
He notes the taut pull of your shoulders, tension radiating off of you in small waves. The slight furrow of your brows and the downwards tilt of your lips tell him all he needs to know.
“Oh, sweetheart, not this again?” Michael sighs out, amusement quickly growing in his voice.
“What?” You say, still looking away and feigning cluelessness.
“She's just a mentor, I'm tellin' you,” he pressed his words, eyes desperately trying to lock to yours.
“A really flirty one at that,” you hold back a scoff before glancing at Michael apologetically. The man only shakes his head, reaching to hold your hand again.
He bites back a grin and stares at your face, asking you in a firm manner. “Baby, why would I ever think about her in such a way when I have a really beautiful, smart, wonderful woman as the love of my life right here?”
Silent for a moment, you huff and drop your tense shoulders. “Well, you're right about that. I am all of those things.”
“Exactly,” he whispers and kisses the back of your hand. Gaze slightly darkening, he observes you in a way that has you heated and warm all over. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Ignoring his look of pure want, you clear your throat. “Finish your food and we can start on that movie night.”
•
Currently snuggling up to Michael, you absentmindedly lift a popcorn to your lips as James Stewart's character speaks.
“There's a magnificence in you, Tracy,” he said to the woman who Katharine Hepburn was playing. She turned to him with a look of surprise, longing in the most mournful way.
Michael pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulder and lips ghosting kisses against your temple.
“It's late,” the woman hesitantly said, turning around to flee away. The background strums of violin strings grew louder, almost overpowering as James’ character continued. His eyes sparkled with wonder, never straying away from her gaze.
“A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk. You're lit from within, Tracy!”
The man next to you hums, murmuring softly. “What a wonderful line.”
Nodding in agreement, you huff a laugh as Michael turns away from the television yet again to bury his face into the crook of your neck, peppering kisses against your skin. “Mike!” You scold him, hiding your grin as he briefly pouts at you.
“I don't seem to you made of bronze?” Katharine’s voice spoke in a low, forlorn manner.
The man didn't think, he let the words escape from his lips without a second thought. “No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight.”
The two characters stepped closer to each other, music growing more emotional, laced with melancholic passion. Concern appeared on his face, he asked, “What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.”
“Shut up, shut up,” she whispered as she looked up at him with innocent desire. “Oh, keep talking, keep talking. Talk, will you?”
Softly smiling at the scene before you, you whisper softly into the air of the calm living room. “You know, I'd love to meet Katharine Hepburn someday. She brings something to her characters in such a way every time.”
A slow nod comes from Michael in response. “Hm… that would be a delight, wouldn't it?”
You hum in agreement before taking another popcorn into your mouth. The film slowly makes its way to the back of your mind as your thoughts revert to the earlier conversation you'd shared with Michael. It's been bothering you a bit, seeing how the process of the album is taking a toll on him, in ways that are slow and quiet. Clearing your throat, you turn to Michael, who was actually focused on the TV this time.
“Mike?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“About earlier… about what you told me? I hope you're not letting those people take up too much space, sweetie. It's your album, after all.” You tell him with a reassuring look, stroking his face with the back of your hand.
His eyes flick towards you, noting the sudden change in the mood. A small upwards tilt of his lips and your heart already burns fiercely at the sight.
“Yeah?” Michael replies quietly.
“Yeah,” you nod, continuing on. “Don't forget your own sound for the sake of pleasing others, Mikey. Not where it counts.”
His smile stretches further, and he leans down and presses a chaste kiss on your lips. “Thank you, baby. Truly. I won't, don't worry. You don't know how hard-headed I can get in that studio.”
“Well, I think I know a little,” you tilt your head teasingly, mind flashing back to a few weeks prior when he spent fifteen minutes arguing with you over the phone about who was better at gift-giving a family member.
As if Michael is able to read your mind, he feigns a glare and tuts at you. “Don't even, baby. I'm the better gifter. I know the truth and that's me bein’ able to make Mother cry every time it's her birthday.”
“And that's something you want?” You ask him with a serious tone, biting back a grin.
“Cry from happiness! I swear!” Michael defends himself, laughing with you. His hand reaches to pinch your cheek teasingly, and he shakes his head. “Don't twist my words! What are you, a reporter?”
Cackling at his remark, you nudge him in admonishment. The man lets you for only half a second before gently gripping your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, looking at you with mirth in his eyes.
“Now, now. Speakin’ of gifts, I think you almost forgot about this one,” he says with a sneaky smile as he reaches below the couch to pull out the small box from earlier.
A soft gasp escapes you, and you take the item from his hands very carefully. “Oh, I'm sorry, Mikey. I did forget. But, oh, this is so sweet, thank you.”
“Open it up then, sweetheart.”
You bite your lip from excitement and try to unwrap the paper carefully, sighing in frustration when the tape wouldn't budge. A snicker leaves Michael, and he watches on as you continue to fiddle with the tape for a few more seconds before he kisses your cheek and whispers in your ear. “Please, for the love of God, baby, just rip the damn thing.”
