ᠻꪖꪗ

she/her. 💿 18. obsessed with the 90s, i need a time machine rn.

[faylovesmichael]

✧ my playlist! ✧

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

𝄞𝄢 ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇ. (ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ.)

𝄞𝄢 ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ʜɪɢʜ. (ᴛᴏɴɪ ʙʀᴀxᴛᴏɴ.)

𝄞𝄢 ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ. (ᴊɪʟʟ ꜱᴄᴏᴛᴛ.)

𝄞𝄢 ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴡ. (ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴄᴇ.)

𝄞𝄢 ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ. (ʀᴜᴅᴇ ʙᴏʏꜱ.)

𝄞𝄢 ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ᴡᴀʏ. (ᴋᴇɪᴛʜ ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛ.)

𝄞𝄢 ʀᴇᴅ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ. (ᴛʟᴄ.)

𝄞𝄢 ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ. (ᴘʟᴀʏᴀ. ᴀᴀʟɪʏᴀʜ.)

𝄞𝄢 ꜱᴏ ᴀɴxɪᴏᴜꜱ. (ɢɪɴᴜᴡɪɴᴇ.)

𝄞𝄢 ꜱᴜʀʀᴇɴᴅᴇʀ. (ᴋᴜᴛ ᴋʟᴏꜱᴇ.)

[faylovesmichael]

is a tag list when u tag ppl in ur fics ?? IDK if i was doing it right that’s why i stopped KANSJSSB

[faylovesmichael]

𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪: when y/n’s father experiences an attack endangering his daughter, he has no choice but to hire a bodyguard for her. (pt. 1)

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪: slow burn, suggestive content, authority figure, accidental touch, size difference, forbidden interest, !brat (kinda) reader, !bodyguard michael.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪: wc is 5.8k!

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪: minors dni!

(i just wanna make a lil note that im not romanticizing the mafía, i just needed a reason for him to be her bodyguard and i will avoid any unnecessary mentions of anything mafía related. michael’s personality in this is also far from realistic but let’s just let a girl dream, and he’s also 24 in this ff & the reader is 20. with this trope, i knew damn well i could not make him his og age! but i also wanted a dangerous era mj fic. OK enough yapping that’s it, thankuuu!)

𑣲⋆｡˚

you never needed to ask what your father did for a living and he didn't need to tell you because you already knew. it was in the way the maids averted their eyes when he walked into a room, the way the local police chiefs bowed their heads at family dinners, and the way the leather of his holsters creaked whenever he sat down at the dinner table.

growing up, you learned to adapt to the silent rules of the household. you simply existed as his prized possession, the one untouched thing in his violent world. he parented as well as he could (so he thought), buying you grand pianos, and surrounding you with luxury.

then came one afternoon, you had been sitting in the library, the keys of the grand piano solid beneath your fingertips, when the windows broke. it wasn't just as if someone had dropped a cup, it was a scream of gunfire echoing from the front courtyard, followed by the screeching of tires and the panicked shouting of your father's men. you remember the cold dread that flooded your body, paralyzing you on the piano bench. seconds later, the door had been kicked open, and your father's men had dragged you down into the basement safe room, the scent of gunpowder filling the hallways.

the attack was swift, a brutal reminder from a rival family that the don was not invincible. although you and your father survived unscathed, many of his men were injured and shaken up. the aftermath of the attack left the house wrapped in a paranoid silence, the freedom you once had of living your life, the trips into the city with your friends, even going to college to work towards your bachelor of music, was instantly revoked.

it was three days after the shooting when your father finally called you down to his study. he stood by the tall glass windows, his back to you as his hands clasped tightly behind him. “the men i have are loyal, but they are clumsy.” he spoke, his voice a low tone that always gave you goosebumps. “they look at the house, they look at me, but they do not look at you. after what happened, i cannot afford a single mistake. you're my biggest vulnerability.”

you swallowed hard, crossing your arms over your chest. “i don't need more men following me around, papa.”

“you’ misunderstand.” he said smoothly, stepping closer, his heavy gaze pinning you in place. “my men won't be following you anywhere. because until i say so, you will not be leaving this house.”

the air in the stifling office suddenly felt thin as his words washed over you, you had thought he would confine you here for no longer than a week, then you could go back to your life. “papa, you can't do that. what about my music degree? my friends? i have recitals and exams coming up. i can't just.. stop going to the college?”

“you don't gotta choice.” he snapped, turning around to face you with bloodshot, exhausted eyes. “a piece of paper is not worth my daughters life.”

you slumped your shoulders in defeat as the realisation that your father's life was intertwining horribly with yours washed over you. “i brought in someone from the outside, a specialist. and he's going to be your bodyguard from now on.” before you could voice another protest, your father signaled to the double doors. “come in.”

the doors swung open silently, and a man stepped into the room. in a house populated by bulky mobsters who wore their brutality like a badge, this man was somewhat different. he was striking, almost ethereal, wrapped in an aura of intense danger. he wore a tailored black suit that hugged a lean frame, yet the sharp set of his shoulders spoke of a hidden strength. a pristine white armband was fastened around his right sleeve, breaking up the darkness of his attire. but what drew your eye instantly were the jet black sunglasses hiding his eyes, even in the dim lighting of the study, the lenses were completely dark, making it impossible to tell exactly where he was looking.

“this is michael. mr. jackson to you.” your father said, stepping forward. “he comes with you everywhere in the house. if he tells you to move, you move. if he tells you to hide, you don't question him.”

michael didn't speak. he simply tilted his head down in a slow bow toward you, his taped fingers gently brushing against his suit. the gesture was polite but there was no warmth in it as his face remained an unreadable mask.

“m' not a little girl.” you muttered, the defiance returning as a bitter sting in the back of your throat. “i don't need a bodyguard.”

your father crossed his arms in frustration. “you’re right, you’re not a little girl which means you’re old enough to understand you do, in fact, need him.”

you let out a heavy sigh, you didn't want to fight it anymore, but you were already dreading the new, boring routine you were going to have to get used to. you just wanted your normal life back.

ᯓ𑣲

a week had passed, and the heavy feeling of having a permanent shadow slowly became predictable. you still weren't happy about being confined to the house, but at least michael wasn't like the other men. he didn't try anything with you, talk much, and he was somewhat respectful towards you and you liked that.

you had gotten used to the rhythm of his leather shoes a few paces behind your left shoulder, and you had even stopped flinching when you turned a corner and found him already standing there, waiting for you.

but the only con was his silence, it was starting to drive you crazy. his professional facade was so perfectly built, so unshakeable, that it felt less like living with a human being and more like being guarded by a very handsome ghost.

another morning passed as you sat at the long dining table for breakfast, but today you felt different, consumed by boredom, michael was the closest thing to a form of entertainment. you decided you were tired of the brick wall and you wanted to see a crack in it.

michael was in his usual spot by the arched windows, his arms crossed over the chest of his black suit, his dark sunglasses were firmly in place, his chin turning just an inch every few seconds as he scanned the quiet courtyard outside.

you picked up your spoon, swirling it lazily around your bowl, keeping your eyes fixed on his reflection in the glass window pane. “y'know, mr. jackson.” you started, your voice casual, cutting through the quiet clinking of your silverware. “my old man’s bodyguard used to fall asleep right in that chair.. by the door. he lasted about three days before papa found out.” you paused, waiting for a twitch, or even a laugh if you were lucky.

michael didn't move. his arms stayed crossed, his face an unreadable mask. “that's why he isn't here anymore.” he murmured flatly.

you leaned back in your chair, resting your chin in your hand, watching him closely. “don't you get tired of standing there, staring at.. nothing? it's a sunny day outside, jus' take the glasses off.”

michael slowly shifted his weight, turning away from the window to face the table. even with the lenses hiding his eyes, you could feel the firmness of his focus directed straight at you. “there's no need.” he said, his tone perfectly even, easily brushing off your attempt to tease him. “it’s standard.”

“riight. standard.” you repeated, a stubborn smile tugging at the corner of your lips, satisfied with his response, even if it was small. you stood up from the table, leaving your half eaten breakfast behind, and walked right up to him.

you stopped just a foot away, forcing yourself to hold your ground against the radiating presence of him. you looked up, staring directly at your own reflection in his dark sunglasses. “what standard if it's just us?” you asked, your voice softening just a little. “i’m not going to tell my old man if you act like a real person for five minutes.”

for a split second, you thought you saw his strict mouth soften, the sharp line of his jaw shifting as if he were holding back a response. but then, he simply tilted his head down. “i said it's unnecessary.” michael replied, his voice firm. “if you're finished with your breakfast, we should go to the library for your practice.”

you let out a frustrated breath, rolling your eyes at the cold figure standing in front of you. “fine.” you muttered, turning on your heel toward the door. “let's go then, shadow.”

⋆.˚༄

the library was completely silent except for the soft rustle of your skirt as you sat down on the leather piano bench. you adjusted your posture, looking over at the corner by the tall bookshelves where michael had already taken his post.

you ran your fingers lightly over the cool keys, hitting a few notes before intentionally letting one of the higher keys stick, making a dull thud instead of a clear sound. you stopped playing, staring down at the keys for a second before turning your head slightly towards his corner.

“mr. jackson?” you called out quietly. “something's wrong with one of the keys up here.. can you come look at it ?”

for a long moment, michael didn't move. you thought for sure he was going to see right through your lazy attempt to flirt, but then, his arms slowly uncrossed and he took a few slow steps, walking directly toward the piano.

he walked up to the where you were sitting, stepping directly into your space until he was standing right behind your shoulder, towering over you. “which one?” he asked, his voice was a low rasp right near your ear. it was a careless tone, but the feeling of him behind right behind you made you bit your lip.

“this one.” you mumbled, reaching out to press the key again. and as you did, you purposefully leaned back just an inch, the fabric of your shirt brushing lightly against the waist of his black slacks. you tilted your head up, looking straight up at him with wide eyes, your gaze locking once again in his dark sunglasses. “see? it won't ring out.”

slowly, he reached his taped hand forward, his long fingers hovering away from yours as he pressed the exact same key down. it clicked with a firm motion, and the note rang out perfectly clear throughout the room. he shifted his weight back, pulling his sunglasses down with his free hand just so his eyes could lock directly onto yours. “the key is fine.” michael replied, but you were too lost in his brown eyes he had finally shown you to hear him. noticing your stare, he pushed his glasses back up into place, clenching his jaw in frustration for wasting his time. “turn back around and play what you're supposed to play.”

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

after that moment in the library, you were convinced he had no feelings at all. he was just a hot robot in a nice suit, completely unaffected by you. suffering with the boredom of your never ending routine with a brick wall, you felt like you were going to lose your mind.

then, the heavy landline phone on your nightstand cut through the silence with a loud ring. you snatched the receiver before the michael could come back from the kitchen, pulling the long cord tightly around the corner of your bed. “hello?” you said.

“girl, oh my god. where have you been? i haven't seen you in any classes.” your best friend, jada, gasped, sounding like she couldn't believe you had picked up. “actually, you can tell me when you get here. my parents are out, y'know what that means.. i’m throwing a party. soooo?” she dragged out the word, hinting at you the obvious offer.

your heart skipped a beat, a rush of adrenaline flooding your chest. “jadaaa, don't tempt me. y'know how hard it is for me to get out of this house?”

“c'mon, just leave. you're grown enough.” jada begged, her voice full of desperate pleading. “please? i haven't seen you in weeks. i miss you.”

you bit your lip, looking over at your bedroom door. you were terrified of getting caught, but the thought of spending another night trapped in this silence, staring at the walls while michael stood outside your room like a statue, made you sick. this was your chance of feeling normal again for just one night.

you took a deep breath, tightening your grip on the plastic receiver. “kay' jada. i'll be there, pick me up in ten?”

“aaahhh, yes! see you soon mama.” she squealed, using her favourite nickname for you, as you rested the heavy receiver back onto its cradle, your heart racing as the line clicked dead. but before you could even take a step away from the nightstand, the bedroom door swung open.

michael walked in, not even knocking, his eyes already fixed on you as he scanned the room, diverting to the telephone, then shifting up to the flustered look on your face combined with your uneasy breathing.

“who was that?” he asked, his voice was back to that professional tone he always used. you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing your expression to go completely blank as you stepped away from the bed. “nobody. just a wrong number.”

you knew you had to throw him off to get yourself alone, to give him an excuse so personal that a strictly professional man wouldn't dare push for details. “owww..” you groaned, lowering your hand to hold your stomach and plastering a pained expression on your face. “god. i’m having really, really bad cramps right now.. please, could you just.. let me be for the rest of the night?”

he furrowed his eyebrows, biting his cheek in hesitation before complying, deciding to believe you (or so, you thought). “okay.” michael nodded gently. “i'll be outside your door..” he cleared his throat. “let me know if you need-“

“i won't. thanks.” your nerves getting the best of you as you responded dryly, shutting the door as soon as he stepped outside. the moment you heard his footsteps settle into his post directly outside your bedroom door, you jumped into action. your hands were slightly shaking as you pulled your outfit from the back of the closet, deciding on a black dress you hadn't gotten to wear yet, i mean how could you with so many people always in your face? you grabbed an oversized winter coat, buttoning it all the way up to your chin to completely mask the fabric underneath.

you knew you couldn't use your own door, not with michael standing like a hawk right on the other side of it. so you moved silently to the large window overlooking the side gardens, unlocking the latch with a faint click and pushing the glass open.

an oak tree grew right against your window, its sturdy limbs reaching out just a few feet below your ledge. holding your breath, you swung your legs over as you shimmied down the rough bark, scraping your palms raw, until your shoes hit the soft grass.

you didn't head for the main gate, you knew your father's men were posted there, their cigarettes glowing in the dark like warning lights. instead, you stuck to the shadows, sprinting toward the side fence at the edge of the property where the woods were densest.

the fence you knew you had to climb over was a barrier of rusted bricks and you didn’t hesitate to haul yourself over, landing in a breathless heap on the other side. you rushed to your feet and sprinted through the overgrown bushes until you reached the narrow access road. jada's car was idling in the dark as you ran to it with no time to waste. laughing freely to yourself you realised you had actually done it, you had successfully escaped your house, and of course, mr. jackson.

˖⋆࿐໋

jada's house was packed with familiar classmates from college, filled with the thick scent of sweet smoke, cups of punch, and the warm vibe of a house party. for the first hour, you were just floating on the thrill of being a normal human again, dancing and laughing until your body ached.

but then, someone handed you something to smoke. you didn't even ask what it was; you just wanted to drown out the memory of that suffocating mansion, and, the suffocating presence of your bodyguard.

thirty minutes later, the world completely shifted. it felt like your consciousness had detached from your body, drifting straight up to the ceiling. you were viewing your life from above, looking down at your own body standing in the middle of the crowded room. it was a strange, third person reality, you could suddenly hear everything with clarity, it was as if you had spidey senses. you could hear a cup dropping in the kitchen, the specific base of the stereo speakers, and the low hum of three different conversations across the room all at once.

you looked at the floor, genuinely convinced that if you just bent your knees and jumped, you wouldn't land but instead, keep ascending right through the roof into the night sky with the stars.

leaning your shoulder heavily against the wall near the front living room window, you let your head tilt back against the glass, watching the crowded room swirl around you in slow motion. lazily, your eyes drifted towards the outside, looking past the reflection of the flashing party lights out into the front yard.

your eyes suddenly widened, standing right outside in the dark, under the glow of the streetlamp, was a tall, familiar silhouette. the sharp cut of his black suit blazer and the white armband was unmistakable and even from the distance, you could see the dark sunglasses fixed perfectly on his face, his head turned completely in your direction.

a hysterical bubble of laughter escaped your throat, the sound swallowed up by the heavy bass of the music. there's no way, you thought, giggling softly to yourself as you rubbed your eyes. you were completely out of your mind, you were definitely hallucinating him, your brain was just playing tricks on you because you felt guilty about sneaking out. “you're not real.” you whispered to the glass, laughing again as you watched the shadow outside remain entirely still.

wanting to prove to your high brain that the illusion would disappear if you got closer, you forced your uncooperative legs to move, covering your body with the coat you had brought to battle the night air. pushing the front door open and stepped out onto the porch, you stumbled down the porch steps, your shoes sinking slightly into the grass as you drifted across the lawn toward the silhouette. although, the closer you got, the more it didn't fade.

you stopped just a couple of feet away from him as you stared up into his dark sunglasses, your dazed smile slowly faltering as the heavy reality began to settle in, michael didn't move at all as you stumbled up to him.

of course, michael wasn't dumb. he knew it was too coincidental for you to develop a sudden craving for privacy the moment you hung up the phone. he had played along, stepping out into the hall, walking away before silently walking back to your door. he waited, timing your movements, and the second he heard the soft creak of the window and the rustle of leaves, he knew you were up to no good.

he didn't need to chase you through the window or watch you fumble with the fence. he knew every path, every blind spot, and every pathetic attempt you'd made at a shortcut. while you were busy panicking and rushing , he had calmly walked to the garage, started his sedan, and followed the road at a crawl, his headlights off.

he'd let your best friend drive you towards her house, wanting to get out of the car immediately but reluctantly resisting as he observed your genuine laughter being reconnected with your friends. the moment he saw you in the window with smoke coming out of your mouth, he stepped outside and now, here he was, standing right in front of you.

“was it worth it?” michael asked in a low tone you had never heard before. he stepped into your space, and for the first time, the frame of him truly registered. he towered over you, making you feel small and suddenly aware of how tall he was. “so much effort just to end up right back to me, hm?” his gaze was heavy with disappointment as he stared down at you.

being this close to him, hearing him talk, and really talk to you, instead of just barking orders or plain response, turned you on. the combination of being high, the adrenaline, and the intimidating reality of his height made your head swim. you felt dizzy, not just from the substances, but from the way he was looking at you.

you tilted your head back, your lashes fluttering as you squinted, trying to focus on his face. “are you...” you blinked, a confused frown tugging at your lips as you reached out a hand to press your palm against his chest, just to see if he was solid. “are you real?”

michael let out a harsh scoff that sounded like a warning. he looked at your hand blankly before holding it in his, his grip firm and grounding. he didn't wait for you to find your footing as he hauled you towards his car with an efficiency that left no room for resistance. you stumbled along, your mind spinning, feeling like a doll being dragged back into the darkness.

“mr.. wait..” you mumbled, your voice slurring slightly as you looked down at your feet, genuinely feeling like you were hovering six inches above the ground while he dragged you along. “you're gonna make me.. fly.”

“get in the car.” michael commanded, gently pushing your body into the passenger seat. the moment you tumbled inside, he slammed the heavy door shut, the solid thud echoing down the quiet street. it didn’t take long before he slid into the driver's seat beside you, killing the interior light and twisting the key in the ignition.

the engine roared to life, a low growl that vibrated straight through you as he pulled away from the curb and navigated the dark suburban streets. you were staring out the passenger window, watching the streetlamps blur into long into specs of yellow light, still convinced your soul was hovering somewhere near the sunroof.

“was a night out worth your life?” michael started, his eyes fixed sharply on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with frustration. “sneaking out was one thing but getting high? why did you have to do somethin’ like that, y/n?”

you didn't answer. the weight of his words couldn't reach you through the hazy high. as the car took a sharp turn, you leaned heavily against the passenger door, a soft, unbothered giggle slipping from your lips.

“are you listening to me?” michael asked, his jaw clenching tight as he shot a dark glance at you. “i asked you a question.”

you let out a big sigh. “god. yes, it was worth it.” you groaned as you slumped against the cool glass of the window, waving a heavy hand toward the passing streetlights. “you should've... should've came inside. been' everybody's bodyguard.. then you wouldn't be so cranky all the time.”

michael let out a mocking scoff, the sound echoing sharply in the confined space of the car. “been' everybody's bodyguard.” he repeated bitterly. he casted a brief glance in your direction, his gaze sweeping over your state with pure judgment. “why would i waste my time doing that when i have enough trouble looking after you?”

you remained silent as he shifted gears with a sharp flick of his wrist, the engine roaring as the car lurched forward. “are you going to pull somethin' like this again?”

you just hummed, letting your head lay against the glass as you looked at him through half open eyes. “maybe.” you slurred, a lazy smile pulling at your lips. “i have to find some kinda way to have fun, since you're so... boring.”

you huffed and fumbled blindly along the armrest when suddenly, your fingers found the switch, and with a whir, the passenger window rolled down.

“y/n.” michael's voice was sharp, warning you before you did something stupid but before he could stop you, you slipped the shoulder strap of your seatbelt off and shoved your upper body out into the open air. the wind rushed against your face, as you threw your head back, a laugh escaping from your lips as the dark streetlights blurred past you.

he cursed under his breath, smoothly decelerated the car while his left hand locked the steering wheel steady. “get back inside.” he commanded.

“can you just shut up?” you rolled your eyes, ignoring his order as you squirmed further out the window to catch the cold air, completely oblivious to the danger.

michael's right hand shot across the centre console, trying to catch you. his taped fingers clamped down on the thick fabric of your coat, but fueled by the sensation of fresh air hitting your face, you batted his arm away. you thrashed against his grip, and between his need to steer his car and your fighting, the fabric of your coat slipped right out of his grasp. refusing to take his eyes off the road, his hand dropped blindly, desperately searching for a solid hold of you.

instead of your coat, his fingers met your warm skin. his hand slid up, his wide palm gripping down hard on the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, making you let out a gasp at the rough grip. using his hand on your thigh as leverage, he yanked you towards him, dragging your thrashing body straight into the car. you tumbled ungracefully onto the passenger seat with a quiet huff. the forceful movement caused your heavy coat to fall open completely, leaving you sprawled back against the seat with your exposed legs on full display.

he glanced at you and paused for a moment, realizing his large hand was still resting right where it had landed, gripping the inside of your thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to your panties. instantly, he ripped his hand away as if you had been the one to hurt him, his profile hardening as he snapped his gaze strictly back to the windshield. he reached over again without looking, catching the edge of your coat and pulling it closed over your lap to hide you from his view. “put your seatbelt on properly.” he ordered. “and don't ever fight me while i'm driving again.”

he slowed the car as you approached the heavy gates of your house, the headlights washing over the guards stationed out front who scrambled to open them. he drove up the long driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires, before bringing the sedan to a smooth stop in front of the main house. he put the car in park and cut the engine, plunging the car into a heavy silence as he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to fully face you, leaning over the center console.

his massive frame swallowed up all the remaining space in the car, cornering you against the door. “after tonight, you're never stepping foot outside the house without my permission. you will never pull a stunt like this again. do you understand me?”

you blinked up at him, completely unbothered by the dark threat hanging in the air. the intense glare, the proximity of his broad chest, it all just washed right over your floating brain. “whatever, michael.” you sighed softly, a careless smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

michael froze, hearing his name leave your mouth for the first time. you didn't look at him, but you could hear the hitch of his breath as he leaned back, his eyes widening slightly. the professional composure cracked, leaving him suddenly rigid in a completely different way.

he cleared his throat, his jaw locking tight again as he quickly broke eye contact, staring strictly at the dark windshield. “get out of the car.” he ordered, his voice suddenly thick.

“m'kay.” you hummed, moving with agonising slowness, you fumbled blindly for the door handle. it took a few clumsy tries before it clicked, the heavy door swinging open into the cool night air as you dragged yourself out.

michael didn't let you stumble, he moved to your side and kept a firm grip on your arm, guiding your swaying frame through the narrow entrance and up the back staircase, completely bypassing the main house. his boots made silent thuds against the wooden steps, declaring his presence.

he pushed your bedroom door open, stepping inside and pulling you into the centre of the room before shutting the door with a solid click. the moment he let go of your arm, your legs gave out a little, making you sway deeply to the side. to balance yourself, you drifted right back into his space, your hands reaching out to grab his black suit. you leaned your body against his chest, your head tilting back as you smiled up at his dark sunglasses with glazed eyes.

“why are you always so.. strict?” you asked, your voice a slow slur as you playfully tugged on his suit, your fingers tracing the smooth fabric. “i'd pay to watch you get high.” you laughed in his face.

the warmth of your body pressing against his chest made his heart race in the dead silence of the room. “sit down on the bed.” michael commanded, grabbing your wrists to guide your body away from his. he tried to grip your shoulders to steady your clumsy frame, but his fingers caught the edge of your oversized winter coat, making it slip right off your shoulders, pooling down around your elbows.

michael's eyes snapped down, and his entire posture locked up entirely. in the moonlight filtering through the window, he saw all of what you were wearing underneath, not just your legs this time. the massive coat had been hiding a short dress that hugged every single curve of your body, leaving a breathless amount your skin he had never seen before.

you just giggled softly, completely unbothered by his sudden freezing. leaning your weight forward again, you bit your lip. “can you sit on it with me?”

michael let out a low groan as he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, rolling his shoulders back as he clearly battled with his own restraint. his hands, still gripping your wrists, tightened convulsively for a second before he forced himself to loosen his hold as he let go of you abruptly.

“stop.” he rasped, his voice sounding raw. he turned his back on you, pacing a line towards your bedroom door before stopping and staring at it, mentally fighting his thoughts. he stood there for a moment, before turning around to face you again.

“get on the bed and stay there.” he commanded, his tone hardening into the familiar authority of the man you were supposed to fear.

“and what if i don't? hm?” you purred, your voice dropping into a low challenge as you moved closer to him. “you gonna make me?”

michael stiffened, his eyes tracking your clumsy steps toward him as he took off his sunglasses. the muscle in his jaw jumped and you saw a flicker of genuine hesitation cross his features. he was trapped between his duty to control the situation and the very obvious reality that he didn't want to put his hands on you right now, not while you were looking at him like that, wearing that, and definitely not while you were high.

he took a measured breath as he forced himself to hold his ground rather than step back. “if you listen..” he started, his dark eyes locking onto yours, slightly pleading. “and you go to sleep without another word... i will leave your father out of this.”

realising he had caught your attention, he continued. “he will never know you left this house. but you have to stop playing games, and you have to lay down. now.”

of course, he wasn't going to tell your father anyways, it would get him more in trouble than you, but you were too high to realise that. you stared up at him for a long moment, watching the tension in his broad shoulders. the adrenaline from the night was wearing off, and the high was starting to pull you down into a heavy exhaustion, making his offer sound pretty good.

“fine.” you mumbled as you finally turned away from him and shuffled across the carpet, climbing onto the edge of the mattress and flopping backward onto the pillows with a dramatic sigh. you kicked off your shoes, curling up under the heavy blankets.

“but only because i'm tired.” you slurred softly, your eyes already fluttering shut. “not because you told me to, michael.”

michael just closed his eyes, letting out a long exhale of pure relief as he watched you finally settle into the bed, moving to sit in the armchair across from you. “good.” he hummed, throwing his head back and rummaging his hands through his hair. he slowly realised being a bodyguard for someone so reckless and so comfortable with calling him by his first name was going to send him to an early grave long before any of your father's enemies ever got the chance. he let out another slow breath, the heavy silence of the bedroom settling as he prepared himself for a very long night of watching you sleep.

[faylovesmichael]

why did i not find tumblr earlier???? i LOVE posting on here and waking up to notifs FUCK YES

[faylovesmichael]

omg i’m writing abt dangerous era michael and it’s got me blushingggg so bad (no michael jackson eras are safe im coming for ALL of them)

[sqrixm]

can i pls request some more michael angst 🙏🙏🙏 you write it so well. maybe like forbidden love type stuff 😣😣😣

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

CELEBRITY READER X THRILLER ERA MICHAEL JACKSON!

⋮ ⌗ ┆ in 1972, the tabloids call you rivals. by 1984, you're trading chart-topping albums and fighting for the top spot just to ignore the way he tastes like a sickeningly sweet surrender behind closed doors. Michael is sick of fighting you off. Too bad you don’t have enough of a backbone to take it further. Or do you?

Warning/tags: enemy’s to lovers, language, no use of y/n, pet names, suggestive, oral (fem receiving), ANGST, kissing, HAPPY ENDING YAY! Michael is lowkey an ass but so is reader LMFAO

- if you have any request (anons are on!) please send them!

Tags: @pytafterdark @mikaylajacksonnn @llen002 @emsownworld

Masterlist.

Your voice was the most angelic, formidable talent a girl could ever possess. From a very young age, navigating the flashing bulbs of local talent shows and regional pageants, you discovered you had a gift that could command a room before you even hit the chorus. Industry scouts and predatory managers wanted to get their hands on you before anyone else could catch the scent. It was a whirlwind rise from the bottom to the absolute top. With careful maneuvering, a protective family, and a label who finally saw your worth, you landed a major contract with Motown Records in the spring of 1972. Your debut single immediately conquered the Billboard charts. The nation absolutely adored you.

Too bad someone was always on your tail. A permanent shadow: Michael Jackson.

The Jackson 5 were no strangers to you; you’d danced to their records in your living room, admiring how effortlessly beautiful the brothers sounded. Specifically Michael. But that innocent admiration twisted into a quiet, simmering resentment as you grew older and the press relentlessly pitted the two of you against each other. “The battle of the child prodigies,” the magazines called it.

You knew better than to listen to the noise, but a persistent plague of teenage insecurity always threatened to crash over your sound mind. To survive the pressure, you decided to cultivate a targeted distaste for Michael Jackson. It was an exhausting stance to maintain because the boy was practically everywhere. On billboard advertisements, chewing gum wrappers, the covers of Right On! magazine, variety hours, and every single radio station across the dial. You stood your ground, refusing to succumb to the absolute mania surrounding him.

But if you thought this was a completely one-sided, silent feud born entirely in your own head, you were dead wrong. Michael knew exactly who you were. For him, the awareness didn't start with the tabloids; it began with his father’s sharp tongue during a grueling rehearsal afternoon.

The summer heat was stifling inside the West Hollywood studio, and Joseph Jackson was on Michael’s neck like a hawk. He was critiquing every step of the routine, bringing his boot down with a heavy, intimidating thud to mark the tempo. Usually, Michael did everything in his power to keep his head down and perfect the steps, but he was completely running on empty. Joseph had kept him up until dawn practicing a single routine because Michael had missed a cue, only stopping when Katherine finally came down the stairs to scold her husband for pushing the boy to exhaustion.

“Five minutes. Water break,” Joe growled, tossing a fresh copy of the afternoon newspaper onto the laminate coffee table before sinking into the vinyl sofa.

Michael breathed a silent prayer of gratitude, retreating to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. When he walked back into the living room, his brothers were huddled together, murmuring in low, exhausted tones. Michael sat on the edge of a chair, his eyes instinctively tracking his father’s face, a habit born from a constant need to gauge the volatile atmosphere of the room.

Joe’s expression remained stony until his eyes scanned a prominent entertainment headline. A dark, irritated grunt escaped his chest. He snapped his fingers sharply toward Michael.

“Boy. Get over here and look at this junk.”

Michael’s stomach instantly twisted into its familiar, anxious knot. Moving quickly, he crossed the room to stand beside his father’s chair. His eyes locked onto the bold, aggressive print:

THE FEMALE MICHAEL? Meet Motown's Newest Chart-Topping Superstar!

The headline felt loud, heavy, and strangely intimidating. A sudden, unfamiliar tightness bloomed in Michael's chest. But as his eyes drifted down to the promotional photograph accompanying the article, his breath hitched.