Pouting at his words, you slowly rip the paper, trying to make it as elegant as possible. After discarding the wrapper, you touch the soft, velvet blue box and feel its warmth against your fingertips. You flick your gaze briefly to him, voice firm for only a second.
“Mikey, don't tell me you spent more than you should have for this.”
“Okay, I won't.”
Lips parting in disbelief, you softly slap his arm. “Michael.”
“Baby, hush. Open it!”
Huffing slightly, you flick your gaze to the box and finally lift its lid. In it is a neatly placed beautiful wristwatch. Its silver reflective, the inner face with maroon elements giving out a pop of colour, the hands ticking ornately designed. There are diamonds aligned in a flush setting on its band, the light it's catching reflecting back to your eyes and putting further emphasis on your look of amazement and love. And Michael could dissolve from the sight just then, his heart warming at the thought of making his girl happy.
“Michael, this is beautiful.”
“Well, what do you know? Matches just right with you,” he says, gazing at you fondly. Shaking your head, you touch the watch and feel its grooves softly before closing back the lid. Brows furrowing, you cradle the side of his face.
“I love it so much. It's so beautiful and it's very thoughtful of you, but you spent too much again, sweetie,” you say, guilt over him spending a lot on you starting to grow, making itself apparent in your words.
Michael shakes his head incessantly. He almost scoffs while dismissing you, “I didn't. I promise, sweetheart.”
Knowing he will not ever back down when it comes to buying you material goods, you only smile and kiss the box before kissing the apple of his cheek. “Thank you, Mikey. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were getting me a gift. I didn't get you anything.”
The look on Michael's face is so incredulous, it makes you want to laugh. He sighs out, a small grin growing. “Sweetheart, you gave me a home cooked meal after days of trash food. And this whole night was a gift for me. And…” he trails off, eyes flickering downwards to your figure and darkening afterwards.
Biting his lip, he continues, albeit a little more low this time. “And that thing on you is a gift that could last me for ten years, baby.”
“Mike…” you shyly giggle.
“I'm serious,” he replies. Leaning in closer, Michael ghosts his lips against yours, eyes already dazed as he pries your fingers off of the box to place it on the coffee table. Continuing to whisper as he pecks you on the mouth, once, twice, three times. “You look like an angel, sweetheart.”
Laughing quietly, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and pull him closer. He smiles and properly presses his lips against yours, kissing you slow and soft. Slowly reaching his hand to your cheek, gently stroking the skin with his thumb. He hums into the kiss, “All cute and pretty for me, just sittin’ here.”
“Mikey,” you pull away just slightly to chuckle before the man chases your lips with a soft whine and kisses you again, this time more deeply. Ever so slightly parting your lips with his, a tongue slips in between and causes you to let out a low gasp. He gently pushes you to lay down on the cushions, making sure your head is placed comfortably on a thicker pillow before diving into another kiss.
“Truly beautiful baby,” he murmurs, biting his lip after pulling away. Eyes harboring affection and worship, trailing from your nightgown to your lips freshly swollen from his doing, to the slope of your nose, your plump cheeks with heat rising from underneath its skin, and to the dazed look in your eyes.
“A Goddess, really,” he whispers as he presses a soft kiss on your neck. Trailing to your throat with his tongue, he nips at the skin, eliciting a faint shiver up your spine. Sighing in bliss, you gently hold the back of his head as he continues to kiss down to the center of your collarbone. Michael murmurs against your skin, “Baby, you smell like heaven.”
“I bought a new perfume too,” you giggle quietly. The man hovering over you laughs and looks at you with amusement in his eyes. Averting his gaze back down, he trails the lace detailing with his eyes, the way it hugs your front, and Michael almost drools at the sight. He shakes his thoughts away and leans down to ghost his nose against the fabric, moving downwards so, so slowly. Stopping on your stomach, he sees the slight sheerness of the mesh, and he almost groans and presses a firm kiss on your skin right there.
“This is drivin’ me crazy.”
You quietly congratulate yourself.
“God, this is home to me, baby, you don't even know,” he continues on, unaware of your secret amusement, and rests his chin on your stomach as he looks up at you. His hand reaches to trail up your leg underneath the dress, stopping at your outer thigh. Michael sighs again, almost a whimper, as he presses feverish kisses on your stomach through the fabric.
“Mike…” You gasp out.
He almost buries his face to your stomach, groaning hoarsely. “I can't think when I'm here. It's perfect.”
Stifling a laugh, you just let Michael ramble on and stroke the back of his head gently. He's almost babbling about nothing at this point.
Well, he did have a little too much wine earlier at dinner. Just a little, you think to yourself.
“Sometimes I think God specifically made me for you, sweetheart,” he sighs and rests his head properly on your skin, closing his eyes. You only smile quietly, stroking the apple of his cheek with your thumb. He continues without even opening his eyes.
Heaving a deep sigh, a small quirk of his lips appear. “I don't think you know how much I love you. When we're older, I want to marry you. And we'll have kids we love, and you'll finally have a job you like.” The both of you snicker at that, and you softly poke his cheek before cradling it gently again.