You were absolutely breathtaking. Your smile radiated pure sunshine through the grainy newsprint, your eyes bright and full of an undeniable confidence. He couldn't tear his eyes away from your face until Joe suddenly rolled up the newspaper and struck him across the back of the head with it.

“Stop staring like a deer in the headlights, Michael! Get back in position!” Joe barked, standing up. “They’re trying to build up some local girl to steal your spotlight. I ain't having some nobody out-sing my boys.”

Michael stumbled back into the formation, his head spinning. For the rest of the grueling rehearsal, he couldn't shake the memory of that radiant smile. And that ridiculous headline kept echoing in his mind, making his heart race for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend.

The strange tension returned a week later when Joe called the brothers into a strict circle. They had been booked for a high-profile charity gala at the Century Plaza Hotel, a performance that required a special collaboration.

“You’re doing a duet,” Joe announced, his eyes locking directly onto Michael. “The organizers want Motown's two top young acts together. They want her harmonies mixing with yours. You got three weeks to learn the arrangement, perfect the blocking, and look like best friends on that stage.”

While his brothers nodded neutrally, Michael felt a sudden wave of nerves crash over him. For the next three weeks, his thoughts were entirely consumed by a single question: I wonder what she’s like?

On your side of town, the news landed with an entirely different kind of explosion.

It was late evening, and you were famished after spending ten consecutive hours locked in a recording booth trying to perfect a B-side track. You had finally convinced your manager to order some takeout, and the two of you were sitting on the studio's velvet sofa, open cartons of chow mein between you. But the silence in the room had grown heavy, almost defensive. You noticed she was barely touching her food.

“Alright, out with it,” you said, setting your chopsticks down. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” she replied smoothly, though she didn't look up from her plate.

“Don't give me that. You’re never this quiet unless a contract fell through, a gig got canceled, or I have an early morning press call. What happened?”

“It’s really fine, don't worry about it,” she mumbled, her eyes darting toward the mixing console.

You let out a dramatic gasp, crossing your arms. “You can’t maintain eye contact when you’re keeping a secret. Just tell me.”

With a heavy sigh, she rubbed her temples. “Fine. It’s about the charity gala next month. The executive committee wants you to do a featured duet with the Jackson 5. Specifically, a prolonged medley with Michael. The label thinks the vocal contrast will be a goldmine for publicity.”

You dropped your fork onto the table, a loud groan of frustration escaping your lips. “I am not sharing a microphone with that boy.”

“It is one single night,” your manager countered, rolling her eyes. “You aren't filming a whole television special with them. Most rising stars would give anything to be paired with a Jackson.”

“It’s the principle of it!” you argued, your voice rising in pitch. “The press already spends every week comparing our ranges and our chart positions. Why can’t we just perform our own separate sets? Why do I have to be tied to his hip?”

“Because the network couldn't choose between the two of you, and they know a joint performance will drive the ratings through the roof. It's strictly business.”

You stabbed a piece of broccoli with unnecessary force. “Fine. But do not expect me to be the best of friends with him. It is purely professional.”

Yet, as you stared down at your dinner, a sudden thrill of nerves hit your chest. You had heard his voice on the radio a thousand times, pure, crystal-clear, and undeniably beautiful. You spent the entire drive home wondering exactly what he would say to you when you finally met face-to-face.

The three weeks of rehearsal that followed were an absolute masterclass in teenage stubbornness. With two incredibly fiercely competitive personalities shoved into one rehearsal studio, the room simply wasn't big enough for the both of you.

The trouble began on day one with the introductions. Your manager brought you into the studio, and you greeted the older Jackson brothers with warm, professional handshakes. But when you finally stepped up to Michael, he was a trembling ball of awkward, teenage energy. Attempting to be polite, he stepped forward and awkwardly pulled you into a sudden embrace.

You had spent years being taught by your family to maintain strict boundaries with strangers in the industry. Startled by the sudden physical contact, your instincts took over, and you firmly pushed him back by his shoulders.

Michael stumbled back, a look of profound, mortified shock washing over his features. Your face instantly burned with immediate regret.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” you stammered, stepping forward to instinctively smooth down the lapel of his button-down shirt. “I’m just... I’m not a very touchy person when I first meet people, and you caught me completely off guard—”

“It’s fine,” Michael interrupted, his tone instantly dropping into a freezing, defensive coldness.

He stepped out of your reach, turning his back completely to join his brothers at the piano. You stood there, your hands hovering in the empty air, your jaw slightly slack.

“What a shmuck,” you muttered under your breath, ignoring the way your heart was hammering against your ribs.

Strike one.

The next clash erupted during the selection. The musical director had suggested a soulful, slowed-down rendition of Frank and Nancy Sinatra’s “Somethin’ Stupid.” You absolutely adored the melody, but Michael immediately chimed in with a sharp objection.

“Can we do something with some actual energy?” he asked, letting out a soft, dismissive chuckle through his nose. “Something upbeat?”

You whirled around to face him, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “And what exactly is wrong with this arrangement? It’s elegant. It perfectly suits a formal charity gala.”

Sensing the challenge, Michael turned his entire body to face you, stepping close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. He folded his arms, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “Maybe if you want to bore the entire audience to death. How about Marvin and Tammi’s ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’? That actually gets people on their feet.”

“It is a charity function, Michael, not a stadium concert,” you said, your tone dripping with aristocratic disdain.

“I’m well aware of what kind of show it is, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice terrifyingly calm, a smooth velvet that made your cheeks go warm despite your anger. “I’m just saying we should give them something memorable. Why be predictable?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “News flash, slow songs are still in, Michael. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the classics.”

His deep, expressive eyes stared you down for a long, agonizing beat, his mind clearly working through his next move. Suddenly, a smug smirk broke across his face. “How about we let the guys and your manager vote on it?”

Your frustration boiled over. You had completely forgotten that you weren't the only two people in the room. You both turned to your manager and the rest of the Jackson brothers, who were all looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Well?” you both demanded in unison.

Jackie cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Look, I love Sinatra, but Mike’s right. People are paying a lot of money to be there; they want to dance. The uptempo track feels better.”

One by one, the remaining brothers murmured their agreement. You watched in absolute horror as your own manager gave a small, apologetic shrug of concession. Michael’s smile turned insufferably triumphant, and you had never wanted to punch a look off someone’s face more in your entire life.

Strike two.

The final straw came during the vocal tracking rehearsals. Michael was a perfectionist to a fault, but that week, his own vocals were straining under the weight of his exhausting schedule. Every time his voice cracked slightly on a high note or a run didn't land perfectly, he immediately pinned the blame on you.

“You’re rushing the tempo,” he would snap. Or, “You’re stepping on my line, you need to listen to my cue.”

In reality, it was the exact opposite. You called him out on his mistakes instantly, refusing to let him slide. But the more you challenged him, the stranger his behavior became. He began physically retreating from you during the numbers.

At first, it was subtle. You would be focusing on your sheet music, but when you turned to deliver a line directly to him, he would be standing three feet further back than he had been a minute prior.

“What are you doing?” you asked, lowering your microphone. “Why are you backing up?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Just keep singing,” he replied, his face a mask of absolute stoicism.

You shook your head and started the verse over. When you reached the pre-chorus, you turned around again. This time, he had retreated so far he was practically hovering near the studio’s back exit. He raised a hand, giving you a half-hearted thumbs-up.

“Try it again,” he called out, his voice muffled by the distance. “I can’t quite hear the blend.”

“Are you serious right now?” you yelled across the room. “I can’t hear you either!”

“He said try it again! Dang, Mike, move back to the mic bro!” Marlon shouted from the couch, shaking his head.

You sent a quick, grateful smile to Marlon before turning a furious glare back to the lead singer. “Michael, bring your ass back up here right now.”

He walked back to the microphone with agonizing slowness, his eyes fixed on the floor. When he finally stood in front of you, you stared at him with complete bewilderment. “Why do you keep running away from me?”

Michael merely shrugged, refusing to meet your eyes. Before you could press him further, he tapped his headphones. “By the way, you were completely sharp on that last bar. Let’s take it from the top.”

You had never been tempted to commit violence until that exact second.

Strike three.

By the time the night of the gala arrived, you were convinced that Michael Jackson was the most insufferable, aggravating diva to ever walk the earth. During lunch breaks, you had tried to initiate standard small talk to ease the tension, but he would only offer muttered, one-word responses before sliding his sunglasses on. Eventually, you stopped trying altogether, choosing to spend your time joking around with his brothers instead. Yet, every time you laughed at a joke Marlon made, you could feel a burning, intense pair of eyes drilling into the side of your head from across the room.

But when the dressing room doors opened on the night of the event, the hostility vanished in a single, breathless instant.

You emerged wearing a breathtaking, floor-length silk gown that perfectly accentuated your silhouette, your hair styled in a flawless, sophisticated updo. When Michael caught sight of you, he froze mid-sentence, his jaw dropping slightly. You weren't faring any better; he looked devastatingly handsome in a tailored, slim-fit tuxedo, his afro perfectly picked and his skin glowing under the backstage lights.

You both looked away shyly, the fierce bravado suddenly crumbling.

“You... you don’t look horrible,” Michael murmured, a faint, boyish smile breaking through his nerves.

You let out a soft laugh, playfully nudging his arm with your elbow. “You’re not too bad yourself, Jackson.”

Before the moment could linger, your manager snapped her fingers. “Places, everyone! You’re on in two.”

The performance itself was an absolute triumph. You had to admit, the moment the band struck up that driving, uptempo rhythm, the entire ballroom erupted. The energy in the room was electric. Moving together under the stage lights, your voices blended into a flawless, soaring harmony that left the crowd completely spellbound.

For those four minutes, the bickering melted away. Michael looked at you as if you had personally hung the stars in the sky, his eyes wide, bright, and filled with a profound, undeniable admiration. When the final note rang out, the room dissolved into deafening cheers. A press photographer rushed the lip of the stage, gesturing frantically for a photo.

Without thinking, Michael slid a firm, warm hand around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. Your hands instinctively found a home against the lapels of his suit jacket. The blinding flash of the camera bulb captured that split second of perfect, breathless unity.

At fourteen years old, you had no idea that at twenty-four, you would be staring at that exact photograph with a heart full of absolute ache.

1984.

Sometimes you looked back at that old photograph with a profound sense of melancholy. You had been so innocent then, so utterly blind to how complicated the world could get.

After that charity gala, you had both returned to your respective futures, and for years, the public narrative was one of bitter, unyielding rivalry. You dropped solo albums that fought tooth and nail for dominance on the charts. But behind closed doors, a far more dangerous game had developed. The intense friction that had defined your youth had mutated into a fierce, intoxicating passion. You were now a secret fixture in his life, pulled into his hotel rooms after hours or his room, or even the studio, a beautiful, addictive vice to satisfy desires neither of you could admit to the world.

The public thought the rivalry was born of pure hatred. They didn't know that the legendary chart battle between his world-conquering Thriller and your own critically acclaimed, multi-platinum album was heightened by a foolish, stubborn wager made in the heat of a Sunday night argument.

The worse the arguments, the better the sex.

On this particular night, you were draped across the silk sheets of his master bed, your breath hitching as Michael worshiped your body with an agonizing, starved intensity. His hands were pinned beneath your thighs, his lips moving against the sensitive skin of your inner track with a fierce, possessive hunger that had your mind completely spinning.

But even now, the competitive fire refused to die down. Your thoughts drifted back to the argument you’d had on the carpet less than an hour prior. He had boastfully claimed that your new record wouldn't stand a chance against the sheer cultural weight of Thriller. He had mocked your choice of producers; you had fired back by mocking his perfectionism.

“I bet... I bet my record takes more Grammys than yours,” you panted, a breathless, desperate moan escaping your lips as his tongue traced a devastatingly slow line upward.

Michael froze. He slowly lifted his head, his dark curls damp against his forehead, a look of profound, mock-offended amusement on his face. He let out that familiar, low chuckle through his nose.

“Oh, really? You’re hilarious, baby,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly, post-coital purr. He made a move to sink back down between your legs, dismissive of your challenge.

Annoyed by his condescension, you reached down and firmly tangled your fingers in his thick, dark curls, pulling his head back up so he had to look you in the eye. Your expression was dead serious.

Michael’s eyes darkened at the sudden show of dominance. He leaned up, pressing a trail of burning, open-mouthed kisses along your lower abdomen, his breath hot against your skin. “Enlighten me ma. You really think you’re pulling more sales than me when I drop this shit?”

That low, arrogant tone sent a sharp, undeniable pulse straight to your core.

“Mikey, you act like the press doesn't call me the Queen of Pop right alongside your little title,” you countered, your fingers softening as you gently traced the perfect coils of his hair. “Let’s make it a real wager. The one who takes home the most trophies gets absolute bragging rights for a full calendar year. And the loser has to submit to whatever the winner wants. No arguments.”

A playful, dangerous glint entered Michael’s eyes as he processed the terms. He stared deep into your eyes, studying the defiance etched into your beautiful features.

“Fine,” he whispered, his voice dripping with sudden, intense determination. “But you’re going to regret this, baby.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I am going to absolutely rock your world when I show you who stays on top,” he growled.

Before you could fire back another witty retort, Michael flattened his tongue directly against your clit and went to work with an absolute, ruthless fervor. A loud, uninhibited wail tore from your throat. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your fingernails digging deep into the expensive fabric of his shirt as he drove you over the edge.

“Mikey—fuck, yes, right there,” you sobbed, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He was terrifyingly skilled, his tongue moving with an administrative precision that completely wiped your mind clean of any thoughts of charts or sales.

You tugged on his hair as a low, guttural groan escaped his own chest, the deep vibrations of his throat sending waves of electricity straight through you. Just as you were about to reach your peak, he slipped two fingers deep inside you, his thumb maintaining a relentless, agonizing rhythm on your swollen center.

“Cum for me, baby,” he muttered against your skin, his voice a commanding, ragged whisper. “I know you want to. Give it to me, you’ve been such a good girl...”

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, a loud, breathless scream echoing off the high ceilings of the bedroom as your body convulsed around his fingers. Michael held you firmly through the intense waves, his lips lingering gently against your thigh until the trembling finally subsided.

Slowly, he slid up your body, pulling you tightly against his chest as the room descended into a heavy, comfortable silence. But Michael could never let the quiet linger for long.

Cupping his face, you look up into his deep, expressive eyes. He just held you, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw, his gaze softening into something so intensely vulnerable it made your throat ache.

“You know...” he began softly, his voice tracing a nervous, vulnerable line in the dark. “We could always just go to the awards ceremony together. End the mystery.”

You let out a heavy sigh, the warmth in your chest instantly souring into irritation. “Michael, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. We can’t.”

“Why not?” he pressed, his arms tightening around you.

“Because it would destroy the branding we’ve spent years building,” you said softly, turning your head to look at him. “Your father would lose his mind if he saw us together, and my management would have an absolute stroke. My whole image is built on being the untouchable, alluring girl next door. If I walk in on the arm of the biggest star on the planet, I immediately get swallowed up by your shadow. I become a footnote in your story.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Michael muttered, his eyes narrowing. “We don't even have official dates yet. Joe doesn't control my personal life anymore, and your manager shouldn't be dictating your’s either. I’m tired of the sneaking around.”

As much as a part of you screamed to give in, the deeply ingrained fear of losing everything you had fought for held you back. You had trusted your management team since you were fourteen years old; they had made you a superstar. How could you throw their strategy away for a secret romance?

Michael watched the rejection form on your face. With a bitter sigh, he abruptly pulled away, leaving a cold, empty space on the mattress where his warmth had just been. He slid out of bed and began gathering his clothes from the floor, pulling his shirt on in tense, aggressive movements.

“Mike, where are you going?” you asked, pulling the silk sheet up to cover your chest.

“Home.”

“Are you seriously angry with me right now?” you asked, your voice softening with a rare vulnerability.

He stopped fastening his cuffs, standing at the edge of the bed as he stared down at you. When he spoke, the velvet honey of his voice was completely gone, replaced by a sharp, venomous bite.

“You know what? Going with you would probably be the worst thing for my image anyway.”

Your jaw tightened, a flash of hot anger piercing through your chest. “Excuse me? Where the hell is this coming from?”

Michael snapped his belt into place, letting out a harsh, sarcastic chuckle. “I mean, why would I want to walk the red carpet with a girl who doesn't even have a backbone? You let your managers walk all over your personal life, you follow their little rulebook like a child, and then you let the guy you claim you ‘can't stand’ fuck you like this almost every single week. Your priorities are completely backward.”

You bolted upright in bed, your eyes flashing with absolute rage. “It takes two to tango, Jackson! Don't you dare sit there and act like an innocent bystander in this arrangement!”

You threw the sheets aside, quickly pulling on your undergarments before stepping out of bed to confront him directly by the door. “And I have plenty of spine. You’re just not worth fighting for.”

Michael scoffed, stepping into your personal space until he was looking directly down at you, his brow furrowed in deep, profound hurt. He raised a hand, his index finger firmly jabbing against the center of your chest.

“I’m not worth fighting for? Think about everything I do to see you. Think about the risks I take. We’ve been fighting against each other since we were fourteen years old. If that doesn't mean a single thing to you, then you’re just lying to yourself. Like you’ve been doing for years.”

The words struck you like a physical blow. You stared at him, your throat tight, completely unable to find a counter-argument because, deep down, you knew he was entirely right.

The heavy, suffocating silence stretched between you.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I thought,” Michael whispered bitterly.

He grabbed his keys from the dresser, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room. A second later, the heavy thud of the front door slamming shut echoed through the empty house.

For the first time in your entire life, you collapsed back onto the bed and cried over Michael Jackson.

The months that followed were an absolute blur of obsessive work. Driven by the unresolved pain of that night, you both poured every ounce of your souls into your respective crafts. You pushed your vocal tracking to its absolute limit, ensuring every lyric bled with raw emotion, while Michael locked himself in the studio to finalize the editing of his groundbreaking short films.

The tabloid press went into an absolute feeding frenzy, comparing every single single, outfit, and chart position. It grew so exhausting that during an exceptionally frustrating studio session, you dialed his private line. The moment he answered, you simply spat, “Stop copying my shit!” and slammed the receiver down before he could utter a word.

Michael stared at the dead receiver, a slow, hot flush creeping up his neck. But despite the anger, hearing your voice had sent a familiar, electric thrill straight down his spine. He couldn't help but watch your music videos on VHS loops for hours in his studio, falsely claiming to his crew that he was merely “studying the competitive choreography.” In reality, he was completely spellbound by the raw, fiery command you held over the screen. He missed you so much it physically ached. This fierce public chase was the only way he could feel close to you. He had even penned a secret, baseline track about your tumultuous dynamic, She’s Trouble. a song he knew could never see the light of day from her.

The final breaking point came when you intentionally aligned your album's premiere date with his. He was so upset but he couldn’t focus on that now, he had an early screening of thriller to present. Of course he invited you and you took the invitation with haste.

You arrived at the premiere gala looking like an absolute vision. You wore a custom-tailored designer gown that hugged every curve, your hair cascading in voluminous, perfect curls, your makeup highlighting the sharp, fierce confidence in your eyes. The paparazzi line went absolutely hysterical the moment you stepped onto the carpet.

After completing your interviews, you were standing near the VIP lounge chatting with Janet when a gentle, familiar tap landed on your shoulder.

You turned around to find Michael standing there in his iconic red leather jacket. A breathtaking, soft smile broke across his face as he immediately stepped forward and pulled you into a tight, lingering embrace.

Before you could pull away, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “You look absolutely beautiful, baby. Did you dress up like this just for me?”

A familiar shiver ran down your spine, but the memory of his parting words still burned. You pulled back, rolling your eyes with an icy, sultry smirk. “Don't flatter yourself, Michael. I could show up to this room in sweatpants and everyone would still be all over me.”

You turned and walked away with a slow, deliberate swing of your hips. You knew his eyes followed you through the crowded room, and you relished the torment it caused him.

The screening was a historic masterpiece; you sat in the dark theater, your chest tightening as you realized Thriller was going to completely redefine the music industry forever. It was a terrifying reminder that you needed to go bigger, bolder, and more aggressive if you wanted to survive the wake of his success.

And you did. Your subsequent music video took the world by storm, sending sales through the roof. The press immediately began egging on the commercial warfare. During a chaotic press conference, a reporter shouted over the noise, “Do you think your record is going to surpass Michael’s historic sales?”

You paused, slowly lowering your sunglasses to look directly into the camera lens with a brilliant, teasing smile. “Let’s just say Michael’s had an incredible run. But records are made to be broken. I’d tell him myself, but I think he’s already sweating the charts.”

You walked away, leaving the press room in absolute chaos. Deep down, you prayed that public jab would finally provoke him to call you late at night to come put it on you. Make you eat those arrogant words against your mattress.

But Michael possessed an iron will. He saw the broadcast, his fingers tightening around his glass until it nearly shattered, but he refused to pick up the phone. He wasn't going to lose the game. He would wait for the ultimate war: the 56th Annual Academy Awards.

The night of the Grammys was an absolute thunderstorm of glamour and high stakes. The Shrine Auditorium was vibrating with pure, electric anticipation. Your management team was hovering over you like security guards, celebrating the massive, historical night you were poised to have.

You looked like absolute royalty in a custom, off-the-shoulder midnight-blue Armani gown entirely encrusted with dark sequins that caught the light often. Your hair was styled in massive, dramatic Hollywood curls, your skin flawless under the continuous bombardment of camera flashes.

To satisfy your label's publicity strategy, you had brought an attractive, rising young Hollywood actor as your official date. He was handsome enough, but the entire arrangement felt strictly transactional, a plastic, hollow smile for the cameras while his hand rested awkwardly on your waist.

Then, you saw Michael.

He looked devastatingly beautiful, a triumphant king arriving to claim his throne. He wore a structured, navy blue military hussar jacket completely covered in sparkling sequins, anchored by massive gold epaulets on the shoulders, a broad gold sash draped diagonally across his chest, and intricate gold braiding on the cuffs. He wore his signature single crystal glove, and on his arm was the gorgeous Brooke Shields.

A sharp, suffocating knot of pure jealousy tightened in your throat. You forced a radiant, plastic smile onto your face as they approached your section.

“You look absolutely stunning, both of you,” you said, your voice dripping with sweet, professional poison.

After exchanging polite pleasantries, you tried to engage in standard small talk, but you quickly realized Michael wasn't listening to a single word you were saying. Though he was nodding politely to Brooke, his eyes were fixed like twin lasers onto the young actor standing beside you. Your date was talking to another interviewer so he had not noticed Michael. He was staring absolute daggers into the man’s forehead.

Brooke remained entirely oblivious to the silent warfare, happily complimenting your gown. Suddenly, Michael cut right through the conversation, his voice dangerously low.

“Who is this?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the actor's face.

You wrapped your arm tightly through your date’s elbow, offering a brilliant, competitive grin. “Oh, where are my manners? Michael, Brooke, this is my date for the evening.”

The actor eagerly extended his hand, gushing about how profound an honor it was to meet Michael. Michael shifted gears instantly, donning his smooth, philanthropic public persona. He shook the man’s hand, offering a polite, entirely fabricated compliment about his latest feature film. The young actor practically beamed with pride, completely blind to the fact that Michael looked like he wanted to physically tear him away from your side.

Before the tension could explode, the house lights blinked, signaling that the telecast was about to begin.

The rest of the night descended into a dizzying, historic blur. You and Michael traded wins across every major category, the presenters alternating your names in a relentless sequence that had the entire auditorium on their feet. By the final stretch of the evening, you were tied at a staggering seven Grammys each.

Everything came down to the final, prestigious category of the night: Album of the Year.

You sat in your row, your fingers tightly crossed in your lap, your heart hammering against your ribs as the presenter opened the envelope.

“And the Grammy goes to... Thriller, Michael Jackson!”

The room exploded into an absolute frenzy. While a tiny pang of disappointment hit your chest, a far larger wave of genuine pride washed over you. Thriller was an undeniable masterpiece. You stood up, clapping enthusiastically as Michael made his way up the steps to the stage alongside Quincy Jones.

He accepted the trophy, delivering a beautiful, humble speech thanking his family, his label, and his fans. You assumed he was wrapping up, preparing to settle back into your seat, when Michael suddenly took off his aviator sunglasses. His dark eyes scanned the front rows until they locked directly onto yours.

A small, wicked smirk played at the corner of his lips.

“This album wouldn't be half as passionate without our constant, late-night... debates,” Michael said into the microphone, his voice echoing perfectly through the auditorium. “Thanks for the creative fuel, applehead. This award is ours, but the bragging rights are officially mine for the year. So, thank you to my dearest rival, for keeping me so thoroughly... inspired. I couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart.”

The audience let out a collective, gasping laugh, the celebrity rows turning around to look at you as the television cameras instantly panned to your face. Your jaw dropped slightly at his sheer audacity, but your veteran training took over in a split second. You looked at him and brought your hands together to form a perfect heart, and blew a sarcastic, stunning kiss straight up to the stage.

That beautiful, brilliant bastard.

When the main event finally concluded and the backstage corridors cleared of the heavy press crews, you managed to slip away from your management team. You walked down the quiet hallway leading to his private dressing room, clapping your hands together in a slow, rhythmic tempo to announce your arrival.

Michael whirled around from the vanity mirror, his eight trophies glittering on the table beside him.

“Well, I guess that officially makes me the loser of the wager,” you said, a soft, genuine smile breaking across your face as you stepped into the room. “Congratulations, Mike. You earned every single one of them.”

The fierce, competitive wall he had maintained for months completely crumbled. A massive, brilliant smile illuminated his features, and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms securely around your waist to pull you into a fierce, desperate hug. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his chest rising and falling as you both just stood there, finally basking in the quiet safety of each other's company.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with genuine emotion. “It really does mean the world coming from you. Jokes on that stage aside... I meant every word. This record wouldn't exist without you pushing me to be better every single day. Even when we weren't talking.”

Michael pulled back slightly, his large, gentle hands coming up to tenderly cup your face. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your cheek that sent a wave of familiar warmth radiating straight to your heart.

“Cupping his face, you look up into his deep, expressive eyes. “Well... what exactly is your idea of what you want to do to me?”

Michael didn’t answer right away. “Go out with me,” he pleaded softly, his voice a gentle, trembling whisper. “Please.”

You stepped back slightly, staring at him in complete disbelief. You couldn’t believe he still wouldn’t let this go, that even after everything, he was still pushing against the invisible walls built around you both.

“Come with me instead,” he urged, reaching for your hand again. “Just a drive. No cameras, no press, no labels. Just us.”

Your chest tightened until it physically hurt. God, you wanted to say yes more than you wanted your next breath. It was the third time in the years you’d known each other that he had cornered you like this, completely dropping the fierce, competitive industry masks you both wore in public to offer you something incredibly real. But the terrifying weight of your reality crashed right back over your sound mind.

You swallowed the heavy lump in your throat, forcing a cold, detached look into your eyes that didn't belong there.

“I can’t, Michael,” you said softly, taking a deliberate step back to put a clear, professional distance between your bodies.

Michael’s hopeful smile faltered. A flash of genuine, devastating hurt crossed his features before he quickly tried to mask it. Your voice trembled slightly, but you forced it to harden, anchoring yourself to the script your management had drilled into your head.

“Michael, think about it. Just look around us. My manager explicitly warned me in the dressing room tonight after your little stage stunt. Your team is thinking the exact same thing, even if they haven't had the guts to say it to your face. An open relationship wouldn't be good for my image. And it certainly wouldn't be good for yours.”

“My image?” Michael scoffed softly, shaking his head in absolute disbelief as he took a step back. “I don't give a damn about the image when it comes to—”

“Well, I have to!” you snapped, the agonizing frustration of the forbidden boundary finally boiling over into the quiet room. “We are supposed to be rivals, Michael! The public absolutely thrives on the drama. If they see us together, the entire illusion breaks. Your fans will think I’m just using you for your status, and my label will think I’m losing my edge. We belong to two completely different worlds right now, and they simply cannot cross.”

Michael stared at you, his jaw tightening into a hard, rigid line. The raw vulnerability vanished from his eyes, replaced instantly by that proud, stubborn persona he used to shield himself from the world. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his dark aviator sunglasses, and slipped them over his eyes, effectively hiding himself from you once again.

“Is that really what this is to you?” he asked, his voice suddenly dropping into a cool, professional, and terrifyingly distant register. “Just a matter of PR and record labels? Baby, we give ourselves to each other. Everything. And you care about your fucking management?”

You stared at him in utter shock. The word tasted heavy and foreign coming from his mouth. he’s never cursed so vulgar.

Michael looked down at you for one long, agonizing second through the dark lenses. Then, he gave a slow, curt nod of absolute resignation.

“Understood,” he said quietly. “Goodnight, then.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the dressing room. His silhouette disappeared down the dimly lit hallway, leaving you standing entirely alone in the quiet, freezing backstage corridor, wishing more than anything that fame hadn't written the rules for you both.

You couldn't even pretend to enjoy the rest of your night. The celebratory atmosphere of the evening felt like a mockery. Your manager, your security, your peers—everyone kept asking if you were going to attend the exclusive afterparties, but you just moved through the crowds briefly, offering a short, hollow response: “No.”

You went straight home. Kicking off your expensive heels, you collapsed into a chair at your kitchen table, still wrapped in the midnight-blue Armani gown. You felt completely pathetic. You felt like the biggest, most cowardly person alive. You had never meant to let this secret, complicated relationship get so far out of hand; you should have just stayed strangers from the very beginning. You should have kept your distance and listened to the warnings.

“I don't have a backbone,” you whispered aloud to the empty room, your voice cracking in the silence.

You put your head in your hands and finally broke down, the frustrating, suffocating pressure of the past few months finally breaking through your defenses. It was all your fault. You never followed what your heart actually wanted; you always let someone else pull the strings and control your life.

As you wiped your eyes, a small glint of silver caught the corner of your vision. Sitting on the counter was the small, framed picture from 1972. The first photograph you and Michael had ever taken together. Your eyes grew misty all over again as you traced the younger versions of yourselves. Back then, you had thought those three weeks of rehearsal were the absolute worst days of your life, but you hadn't appreciated who you were spending them with.

Beyond all the superficial arguing, Michael had actually tried to reach out to you by the end of that week. He had pulled those silly little pranks just to irritate your manager or his brothers, trying to make you smile. He had genuinely tried to guide you through the industry. You had taken every single piece of his kindness for granted, and you absolutely hated yourself for it.

You couldn't let it end like this. You had to make things right.

Slipping out of the heavy gown, you threw on some casual clothes, grabbed your keys, and drove yourself straight to his Encino estate. When you pulled up to the security gate, you told Bill to let you in. He recognized your face immediately and obeyed without a word.

Praying that Michael was locked away in his private recording studio rather than the main house, you hurried down the stone path and knocked firmly on the heavy wooden door. You stood there waiting in the cool night air, your heart hammering against your ribs. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, his muffled voice drifted through the door.

“Please leave. I’m awfully busy as of now.”

The tone sounded so deeply depressed it made your chest ache. You let out a soft sigh, leaning closer to the wood. “Michael... it’s me. Please let me in. I just want to talk.”