“I could live through days of headache because the second I see you, baby, it's all forgotten noise,” he whispers. Making himself more comfortable, his hold on you tightens, and he presses a soft kiss against the fabric again, this time more timid.
“I love you so much, angel.”
Shaking your head at his antics and smiling widely to yourself, you whisper a response. “I love you too, Mike. My, usually wine makes you dance-y, it's strange how it's making you emotional tonight.”
He snorts before speaking lightheartedly, “I'm always emotional about you. It's becomin’ a problem.”
“Well, I wouldn't say that…” you tug at his ear softly. “I think you're perfect just like this. So sweet on me all the time, honey.”
He hums and shifts upwards again, leaving soft kisses along your skin, the warmth of his lips making you hold back a shiver. “You deserve all of that and more,” he whispers.
Landing a slow kiss to your lips, he tilts his head for a better angle, and the languid movements cause faint tingles to run down your spine, and you giggle when he moves and ever so slightly nips at your cheek before moving to your neck, burying his head there yet again.
You're now fully cuddling, his position somewhat awkward with one of his legs dangling to the side, and his torso is bent in a way that suggests lack of comfortability, but seeing how at peace he really is, you decide to leave it alone for now.
“You're my forever person,” he whispers into the quiet. “I believe that.”
“You're mine too, Mikey,” you sigh happily and kiss his temple.
It's a few more minutes of silence before he grunts. “Okay… my leg is numb.”
The both of you share a laugh before you nudge him off. It seems like a much wiser choice to retire to bed, so that's what you do. As Michael cleans up in the kitchen and the living room – after much debating with you– there is nothing left for you to do except tidy up the bed for the both of you. There is a newfound system for Michael's short hiatus from touring with his brothers. As mentioned before, Saturday nights are decided to be movie nights, and that's also insinuating sleepovers. Sundays aren't necessarily off days for him, but mornings were always fairly free prior to this. With that, you decided with him it's the perfect timing.
So, traces of Michael are slowly growing in your room. A lot of his clothes are folded in a drawer, his razor and aftershave in your bathroom cabinet. Your toothbrush stands next to his in the cup on the sink. It's all very, terribly domestic.
You love every second of it.
A yawn escapes Michael as he turns off the hallway lamp, setting his foot into your bedroom and giving you a smile before closing the door almost all the way, leaving a small opening the exact way you prefer.
“Tired?” You ask him with a teasing smile, fluffing the pillows and brushing off invisible lint from the bedcovers.
“Yeah, it was a really long day. You made me forget that earlier. Now, all I wanna do is lie here and not move for two days.” He says before plopping himself on the left side of the bed, which should honestly already be established as his side of the bed.
Huffing a laugh, you eye him with amusement. “Not even a full three days, huh?”
“Nah, I wouldn't know what I'd be doing for that long without makin’ something, baby,” he waves his hand absentmindedly, eyes already closing from fatigue that's quickly rushing through his bones and body.
Turning off the bedside lamp, you lay on your side, facing him and making yourself comfortable. Before anything, his hands reach to cradle both sides of your face, smushing your cheeks together until your lips form a pout, and he coos.
“God, you're beautiful.”
“Mike,” you start, giggling quietly.
“Sorry… I need to go to sleep. But you're pretty. And the dinner was amazin’. Can't believe I'm marryin’ a chef in a few years,” he murmurs, getting sleepier by the second.
Smiling and kissing him on the cheek, you whisper in response. “Not a chef, honey.”
“An angel, then?” He asks, following your quiet tone naturally. Eyes still closed.
“Not that either,” you shake your head.
“Then who am I marryin’, baby?” He asks again, brows slightly furrowing.
You're quiet for a moment before leaving another soft kiss on his lips, chaste and quick. “Just your girl, Mike.”
He slowly opens his eyes, and you're met with the gaze of a man with so much love in it, it's almost a burden for him to bear. Michael shifts closer and nuzzles your nose with his, your lips a hair’s breadth away. Feeling his breath on your skin, you close your eyes at the tranquility he's able to create from just being present with you.
“You're not ‘just my girl’, sweetheart,” Michael says, his voice a soft disturbance against the quiet night. “Love of my life. You're everythin' in between, too.”
Looking away sheepishly, your face inches closer and the both of you properly kiss, slow and sweet. Five full seconds later, you slightly part from him, ignoring his sleepy offended look. “Go to sleep, sweetie,” you let out a low laugh.
“So, so perfect,” Michael says while covering his yawn, “Goodnight, baby.”
Whispering a goodnight to him, you note he's fallen asleep already, and you let out a deep sigh. You're so deeply in love with the sleeping man in front of you, it's honestly insane.
Almost as insane as knowing he loves you just as much.
Biting back a grin, you peck his nose before closing your eyes. Letting the silent night and the sounds of his breathing lull you to sleep, with hopes of dreaming of the shared future he always tells to you.
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