You stood out there for two agonizing minutes, the silence stretching so long you were just about to turn around and walk back to your car in defeat. Suddenly, you heard the sharp click of the lock.

The door swung open. Michael stood in the entryway, the bright studio lights catching his face. His eyes were bloodshot and heavily rimmed with red.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly, his posture rigid.

Your hands started to tremble a little, your throat tightening before you could speak. “I just want to talk. Please. If that isn't too much to ask.”

Your voice was completely pleading, stripped of any competitive edge. Michael stared at you, the wires in his brain clearly working overtime as he weighed his decision. He looked off to the side, letting out a heavy breath, before turning around and walking back into the depths of the studio.

“Come in.”

Your shoulders instantly relaxed, a massive wave of relief washing over you. Walking in slowly, you gently closed the heavy door behind you, praying this conversation would find a way to fix what you had broken.

Michael crossed the room and sank into the oversized leather chair near the massive soundboard. You walked over to the velvet couch, making yourself comfortable on the edge of the cushions. Looking around the space, you noticed his journal pages and loose sheets of lyric paper were scattered all over the floor around his feet. Inside the vocal booth, his headphones were still hanging carelessly on the hook. You guessed that he must have been writing a song while you were busy wallowing in your own despair at home.

The funny thing was, he had been doing the exact same thing. Michael secretly prayed you wouldn't notice the fresh, damp tear stains blurring the ink on some of those papers.

You let the silence linger in the heavy, air-conditioned room for a moment, gathering your courage before you finally spoke.

“Michael.”

“Yes?”

The single word hung suspended in the quiet air.

“I’m sorry.”

Michael didn’t look up to meet your eyes. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the soundboard, his long fingers mindlessly tracing the metallic edge of a volume fader. He looked so incredibly small in that massive chair, the broad, invincible shoulders that had dominated the Grammy stage just hours ago now completely slumped under the dim studio lights.

“You’re sorry,” he repeated. It wasn't a question. His voice was a flat, exhausted whisper that cut far deeper than any shout ever could have. “For which part? The business part? Or the part where you looked me in the eye and told me all I was to you was a PR strategy?”

“For all of it,” you choked out, your voice completely fracturing. You leaned forward on the couch, desperately wishing you could reach across the vast chasm between you. “Michael, please look at me. You were right. You were entirely right tonight. I... I don't have a backbone.”

That made him pause. His fingers stopped their restless movement on the board. Slowly, he turned his head, his bloodshot eyes locking onto yours through the dark curls falling over his face. He looked incredibly guarded, waiting for the catch.

“I let my manager get entirely inside my head,” you confessed, the hot tears finally spilling over your lashes and tracking down your cheeks. “I let them dictate my life, my career, and my heart. I was so terrified of losing what I fought to build, so scared of the labels and the press, that I let them turn me into a absolute coward. But sitting at my kitchen table tonight, looking at that old photo of us from '72... I realized I’ve been taking you for granted since the literal moment we met. Back when the world told us we were supposed to hate each other, you were the only one who actually guided me. You pranked our managers just to make me smile. And I threw all of that away because I was too weak to stand up for us.”

Michael’s jaw clenched tightly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He looked down at the scattered papers on the floor, the ones smeared with his own fresh tears.

“We’re supposed to be enemies,” he murmured, his voice cracking with a terrifying, raw vulnerability. “That’s what sells records, right?”

“Screw what sells,” you sobbed, the raw ache in your chest finally breaking through every last defense you owned. It was a sickeningly sweet, agonizing sort of pain to finally lay it all bare in front of him. “I don't care about the charts anymore. I don't care about the public narrative. I hate the rivalry, Michael. I hate pretending I don’t care about you when the absolute truth is... the truth is I am utterly consumed by you.”

You stood up from the couch, your legs trembling beneath you, and took a tentative step toward his chair. This time, he didn't pull away or retreat. He just watched you approach, his chest heaving under his red button-down shirt.

“I miss you even when we’re standing in the exact same room,” you whispered, wiping a stray tear from your chin. “I think about the charity gala all the time. Remember how much fun we actually had? Behind the scenes, we were supposedly cutthroat, but on that stage... when we performed together, it was the only time in my life I felt truly alive. And when we’re alone, behind closed doors... when it’s just our bodies and no labels...” You paused, a breathless, aching laugh escaping your lips. “It’s the only time I ever feel safe. I’ve been so incredibly stupid. I’m so, so sorry, Michael.”

Michael stared up at you, the icy, proud mask he’d worn backstage completely shattering into pieces. A single, heavy tear leaked from his eye, tracking slowly down his cheek. He stood up from the leather chair, moving slowly, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real, or that you were finally delivering the exact words he’d been dying to hear for years.

“You mean it?” he whispered, his voice trembling like a frightened child's. “No more business between us?”

“Never again,” you promised, stepping directly into his personal space. “I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight anyone for you from now on.”

Michael let out a shaky, broken breath. Before you could utter another syllable, his hand shot out, his long, slender fingers tangling firmly into the back of your hair, pulling you sharply and completely against his chest.

The collision of your bodies was pure electricity, a frantic, explosive release of months of pent-up denial, longing, and suppressed passion. When his lips met yours, it wasn't the tentative, careful kiss of a secret lover. It was possessive, bruising, and deeply desperate. He tasted like the bitter edge of heartbreak mixed with the sickeningly sweet relief of absolute surrender.

You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, and Michael instantly took the invitation. His tongue slid past your lips, deep and demanding, claiming you in a way that made your knees go completely weak beneath you. He groaned deep into the kiss, a low, rumbling sound from the back of his throat that vibrated straight through your own chest. His other hand gripped your waist, his fingers digging firmly into your hip through your clothes, pulling you so flush against his thighs that you could feel the frantic, rapid thudding of his heart beating in perfect sync against your own.

The kiss shifted, slowing down, moving from a space of desperate panic to an intoxicating, deeply detailed worship. Michael’s lips were impossibly soft as he tilted your head back to angle the kiss deeper, drinking you in as if he had been starving in a desert for a lifetime. He nipped gently at your bottom lip, soothing the tiny sting with the slow swipe of his tongue, making you whimper helplessly against his mouth.

His touch softened to a tender caress, his hand sliding from your hair down to gently cradle your jaw, his thumb wiping away the damp trail of your tears while his lips continued to slide perfectly against yours, slow and heavy with promise. Every stroke of his tongue, every breathless inhale you shared in the dark space between your mouths, felt like an absolute sealing of a pact. The world could scream, the managers could threaten, but in the dim light of the studio, tangled securely in his arms, the enemy had completely won, and you had never felt more free.

When you finally broke away for air, both of your faces were flushed, your lips glossy from the intensity. You stood there, staring at each other in the quiet studio, your breathing ragged.

A slow, boyish smirk began to play on Michael's lips. “So... did I officially get my prize?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, letting out a soft laugh before leaning back in to give him another sweet, lingering kiss. “Yes, Michael. You did win. You won everything.”

Your eyes grew hooded as you looked up at him. He looked absolutely beautiful, a lovesick, triumphant smile gracing his features.

“I have another request, if you don't mind,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register.

He leaned back down, pressing a trail of burning kisses along the side of your neck. He began to gently nip at the ultra-sensitive spot right where your shoulder met your throat, making you let out a soft, whiny whimper as your hands gripped his waist.

“What is it?” you breathed, your mind already starting to haze over.

Michael paused, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered against your ear, “Are you going to reward me in a different way for winning?”

Before you could even answer, his hands found the hem of your shirt, sliding up the bare skin of your waist with an unmistakable, fierce hunger. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he lifted you effortlessly onto the wide expanse of the mixing console, scattering a few loose lyric sheets to the floor.

There were no managers here. There were no charts, no public eye, and no corporate strategies. As Michael leaned down to claim your lips once more, his hands tracing the lines of your body with absolute, unrestricted freedom, you realized that losing the wager was the best thing that had ever happened to you. Under the dim, warm lights of the studio, you finally gave him everything he had been fighting for. This time, you weren't running away.

[sqrixm]

Hi 3.2k of madness is here

[faylovesmichael]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐰.

♫: when y/n receives a call from quincy for a song collaboration with her ex, michael jackson, the lyrics trigger flashbacks of their past relationship. (pt. 1)

♫: mature themes, explicit content, established relationship (past), unprotected, praise, cowgirl, nickname ‘mama, baby’, !popstar reader, !dom michael, !sub reader.

♫: wc is 3k!

♫: minors dni!

(heh.. part 2? just a short lil one bc i wanted to try out that white border thingy majiggy, hope it isn’t too confusing. <33)

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞.

your name was everywhere. it started with a breakout single that took over the charts, but within two years, it had evolved into a cultural shift.

you weren't just topping the charts; you were redefining them. every music video you released became a trend, every live performance was praised, and sold out stadiums had practically become your second home.

the media couldn't get enough. the critics, who were usually impossible to please, finally agreed on a title that stuck to you:

ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴘ.

it was a heavy title to wear at your age, but you wore it effortlessly, dominating the industry with every move.

but with every queen, there's a king, and the world only recognised one.

michael jackson. you hadn't thought of the name in years. but with his overwhelming fame, it was inevitable you were going to be reminded of him. so imagine your surprise when your producer, quincy jones, called you to ask you to duet with him.

“look, daughter. i need you down at westlake studios right now.” quincy's voice spoke through the receiver, booming with late night energy that always signaled a burst of creativity. “i've got a track that is basically screaming for you. smelly is already in the booth tracking his parts-“

“no.” you cut in instantly, the word slipping past your lips before you could even think to stop it as your fingers tightened around the phone. “no, q. find someone else. i'm not doing it.”

quincy paused on the line, completely caught off guard by your sudden pushback, oblivious to the panic he had just caused. “excuse me? since when is it like you to turn down a masterpiece? you two are the biggest pop stars on my roster. i'm not taking no for an answer. baby, come here now.”

as the line went dead, you let out a heavy sigh, slowly lowering the phone against the kitchen counter. you groaned as an overwhelming rush of memories infiltrated your mind.

you and michael had been each other's entire world during his thriller era. you were more of an underrated icon in the background, still trying to find your footing in the industry, while he was transitioning into a global superstar.

it had been a quiet secret. you two had shared everything together; he was your first kiss, your first love, and the first person you had ever given your body to. you had been his first real taste of it, too.

but it quickly became so much more than just innocent romance. it was intensely physical, a raw pull that you both became completely consumed by. since you were each other's very first time, the realisation of that connection turned into a sexual addiction.

behind those locked doors, the world outside vanished, replaced by an insatiable need for each other's body. you couldn't keep your hands off one another. every stolen hour was spent tangled together, learning the curves of each other's bodies, driving each other crazy in a cycle of desire that neither of you knew how to break.

but then, the world became too loud. the suffocating security, the paparazzi, and the weight of both of your careers had slowly choked the life out of the relationship. with broken hearts, you had mutually agreed to let each other go, prioritising your own careers over love.

you hadn't looked him in the eyes since the day you walked out of his life. and now, he was fully in his bad era, and the thought of facing him made you weak in your knees. but you couldn't say no to quincy, not when your career was tied to his commands.

reluctantly, you grabbed your things and stepped out into the night air. affirming yourself that “it would be just fine” as you slipped into the back of your private car. your personal driver quietly put the vehicle in drive, the city lights blurring outside the window as the car smoothly glided through the streets, heading straight toward the man you never thought you'd talk to again.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖༘⋆𐦍⊹₊ ⋆｡˚

the heavy scent of quincy's cologne, and studio air hit you instantly. the room was bathed in the familiar lighting of westlake, but the energy inside was powerful, vibrating with the presence of the two men sitting inside.

quincy was spun around in his producer's chair, a thick pair of headphones resting around his neck as he boomed with laughter. but your eyes skipped right past him, immediately locking onto the figure sitting on the sofa behind the mixing console.

michael.

he looked entirely different from the boy you had loved. his hair was longer, styled in beautiful curls that framed his face perfectly, and his jawline looked sharper under the lights. he seemed more confident. he was dressed in a black button down shirt, a pair of sunglasses plastered on his face.

as the door clicked shut behind you, michael's laughter faded. he lowered his glasses, his dark eyes snapping over to you, and for a second, the calm composure he was wearing broke.

“there she is!” quincy clapped his hands together, his voice shattering the tense silence that had stretched across the room. “the queen herself. come on in, daughter.”

you forced your fake smile to stay perfectly in place, praying your voice wouldn't betray how nervous you were. “hey, q.” you said smoothly, stepping further into the room and keeping your posture relaxed. you turned your gaze to the couch, your heart racing as you looked right at him. “hey, michael.”

michael cleared his throat, slowly standing up from the sofa. he offered a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, his voice low when he spoke.

“hey.” he smiled, his eyes searching your face, scanning the perfect mask you had put on. “it's... it's really good to see you.”

“likewise.” you lied smoothly, the fake smile never wavering as you crossed your arms, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting under his intense stare.

“alright, alright, enough with the introductions.” quincy cut in, oblivious to the suffocating tension that had settled over the room. he rolled his chair back toward the mixing board, flipping a few switches and clicking a button on the intercom. “we're burning daylight, and i've got a hit to finish. michael just wrapped some parts. i need your voice on it.”

quincy handed you a sheet of lined paper covered in michael's messy handwriting. just looking at the font of his writing made a sharp pang of nostalgia hit you.

“the song is called morning dew.” quincy explained, turning up the monitors.

your heart stopped. you glanced up from the paper, your eyes automatically darting back to michael. he was already watching you, his hands stuffed into his pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. of all the names in the world, you thought, a wave of irony washing over you.

“go ahead and step into the booth with him.” quincy ordered, waving his hand toward the double paned glass. “let's do a quick run through y/n, so you can read the mood..”

michael didn't say a word. he just gave a polite nod and turned to walk toward the isolation booth. you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling dry as you looked down at the lyric sheet in your hands, the words staring back at you in his distinct handwriting.

forcing your legs to move, you followed him inside the booth, the soundproof door confining the two of you alone together.

michael walked up to the dual microphone setup, adjusting his headphones slightly before turning his dark eyes back to you.

“you look beautiful.” he complimented, his voice slightly shy, the bad persona seemed to soften for just a split second, a hint of the boy you used to love peeking through. “i want to say.. congratulations on... everything”

“thanks.” you managed to say, your voice tight as you adjusted your own headphones, intentionally avoiding his eyes. you couldn't look at him, not when he was looking at you like that. “congrats to you, too. the new album is.. good.”

before he could reply, quincy's voice cut through the monitors. “alllright kids, let's roll it from the top of the verse. daughter, give me that first line.”

the track began to play, a burning beat filling your ears as you looked down at the sheet music, tracking the lyrics. you stepped up to the microphone, cleared your throat, and delivered the opening line.

“as we sip champagne watching purple rain...”

the words came out perfectly on pitch, your tone professional, but flat and hollow. you sang it like you were reading a book, the fact that you were in your ex's presence was making you detached from the music.

the track abruptly cut out, the silence in your headphones deafening. quincy leaned forward over the console, pressing the talkback button. his brows were furrowed as he stared at you through the glass. “whoa, whoa, stop. what was that?” he shook his head, looking completely baffled.

“y/n, you're singing like a robot. where is the passion? this song is about love. i need you to feel it, baby. stop overthinking and let it out.”

you swallowed hard, your cheeks burning slightly. you didn't dare look to your left, where michael was standing inches away, silently watching your every move. you tightly gripped the edge of the music stand, nodding at quincy through the glass. “sorry. run it again.”

you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to forget michael was there just enough to let the music in. when the track restarted, you leaned into the mic, letting your natural warm voice take over. you sailed through the first two verses smoothly, your voice blending flawlessly with the sultry beat, making quincy nod in approval behind the mixing board.

but then the chorus hit, and it was time for the overlay. suddenly, michael stepped closer to his microphone, his presence completely engulfing the small booth. the distance between you vanished as the music swelled, and his voice cut into your headphones.

“girl, you’re sexy in the mornin'..” you both sang, his dark eyes locking directly onto yours, burning right through the calm facade you were trying so hard to keep up. “you know you turn me on, babe.”

your heart leapt into your throat, avoiding his eyes as your voices intertwined perfectly, tracking the melody in flawless harmony.

“you know the sun rise for you..” he sang, his tone dipping into something soft and intimate, a genuine ache bleeding into the words.

“for you..” you ad-libbed right after him.

“give me that mornin' dew..” you both sang together, the blend of your vocals completely undeniable. it was a perfect match, a reminder of exactly why quincy had put you two together, and why you had been so attracted to each other years ago.

“you know that i want it.” you both continued, the low register of his voice vibrating in your ears, his eyes darkening as the lyrics grew heavier.

“i want you moanin' every mornin'...” you both sang, his voice dropping into a honest tone that turned you on.

hearing those words leave his lips ignited something inside of you, instantly melting your heart. it hit your composure, a reminder of how easily he could still pull your strings, and your mind completely drifted off to when he in fact, made you moan every morning..

“again?” you teased, a sleepy laugh escaping your lips as the morning sun filtered through the cracks of the curtains. you were tangled in the messy white sheets, your skin still warm from the night before as michael suddenly rolled over and pulled your hips against his. you giggled softly as his hands found your waist, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you.

“c’mere then, ma.” michael whispered against your ear, his voice thick with sleep and desire. he trailed lazy kisses down your neck, his fingers tightening on your skin as he pulled you under him once more, turning your quiet giggles into loud moans before the day had even begun.

the track abruptly looped into a quiet transition, but you were still frozen, your heart racing as your mind raced to catch up with the present.

“y/n? whatcha thinking about over there, daughter?” quincy's amused voice cut through the monitors, snatching you right out of your thoughts.

your cheeks instantly flared a deep red as you cleared your dry throat. “mm.. q, sorry. i was just... just feeling the music.”

next to you, michael let out a soft chuckle that only made you more flustered. when you risked a tiny glance at him, you saw him lost in his own mind as well, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

quincy shrugged, continuing to play the track as you both prepared for the next line.

“you know the sun rise for you..” you sang back, your voice a bit unstable under the weight of his stare, the raw tension in the booth becoming almost too hot to handle.

“give me that mornin' dew.” you both finished in a breathless harmony, the final note lingering in the air.

the track faded into the pre-recorded chorus, your blended voices pouring through the headphones in a seamless wave of sound. through the double paned glass, you could see quincy losing his mind, he was throwing his head back in approval, and grooving in his chair.

before the chorus could even finish winding down, quincy slapped the talkback button. “yes! that is what i'm talking about! the chemistry is perfect, y'all!” he barked out a laugh, completely oblivious to how hard your heart racing.

“we ain’t done yet though. y/n, stay right there. the beat is looping back. i need you to take this next part just on your own. michael, back off the mic and let her ride it.”

michael gave a slow nod, stepping back just half a pace, but he didn't take his eyes off you. his chest rose and fell in time with yours, waiting to see what you would do.

the beat dropped into a deeper groove, stripping away the heavy layers to leave the track completely open for you. you looked down at the lyric sheet, your eyes widening slightly as you read the next lines. they were extremely explicit, dripping with a raw sensuality that felt too dangerous to sing with michael standing in the same room as you.

you hesitantly leaned into the microphone, praying your voice wouldn't get weak on you. “ah, i get so excited when i feel you touch my thighs..” you sang, squeezing your eyes shut.

“my hands are cold, ma. can you warm them up for me?” michael asked, his voice a low octave as he held onto the steering wheel of his car. you nodded weakly, your breath catching in your throat as his large palm made contact with your skin, sliding slowly up from your knee. his hand was extremely cold, creating a slow path up your inner thigh. you whimpered, parting your legs slightly as his fingers moved higher, sliding underneath the hem of your skirt until he felt the soft fabric of your panties. “you're so wet for me, baby..” he groaned softly, his long fingers hooking into the lace, pressing against your the direct wetness as you let out a small moan.

from the corner of your eye, you saw michael's jaw tighten, his eyes locking onto yours as if he could see the exact memory playing in your head.

“baby, slow down 'cause i'ma be late for my ride.” you continued, holding the notes effortlessly, even though your mind was elsewhere.

you were on top of michael after begging him to let you be in control, the sudden shift of roles making your heart race as you sank down onto him. you were riding him passionately, the heat between you consuming the room. his large hands locked firmly onto your waist, his thumbs digging deep into your hips to guide your movements. he threw his head back against the pillows, a low groan ripping from his throat as you rode him harder, second guessing your decision to be on top from how deep it felt inside of you. “michael.. i..” you panted, biting your lip as you tried your best to handle the overwhelming sensation between your legs. “keep going, mama. you can take it.” he reassured, his voice thick with hunger as you slid up and down him in a rhythm that left the both of you completely breathless.

“i'm feelin' faded out my mind... a little morning dew..” you closed your eyes, the lyrics completely mirroring the sensations rushing through your body.

“there's a river inside that flows from our love... you can tap in but don't, don't tap out, oh.”

“don't stop, michael. please, don't stop.” you had whispered against his lips, unraveled as you chased your climax. he growled softly, flipping you onto your back without breaking the connection. his curls were sweaty as he pinned your wrists above your head, his body burying into yours with desperate thrusts. “you're taking me.. so well, baby.” he breathed heavily, a needy sound escaping him with every push. he kept pounding into you, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm, his muscles tensing as he held himself deep inside you.

“it's a slip in the slide, that front to back love. right there baby, don't tap out, tap out.”

“right there, michael, please.” you begged, your back arching off the mattress, your voice breaking as he hit that sweet spot perfectly. “there? hm? you like that?” he asked, a dark smirk tracing his lips as he held your legs up high. he let out a loud moan as he thrust heavier and deeper into you, hitting the spot over and over again. “god, always so tight for me, mama.” he choked out until your body collapsed around him, his lips instantly kissing your forehead to tell you how good you did.

the final note lingered in the air as you opened your eyes and realised michael was staring right at you through the light of the booth. he knew. he had remembered every single second of it, too. the same question ran through both of your minds, maybe y’all should run it back?

[faylovesmichael]

𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠.

ᥫ᭡: when y/n harmlessly teases her childhood best friend, michael, she never expects him to actually act on it.

ᥫ᭡: mature themes, explicit content, friends to lovers, praise, nickname ‘mama’, first time, unprotected, !subdom michael, !switch michael, !sub reader, inexperienced michael, !inexperienced reader.

ᥫ᭡: wc is 4.3k!

ᥫ᭡: 18+! minors dni!

tags: @tenderlyboundlessparagon @sqrixm @sarcasmismyfirstlove @backupschmuck

(my BEST attempt at second person, i’m a bit rusty.)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

growing up right next door to the jackson family meant your childhood was a mixture of brotherly love and music. long before the sold out shows, the screaming crowds, and the chaotic fame took over, it was just you and them.

out of all the brothers, michael was always the one you were closest to. you were the one who could tell exactly what he was thinking just by the way his shoulders slumped after rehearsals, you were the one he ran to when the pressure got too heavy, hiding away at your house just to talk about things that had nothing to do with his life.

you had seen every single phase of him. you knew the boy who used to belt out motown hits with a voice bigger than his body, and you knew the awkward teenager who used to hide in his bedroom to write.

but looking across your living room floor right now, it was getting harder and harder to just see him as the boy next door. michael seemed more grown now, (even though y’all were the same age) sitting cross legged on your carpet, carefully unfolding a brand new plastic twister mat.

while he was distracted, smoothing out the bright dots, you took a moment to just observe him. your eyes traced the beautiful shape and texture of his afro, and then your gaze dropped down at his hands next. michael always had big hands and you couldn't help but wonder how those massive hands would feel wrapped around your body.

“m’ telling you, i'm going to win!” michael said, his voice cutting through your thoughts. it was that familiar melody, sounding so sweet and pure. he glanced up through his afro, a playful spark in his eyes. “ive been practising alot, you don't stand a chance.”

you leaned back on your hands, a slow smirk spreading across your face as you locked eyes with him. “okay, show me what you got then, michael..” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drop down to his jeans, then slowly back up to the silk button down shirt left casually open at his chest, letting him see exactly where you were looking.

michael's cheeks instantly turned a deep shade of red under your heavy gaze. he let out a breathless little giggle, brushing it off as he quickly looked down at the spinner to hide his sudden shyness.

“come on, let's... spin the wheel..” he stammered, clearing his throat, trying to seem unfazed as he gave the arrow a hard flick. the plastic clicked loudly, spinning round and round before landing on a section.

michael looked at it, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “right foot, blue.” he called out, stepping onto the mat first. he moved with grace, his leg extending out as he firmly planted it on the closest blue circle.

you reached over, your fingers flicking the spinner next. it landed on left hand, red. leaning forward, you chose the red dot that required you to stretch directly in his space.

as you placed your palm down, your arm brushed lightly against his shin. you felt him freeze for a split second, his breathing hitching slightly at the sudden contact. you tilted your head up, looking at him from your low position on the mat.

“your turn.” you smiled, watching the way his chest rose and fell beneath his open silk shirt.

he nodded, his large hand coming down to spin the wheel again. the arrow landed on right hand, red.

michael hesitated for a second, his eyes locking onto yours with nervousness. he shifted his weight, his palm coming down onto the red circle. because of the angle, his chest was suddenly hovering inches away from yours.

he was trapped right above you, trying his best to keep his balance without letting his body touch yours, but the size of him made it almost impossible.

the view of you from his position changed everything for him. michael's gaze, which usually darted away whenever things got too intimate, suddenly found itself stuck to your body.

from this angle, he couldn't help but notice the way the light in your living room caught the soft curves of your figure. he swallowed hard, his eyes darkening further as he observed the enticing plump of your ass that your shorts didn't even try to hide.

“michael?” you asked, the volume of your voice snapping him out of his thoughts and making him shudder. “you wanna wear my shorts or somethin'? why you looking there?” you giggled, teasing him slightly.

he let out a breathless laugh, his eyes snapping back up to yours. “m’ not.. i-i wasn't looking at your.. shorts.” he stuttered, trying to object, but his deep voice cracked slightly under the weight of his attraction.

“mm, you sure you weren’t?” you raised an eyebrow, rolling your eyes, deciding to play it off. it didn't take long before his gaze drifted back down to your shorts again.

“you're.. you're just trying to distract me so you can win.” michael whispered, his voice dropping into a slightly deeper register that turned you on.

you shifted your weight, making the plastic mat crinkle loudly beneath you. the movement brought your hips closer to his, almost brushing against the front of his jeans.

“well.. is it working?” you asked innocently, tilting your head. michael's gaze dropped immediately to your lips when you asked that question.

“u-uh...” he cleared his throat, a helpless sound that betrayed how badly he actually wanted hide his feelings.

sensing his shy nature, you backed down. “you know what..? you win this round, i give up.” you sighed heavily as you moved to pull yourself up, settling back onto your knees right in front of him.

you lifted your head up slightly, looking at him through your eyelashes with a look that was pure temptation. you weren't forcing yourself onto him, but you were laying out every single piece of bait, knowing exactly what it did to his shyness.

michael completely froze. from his perspective, looking down at you on your knees, his mind went dirty, thinking about how you could be in that position right between his legs, with your big doe eyes staring up at him as you..

“don't look at me.. like that.” he breathed out, his voice attempting to be strict but coming out more weaker than intended.

instead of looking away, you let out a little hum, leaning closer. “look at you like what, michael?” you furrowed your eyebrows, keeping your tone completely innocent while your eyes stayed locked onto his lips.

he swallowed hard, a visible blush creeping up his neck and darkening his cheeks. “you're... you're teasing me.” he slowly sat down with his legs crossed, still staring at you on your knees.

“no i'm not?” you answered softly, shrugging as you tugged at the knee part of his jeans. “i’m just sitting.. normally.”

watching his timid reaction, you cleared your throat. “here. why don't we start a new round?” you said with a little chuckle, breaking the heavy tension just enough to let him breathe.

you reached over and gave the cardboard arrow a sharp flick. the plastic clicked rapidly before landing on right hand, green. you leaned backwards carefully, and placed your palm on a green dot, turning so that you were facing him.

“my turn.. to spin.” he stammered as he reached blindly for the board, his eyes glued to the smooth skin of your thighs right in front of him. he gave the arrow a weak flick as it spun and landed on left knee, yellow. (why is there no yellow!)

there was a yellow dot he could go to, and it was the one directly between your knees. michael looked at the dot, then looked up at you, his large eyes begging for mercy. to make the move, he would have to bring his knee right into your space, settling it between your thighs.

“i.. i don't think i can do that one.” he whispered, a nervous smile tugging at his lips as his hands twitched against the mat. “i have to do another. you're blocking the dot.”

“m’ not blocking it.” you replied innocently, shifting your knees wider, parting them slightly to reveal the bright yellow circle beneath you. the movement made your shorts pull tighter against your hips, exposing the soft curve of your inner thighs. “see? there's plenty of room for you, michael.”

michael blinked, quickly burying his face in his large hands for a second to hide how red his cheeks were. “you’re so bad.” he groaned through his fingers, his muffled voice full of sweet shyness.

“don't complain if i fall then..” he whispered as he lifted his leg, carefully bringing his knee forward to plant it right onto the yellow dot, but because he was so focused on trying not to brush against you, his balance betrayed him horribly.

the slick plastic of the twister mat slid an inch to the side and michael's knee slipped completely. instead of him falling on top of you, his hands instinctively reached out to grab you for support, pulling you towards him as he fell backwards, his back hitting the floor with a thump.

with a soft gasp, you landed on his lap, your thighs settling perfectly over his waist. michael was frozen, his chest panting as his massive hands rested awkwardly on your waist.

he instantly blushed having you sit right in his lap, his eyes wide and completely flustered as he stared up at you.

“god, michael..” you let out a shaky breath. “i didn't know you were this bold.” you gulped nervously, clinging to humour as you joked softly, letting out a little chuckle.

michael let out an overwhelmed squeak, his eyes widening. “i-i didn't mean to.. it was an accident.” he stuttered defensively, his voice cracking completely into a desperate whisper as his fingers twitched against your waist, debating whether he should push you off or keep you right there.

but as he moved nervously beneath you, trying to find his words, you felt something hard pressing firmly against your centre. through the fabric of his jeans, right against your thigh, was the sensation of a growing erection. your eyes widened slightly as you tilted your head and looked down between your bodies, your gaze locking onto the noticeable bulge straining against his jeans.

when he realised where your eyes were, he let out an embarrassed noise, instinctively trying to cover his crotch with one of his hands. “d-don't look.” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second, his eyelashes fluttering wildly. “oh my god, please don't look...”

“m’ sorry y/n, it’s b-because..” he rushed out, trying to defend himself. “you kept... you kept doing that thing with your shorts, and looking at me like..”

hearing those words roll out of his mouth made your own breath hitch. the playful smirk melted right off your face, and heat rushed up your face. your teasing hadn't just embarrassed him, you had turned him on to the point of an erection. “so.. it's because.. of me, michael?”

michael's eyes snapped open at your question, he looked completely embarrassed to be put on the spot, his bottom lip trembling slightly as he tried to find the right words. “i told you...” he exhaled, a helpless sound. “i told you to stop teasing...”

even with your heart racing at the closeness, you still couldn't help but view him as the innocent boy you'd known forever. you figured he was just experiencing a typical boy thing, completely oblivious to the heavier desire growing inside of him.

with a nervous chuckle to ease your own sudden flustered expression, you let your hands rest gently on his shoulders. “well, what are you going to do about it, hm?” you asked, glancing at his noticeable bulge.

“i’m.. i'm not... i can't do anything about it.” he stammered as he completely lost his grip on any remaining composure. his large hands, still resting awkwardly on your waist, twitched nervously, wanting so badly to hide his face. “i have to go.. to the.. to the bathroom.”

looking at him like this, so flustered and melting under your gaze, just proved exactly what you had always believed about him. he was just innocent michael. you figured he was too shy to ever actually do anything with you, too gentle to ever take action, even if his body was clearly screaming otherwise.

purposely playing into that innocence, you leaned closer, letting your weight settle deeper against his thighs. “why?” you asked, your fingers lightly tracing the collar of his open silk shirt. “just do.. whatever you need to right here.”

you genuinely expected him to blush and tell you to “stop it”, or clumsily try to get you off his lap. yet instead, his jaw clenched, as he stared right through you from beneath his afro. “you think i can just...” he sighed. “do you know? what you're asking me.. to do?”

you just smiled softly, you figured his warning was just his sweet nature talking. after all, this was your childhood friend, and you knew him very well. right? he was too gentle to ever break out of his shell.

“yes, michael..” you replied softly, your voice completely innocent as you rolled your eyes. “i’m telling you. you can do.. anything you need to do here.”

michael remained still, his entire body contemplating over your words as they sunk in. he stared at you intensely as if he were trying to process the fact you had given him permission to fulfill his very desires. “a-anything?” he whispered.

you swallowed hard, your own cheeks burning as you gave him a slow nod, still underestimating what was brewing inside of him.

that nod was his breaking point. the sweet boy next door was gone, consumed by your invitation. a low breath escaped his parted lips, and before you could even register the shift in his energy, his massive hands moved from your waist.

his fingers slid down, his palms cupping the smooth skin of your thighs with warmth that made you gasp. his touch was laced burning hunger as his fingers caressed the soft flesh of your thighs, making you whimper. michael shifted his weight with grace, effortlessly rolling you over onto your back against the plastic mat.

the movement left you completely breathless, your eyes widening in genuine shock as his tall frame followed you down, looming directly over you. within a second, he was hovering right over you, pinning you flat against the carpet as his eyes burned down into yours.

“i can do anything i want?” he repeated, his voice dropping into a raspy register right against your ear.

his lips met the soft skin of your neck, delivering a series of gentle kisses. the contrast of his sweet personality against the way he was pinning you down made your mind spin.

did you really know your childhood best friend?

you were completely trapped beneath his large frame, the undeniable hardness of his erection pressing between your thighs with every breath he took. his fingers slid slowly up from your thighs, tracing the curve of your waist before rising hesitantly toward the bottom of your shirt.

you felt the warmth of his palms as they settled right under your breasts, his thumbs brushing lightly against the fabric. he paused there for a second as if he was still trying to process that you were actually letting him do this.

“anythin’, y/n?” he breathed out again, his eyes snapping back up to lock onto yours, heavy with desire.

you could only manage a small nod, your voice entirely trapped in your throat. the weight of his body above yours, paired with the heat of his large palms resting right beneath your breasts, had completely taken away all your playful confidence. you were the flustered one now.

his fingers hooked into the hem of your shirt, and with a swift motion, he pulled the fabric up, sliding it up your stomach and over your head. his eyes tracking the movement of your chest before dropping heavily to the full plump of your breasts.

a visible shade of dark red darkened his cheeks, but he didn't look away. the sweet boy who used to hide his face in his hands was completely gone, and in his place was a man looking down at you with pure hunger.

he gently cupped your breasts. the feeling of his massive hands against your bare skin made your eyes flutter shut, a soft whine escaping your lips. michael let out a low sound in return for the noise you made, his thumbs slowly brushing over the sensitive tips. his lips continued to press kisses against your skin while his hands squeezed and shaped your breasts, basically worshiping them.

he grounded his lower half, pressing the hard erection against the centre of your thighs. a loud groan tore from his throat as he began to slowly rub himself against you, dry humping you through the heavy fabric of his jeans.

every slow, heavy push of his hips sent a sensation of heat straight through you, pinning you effortlessly to the floor. you could feel exactly how hard he was, straining against his zipper with every desperate thrust, completely consuming you in his sudden desire.

“michael...” you gasped out, your voice trembling as you tilted your chin up to find his eyes. he paused his movements for a moment as he looked down at you.

“i think.. i think..” he whispered, his own face burning as he looked right into your eyes, seeing all your previous teasing drained from you and replaced by the mutual desire. “i need more.”

hearing those exact words come out of his mouth made you wet with anticipation. it was no longer than a few seconds before the tip of his length brushed directly against you, and an overwhelmed moan escaped his lips at the sensation of your wetness.

but as he felt himself right at your entrance, he paused, his arms shaking as he supported his weight over you, looking down at you with wide eyes. “is that okay? if i have.. more?” he whispered, his voice cracking completely into a naive plea as he realised he was completely inexperienced. “i just.. i don’t know how to..”

your heart swelled at the raw honesty in his voice, your own inexperience making you just as nervous, but the heat between your thighs completely took over.

you reached up, your hands framing his burning cheeks. “just do it, michael.” you exhaled, lost in the moment. “it’s okay.”

hearing your approval, he instinctively pushed forward, his full length inside you in one heavy thrust.

“fuck...” you gasped out, the curse word ripping from your throat as your fingers dug into his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut at the overwhelming stretch of him filling you completely.

the profanity hung in the air, and even in the moment of pleasure, michael's face instantly burned a deeper shade of red at the dirty word. he wasn't used to cursing at all, and hearing that word fall from your lips only turned him on more.

a whimper escaped him as his large hands gripped your hips, holding you to the crinkling twister mat. because he was entirely inexperienced, he didn't know how to ease into it or pace himself. instead, he immediately began to move to what felt right, moving deeper as he chased the intense pleasure.

“ma, it feels so good.” he whined breathlessly, burying his face right into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against your bare breasts as he thrust into you with power. “do.. do you feel good too?”

your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, your fingernails digging slightly into his shirt as another push of his hips made your head roll back against the mat.

“yes... it f-feels good.” you gasped out, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath beneath him. you felt the entirety of his length burying itself deep inside you with every movement. “but... but michael, is it supposed to be so.. so deep?”

hearing the vulnerability made michael let out a low groan. the active realisation that he was filling you up, and stretching you out like this sent a wave of realisation.

“m’ sorry..” he whimpered breathlessly, his chest heaving as he tried to control the rhythm of his hips. he pulled back just an inch to look down at you, his large eyes lost in the sensation.

“you're just so tight, mama. it feels so tight around me.” with a needy whine, he tried to restrict himself, burying only half of length inside you, a desperate noise escaping his lips when he felt your warmth again.

the shallower movement was a different kind of torture, sending a sweet sensation straight to your core as he carefully withdrew and pushed back in. michael's eyes fluttered shut as he tried to pace himself, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep from crying out. every slow roll of his hips made him tremble, his muscles aching from holding back.

noticing his restriction, you reached out to spread your legs wider, hinting at him to go deeper. “it's okay, michael..” you moaned, your voice weak but determined as you looked up into his dark eyes, giving him your full permission to lose control. “i think.. i-i can take it now.”

hearing your words, a helpless groan tore from his throat. you let out a broken moan, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to try and cope with the deep length of him as he drove back inside. the sudden tightening of your legs around his hips made michael lose it. he let out heavy pants, his head snapping back as his body shuddered.

“oh god... mama.. i’m gonna-“ he stammered, his voice cracking into a desperate pitch as he lost what little control he had left, chasing the climax that was rushing over him.

his pace hit your own sensitive centre in just the right way, your toes curled tightly and your eyes rolled back. an intense feeling of pleasure went straight through you.

“me.. me too, michael..“ you bit your lip, your voice breaking as your own orgasm crashed over you completely. your inner muscles clamped down around him in a spasm, pulsing against his length.

hearing you cry out his name and feeling your body squeeze him so hard broke the last of his control. with a loud moan, michael arched his back, pulsing his release deep inside you as your bodies laid in a shared orgasm.

“y/n...” he whispered breathlessly, the reality of what just happened beginning to wash over him. the raw energy that had taken over him just moments ago began to dissolve, and the sweet boy slowly started to peek back through.

his afro was beautifully messy, his eyes filled with vulnerability as he searched your face. a sudden look of panic flickered in his eyes, his bottom lip trembling as he realised how much he had lost control. “m’ sorry..” he apologised softly. “i just-i really didn't know what to do..and you felt so good, mama. did i hurt you? are you okay?”

you let out a shaky breath, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you looked up at his worried face. the lingering sensation of your orgasm was still making your body tingle, and seeing him look so panicked and sweet after being so unexpectedly rough was almost endearing.

you reached up, your hands sliding slowly from his shoulders to cup his burning cheeks, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones to soothe him. “it's okay. you didn't hurt me, i promise. it felt... it felt good.”

hearing your reassurance, the panic in his dark eyes instantly melted into relief. a soft sigh escaped his lips as his long fingers tangled into your hair, holding you close as if you were something fragile.

“really?” he asked against your skin, a genuine smile finally breaking across his face. “you're not just saying that to.. make me feel better? because... because i really didn't know what i was doing. i just.. couldn't handle how.. warm you felt.”

you couldn't help but let out a nervous giggle at his honesty. you shifted your hips a tiny bit underneath him. the movement made his breath catch in his throat, his eyes instantly widening as you both felt the warmth of your bodies still joined together on the mat.

you bit your lower lip, a nervous yet playful spark returning to your eyes as you wrapped your arms securely around his neck, hiding your burning face in his shoulder for a quick second before looking back up at him.

“why.. why don't you try again?” you asked, your voice a little shaky and flustered as you whispered right against his lips. “y’know, just to.. to practise being a little more gentle?”

“y/n...” he whined out, his voice cracking with desperate desire as a shy smile tugged at his lips. “oh my god... you're going to kill me, mama.”

[faylovesmichael]

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲?

ও: michael overhears y/n talking about her séx life. now, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t help her?

ও: mature themes, explicit content, praise, overstimulation, nicknames ‘ma, baby, good girl’ unprotected, first time, !submissive reader, !experienced michael, slight age gap.

ও: wc is 5.1k! written in 3rd person…

ও: 18+! minors dni!

(pls bare with me, it’s my first time posting on tumblr.. im used to writing 40 chapter stories on ao3. LMAO.)

.✦ ݁˖

“honestly, if a guy doesn't even make me finish? next! what is even the point?” latoya scoffed, throwing her legs over the arm of the chair and waving her hands around. “i'm telling you.. if i am not losing my mind by the end of it.. yeah, he did something wrong.”

janet practically choked on her drink, nodding in agreement. “no, really. i could never get with someone who just gets theirs and leaves me hanging..”

“you know...” a heavy sigh escaped y/n's lips as she threw her head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling. “i've never... actually felt it before. like, ever.” she forced the truth out into the open, nervously playing with her fingers.

janet's jaw dropped, and latoya leaned forward, wanting to hear more. the room filled with the warm energy of best friends ready to dive into a heavy late night talk with the accompany of alcohol. “wait, seriously?” latoya whispered, her voice laced with shock.

y/n hid her face in her hands, her voice small and embarrassed. “yes, seriously. like.. i just get turned off so easily.”

“mm..” latoya hummed, her eyes widening as she took a sip of her drink. “what about.. do you moan? maybe it’s cause of that.”

y/n groaned loudly into her hands. “yes, i moan. oh my god. but, i always fake it.”

“girl..” janet gasped, a grin tugging at her lips. “what kind of fake moans? what do you do?”

“i don't know..!” y/n whined, dropping her hands and leaning forward. she threw her head back, mimicking her own exaggerated breathy sigh. “its like.. oh... right there.. yes! oh...” she bit her lip, doing a terrible squeak to finish it off. “i really don't know how they fall for it, i swear to god.”

janet burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink all over the carpet, and latoya covered her mouth, giggling so hard she could wake up the whole house. y/n couldn't help but laugh too, the absurdity of it cutting through her initial embarrassment.

“wow y/n..” janet exhaled, wiping a tear from her eye as her laughter faded. “you fake it that much during sex?”

“no, that's the thing!” y/n confessed, her voice dropping quieter as she shook her head. “i don't let them have sex with me. it's either.. they play with me or i play with them.”

latoya's jaw practically hit the floor. “shut up! so you've never actually had sex-“

a sharp clatter from the kitchen doorway cut her off. y/n's head instantly snapped toward the sound, her face burning as she stared at michael. he was frozen, holding a bag of chips he'd gone to fetch, with a look of panic. he had clearly tried to slip back into the living room unnoticed, but judging by the wide look in his eyes, he had heard every single word.

"oh hi, y/n.." michael stammered, clearing his throat as he looked anywhere but at her. "i didn't know you guys were having a girls night.."

the humiliation made y/n's stomach drop into her shoes. it would have been bad enough if a stranger had heard her, but michael was different. it's not like they had never interacted; they were close, nearly as close as y/n was to his sisters, they had introduced her to him, of course. he was the friend she could call late at night just to talk, the friend she could hang out with when his sisters were busy, the friend that was always there for her no matter what. shit.. she could even come to the studio and record a song with him if she asked.

but despite their strong friendship, they had never talked about something like this.

michael rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his gaze fixing intently on a spot on the carpet as he tried to look completely oblivious. the fact that her sweet, kind friend now knew the intimate details of her fake moans and her sex life made her want to click her fingers and disappear.

janet bit her lip, desperately trying to suppress a giggle, while latoya just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her brother's terrible timing. “yeah, mike. we're just hanging out.”

“right, right. hanging out..” michael muttered, nodding quickly. he finally took a step into the room, holding the bag of chips out like a shield, though he still refused to make direct eye contact with y/n. “i just came to get a snack. i can... go watch tv in the other room. or leave.” he blinked. “yeah, i'll just leave.”

“oh, don't go on our account, mike.” janet piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned back. she loved a good opportunity to make her older brother squirm. “unless, of course, y/n's conversation was making you uncomfortable?”

“janet, shut up.” y/n cried, grabbing a nearby couch pillow and burying her face in it to let out a miserable groan.

michael's eyes widened, his cheeks turning a darker shade of red as his younger sister laughed. he cleared his throat again, the sound loud in the quiet room. “i'm not uncomfortable..” he lied.

his eyes finally flicked over to the couch, catching y/n as she peeked out from behind the pillow. there was a strange boldness in his dark eyes now, replacing the panic. he held her eyes for a second, his voice dropping a little lower. “i.. uh, i just don't think it should be that way, y/n.”

there was a pause before y/n cleared her throat, forcing a smile as she adjusted herself and grabbed her empty glass, eager to end the conversation. “thanks. i’m going to get some more alcohol.. does anyone need a refill?”

“i'm good.” latoya said, waving a hand while trying to smother another laugh into her palm. janet just shook her head, her eyes sparkling as she watched y/n move with embarrassment.

y/n didn't even wait for michael to say anything. she darted past him so fast her hair whipped behind her, her shoulder brushing against his jacket accidentally as she bolted straight into the kitchen.

the moment she left the room, she let out a long sigh and leaned heavily against the tiled countertop. she set her glass down with a loud clink as she pulled her hands up to her face, pressing her cold palms against her burning cheeks, trying desperately to cool down.

out of all the things he could have heard, she thought, groaning quietly into the empty room. the moans, the confession, the whole thing. are you serious?

she turned her head to the noise of someone entering the kitchen as michael stood in the doorway. he looked a lot calmer, the red blush on his face having faded into a faint glow, but the intense focus in his dark eyes hadn't changed one bit. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice quiet so it wouldn't carry back over to his sisters.

y/n let out a weak laugh, refusing to fully meet his gaze as she nervously fiddled with the neck of the wine bottle. “mhm, just fine.”

michael offered a soft smile, though he didn't take his eyes off her. he stepped further into the kitchen, his movements steady, closing the distance between them until he was standing just a few feet away. “you know.. you don't have to feel embarrassed. at least, not with me.”

“michael, you heard me talk about my sex life.” she whispered, finally looking up at him, her eyes wide with lingering humiliation. “i literally moaned too. oh my god, make me forget.”

he let out a chuckle, the sound warm and comforting enough to cut through some of her panic. “i don't think i can make you forget that..” he admitted quietly, his voice dropping into a gentle tone. he looked down at his hands for a brief second, clearing his throat before his eyes locked back onto hers with an offer. “but... i could try to make you forget all the bad experiences. if you'd let me.”

y/n's heart stopped. she blinked up at him, her lips parting slightly as her brain tried to process the shift in his tone. “huh.. what do you mean?”

“i'm just saying..” he mumbled, shifting closer so his shoulder was nearly touching hers. the shy hesitation was gone, replaced by a quiet certainty.

“friends help each other, don't they? i can help you.”

the sweet friend she called late at night was looking at her like he wanted to break every bad sexual experience she'd ever had.

“michael, are you serious...?” she whispered, her eyes darting down to his lips for a second before snapping back up to his eyes.

“i just care a lot about you..” he mumbled as he took another small step forward, completely closing the distance between them. “my friend doesn't deserve this.. especially when she’s been so good to me.”

y/n's grip on the wine bottle was the only thing keeping her grounded. her knees felt dangerously weak under the weight of his gaze.

“we... we shouldn't be talking about this here.” she managed to say, though her voice lacked any real confidence.

"then let's not talk about it here." he whispered, his eyes flicking toward the hallway that led to his private bedroom before returning to hers. “come over tomorrow night.. i’ll help you. please, let me do that for you. as a friend.”

“but..” y/n swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked at his soft smile, then down at the floor, before forcing her eyes back up to meet his intense gaze.

“okay.” she breathed out, her voice barely a whisper as she finally let go of the grip she had on the wine bottle. “okay, fine. tomorrow night.”

a look of quiet satisfaction washed over his face, his smile widening. “good..” he said softly, stepping back just enough to give her room to breathe.

“but no feelings, right?” y/n asked, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to ground herself. she needed to hear it out loud, needed to establish some kind of boundary before she completely lost her mind right there in the kitchen.

michael paused, his smile softening into something a bit more thoughtful. he looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face with that deep sincerity that always made her melt.

“just... two friends taking care of each other.” he reassured, his voice incredibly soft as he gave her a nod.

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡

she adjusted the buttons of her white blouse in the mirror, letting it hang loosely over her pair of jeans. with a heavy sigh, she drove to the familiar house, his voice playing over and over in her head.

when she'd called him earlier, second guessing everything with anxiety, michael had been so quick to soothe her over the telephone. it's okay. he'd reassure. my sisters aren't even going to be here. and, nothing will change between us.

she gripped the steering wheel, trying to convince herself that this was normal. that he was only doing a kind gesture any friend would do, that he only wanted to help her. that’s what friends did, they helped each other.

but the moment she stepped through his front door, all of her logic evaporated. he looked up, eyes catching hers through the dim light of the entryway, a breathless laugh escaping his lips.

“you came.. y/n.” he whispered, as if he could not believe she was actually there.

“not yet.” she rolled her eyes, pushing past him as she tossed her keys onto the small table by the door.

it shouldn't of felt this different. they had hung out alone a thousand times before, just the two of them raiding the kitchen or wasting hours talking about nothing.

but as she turnt back to face him in the narrow hallway, the familiar routine suddenly felt weirder. the quiet of the house didn't feel comfortable anymore, it felt heavy, mixed with a thick tension that wasn't there any other time.

“so..” she cleared her throat, crossing her arms tightly over her white blouse as he moved closer.

he slid his hand down towards her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, his grip being not weak, but not tight, pinning her right where she stood.

“you're nervous..” michael pointed out, pulling her just an inch closer so she had to look up at him. the dark curls shadowing his face in the dim light, yet his eyes still burnt right into hers.

“i'm not.” she lied, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended. a confident chuckle escaped his lips, taking a moment to look her up and down, figuring out what he wanted to do to her.

“liar.” he whispered, his free hand reaching up to slide behind her neck, his fingers tangling into her hair. the shy, playful friend she knew a lifetime ago was completely gone. “come here, let me help you.”

his grip on her wrist loosened just enough for his fingers to slide down and mesh with hers, pulling her forward until her chest pressed right against his. through the thin cotton of her white blouse, she could feel the solid warmth of him, immediately realising the strong height difference between them. (eek.)

“michael..” she breathed, the word a tiny gasp against his lips before he sealed the distance between them, his mouth sliding over hers with a deep pressure that seemed to have been bottled up since last night.

his tongue slid past her lips, claiming her mouth so thoroughly it made her lose her mind. she moaned softly into the kiss, reaching up as her hands desperately grip the fabric of his jacket to keep her balance.

his hand at the back of her neck tightened, his fingers holding her to him as he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss until she was consumed by the taste of him, and the taste of the fact they were never going back to just being friends.

without breaking the kiss, his hands slid down from her neck, gripping her hips with a sudden strength that makes her gasp into his mouth.

he lifted her up, walking her backwards, his feet scuffing against the floorboards as he guides her out of the narrow hall and straight into the dark kitchen, backing her up until the edge of the counter hit the back of her thighs.

hooking his hands under her legs, his large palms were warm against her jeans, as he effortlessly lifted her up properly onto the cool marble counter. the sudden shift in height putting them eye to eye, as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist to lock him close, her fingers tangling into those thick curls of his.

he pulled back for a moment, his chest heaving as his eyes burnt into hers, seeming darker than she's ever seen them. his lips were wet from hers, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pressed his body firmly between her thighs.

“how.. how’d you want me to help you first?” he asked, a genuine question that only made her wet, his voice laced with hunger.

y/n could barely think, her hands gripping his shoulders for dear life as his warm breath fanned across her sensitive skin.

he dropped down right between her thighs, his large hands sliding down her legs to pull her jeans and panties down in one swift motion. the air hit her skin, making her shiver, but michael didn't look away. he looked up at her from between her knees, his eyes burning with pure desire.

“do you want me to taste you, ma?” he whispered, his voice rough with a desperate kind of hunger.

y/n could only whimper at the request and the nickname he had given her, a needy sound escaping her throat as she tangled her fingers into his thick black curls. “mhm..”

despite the need in his eyes, his first touch was carefully slow. the warm muscle of his tongue traced a long path right over her centre, tasting her with slow worship that made her back arch clean off the cold marble counter.

y/n's breath hitched, her eyes rolling back and the sensation. “michael..” she whimpered, her voice cracking as pleasure she had never felt before hit her.

he just hummed in response, the deep vibration of his chest buzzing directly against her most sensitive spot. he settled perfectly into the space between her thighs, his large hands sliding up to grip her bare hips. using his thumbs, he gently parted her wider, exposing her completely before covering her with the warmth of his mouth.

he began to lap at her with a slow rhythm, he was a perfectionist in absolutely everything he did, and it was obvious that was true sexually too. every swirl of his tongue, every wet pull of his lips was calculated to make her lose her mind.

she tried to shift, her hips instinctively bucking up to speed it up, but his hands locked her down against the counter. “uh-uh..” he muttered right against her wet skin, his breath hot and damp. “jus' let me do everything, mm?”

so he did. his tongue slipped deeper inside her while his mouth latched perfectly onto her clit. the pace slowly picked up, transitioning from slow and teasing to something ruthless. he sucked and flicked his tongue with heavy pressure, his thumbs pressing into her thighs to keep her spread wide open for him.

y/n was breaking. she was openly sobbing his name now, her head accidentally thrashing back against the kitchen cabinets, with her legs shaking. the tension felt tighter and tighter in her lower belly, building to a point of agony.

“please.” she gasped out, her fingers tightening into his curls, completely entirely at his mercy. “michael, please..”

“that's it, baby.” he praised roughly, feeling her muscles starting to tremble under his hands. he picked up the pace, his mouth completely relentless. “give it to me, yeah?”

the climax ripped through her with a force that made her see stars. she cried out loudly into the empty house, her nails biting into his shoulders as wave after wave of heat crashed through her entire body. her thighs clamped tight around his head as she rode out the peak, every single nerve ending on fire.

but michael didn't pull away. even as she completely melted down, he stayed right exactly where he was, his mouth working over her gently now, soothing the oversensitive nerves and drinking down every single drop of her climax until she was completely limp, gasping for air and entirely ruined on his kitchen counter.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead right against her inner thigh for a brief second, his chest heaving against her skin as he caught his breath.

michael slowly looked up, and the sight of him made her heart stop. his lips were completely wet and glistening in the dim kitchen light, a dark heat taking over his features. those deep brown eyes were completely hooded, burning into hers with a possessive satisfaction.

“well..” he bit his lip, his voice deep and proud, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his wet lips. “i think you just came, y/n.”

y/n's face flushed dark red as she swallowed hard, trying to find her voice through the daze. “shut.. shut up... you just got lucky.”

michael raised one dark eyebrow, a breathless chuckle escaping his throat. he stood up slowly, his tall frame instantly towering over her on the counter and making her aware of the major height difference all over again.

he stepped right back into her space, crowding his body firmly between her trembling thighs, pushing them even wider apart so she couldn't close them if she tried.

with his other hand, he slowly started working his way down the buttons of her blouse, unpopping them one by one with a dangerous focus.

“is that right?” he whispered against her lips, his breath hot as his fingers finished the very last button, spreading the fabric completely open to expose her to his burning gaze. he leaned in closer, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her hip as his eyes locked onto hers.

“well then, can i test my luck again?”

instead of answering with words, she gripped his jacket tightly, pulling him down that last remaining inch until his lips were brushing hers.

he let out a low growl of satisfaction, his mouth slamming down onto hers in a kiss that was entirely different from before. he took possession of her all over again while his hands moved down to her hips, lifting her slightly off the counter just to reposition her closer to the edge.

without breaking the kiss, his right hand reached down to the waistband of his own trousers. the sharp sound of his zipper undoing echoed in the quiet kitchen, sending a spike of adrenaline straight through her veins.

he guided her legs higher, draping her knees completely over his broad shoulders so she was entirely open and ready for him. he leaned in close, his heavy chest pressing against hers as he positioned himself right against her aching core.

he paused for a second, as he took a slow, heavy breath. he knew exactly what this meant for her, and despite the absolute hunger driving him crazy, he wasn't going to just take it.

“y/n..?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a gentle register. he brought one hand up to cup her jaw, his thumb softly tracing her cheekbone to keep her completely anchored to him. “can i?”

“yes.. yes, michael.”

a beautiful look passed over his features before his expression darkened with pure desire all over again. “okay. breathe..” he mumbled, his voice a breathless command against her lips as his hands locked tightly back onto her waist, anchoring her down. “stay right here with me, okay?”

with a slow push, he pressed forward, the size of him stretching her open and making her eyes instantly widen as she let out a breathless gasp. it was a lot, the intense fullness of him filling her up completely for the first time, and her fingers dug frantically into the fabric of his jacket.

michael froze the exact second he felt her tense up. he let out a low groan, his muscles locking as he forced himself to stop right there, halfway inside her. “shh, i know, baby. i got you.” he whispered, his voice strained and deep as he fought his own urge to move.

he leaned down, pressing comforting kisses along her jawline and the side of her neck, his hot breath fanning over her skin to help her relax.

y/n focused entirely on the feel of his lips against her skin, slowly letting out a shaky breath as her body gradually adjusted to his weight, softening around him.

the initial sting faded away, replaced by an ache that made her hips unconsciously twitch against him. sensing the shift, michael lifted his head. “that's it..” he exhaled, a breathtaking smile breaking across his wet lips as he slowly pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself completely inside her. “you're so tight, y/n... you're perfect..”

y/n could only cry out, the sound swallowed by the quiet of the kitchen as his slow, dragging thrusts began to build a completely different kind of tension inside her.

every time he drove forward, the rough texture of his jacket rubbed against her open blouse and sending a rush of heat straight to her core.

he was mindful of his movements, pulling back until he almost left her before burying himself all the way inside again, hitting that sweet spot over and over until her mind went entirely blank.

“michael.. oh god..” she sobbed out, her legs tightening around his shoulders, her fingers completely tangled in his curls as she tried to handle the overwhelming depth of him.

“i know, baby... i feel you.” he groaned out, his head dropping into the crook of her neck as his pace naturally began to quicken. his breathing was completely shot, coming in heavy pants right against her collarbone.

his grip on her waist tightened, lifting her hips slightly to meet him as his thrusts became harder and deeper. the wet, slapping rhythm echoed loudly off the kitchen tiles, driving them both straight toward the edge.

y/n's vision blurred as that familiar coil of heat tightened in her lower belly for the second time tonight, only this time, it was so much heavier, driven by the intense friction of his body moving inside hers. “michael, i'm.. i'm gonna-“

his jaw clenched hard as he delivered a few heavy thrusts that pushed her completely over the brink. “cum for me again, ma. let me feel it.”

just as the tension completely snapped and the first wave of her climax began to ripple through her, a loud pounding echoed from the front door, shattering the heavy quiet of the house.

“michael! open up! we forgot our keys!” la toya's muffled voice rang out, followed by the heavy rattle of the front doorknob.

y/n's eyes flew wide open in pure panic, her heart dropping straight into her stomach as she froze. “michael!” she gasped out, her hands gripping his broad shoulders.

“latoya and j-janet, they're right outside-“

but michael didn't care about his sisters. if anything, the sudden shock and the intense thrill of them being just down the hall completely shattered whatever restraint he had left.

“let them wait.” he growled right against her ear, his voice completely dark as his grip on her hips tightened. instead of pulling back, he drove his hips forward, picking up the pace, pounding into her faster.

y/n let out a muffled moan, quickly biting down hard on her own lip to keep quiet as the force of his thrusts pushed her right over the edge. she was actively cumming, her internal muscles clamping down hard around him in a pulsating release, but michael just kept thrusting.

the continuous friction while her body was already convulsing was entirely too much. it was pure overstimulation. “i.. i..” she whined weakly, her body trembling uncontrollably around him, completely overwhelmed by the sensation. “it's too much..”

“can you.. take it for me, baby?” he asked breathlessly, burying his face in the crook of her neck to muffle his own loud groans. y/n could barely focus through the blinding pleasure, but she nodded weakly against his shoulder, her fingers tightening in his hair. “o-okay..” she whimpered, letting her body entirely yield to him. “i-i can.. take it..”

“good girl.” he panted right against her skin, his voice thick with heavy praise that only turned her on even more. “you're so good.. for me... you're doing so good.”

the sweet words only made the overwhelming sensation intensify, her body tightly squeezing around him in response.

the feeling of her completely melting around him while his sisters banged on the door pushed him straight to the brink. his jaw clenched so hard as he pounded into her a few more desperate times, driving completely through her endless climax before he buried himself completely inside her, spilling into her tight heat while the knocking continued to echo endlessly through the house.

he let out a shuddering breath, his forehead dropping heavily against her shoulder. for a few seconds, neither of them moved, he just held her completely tight against him, his body still trembling slightly from the intensity of his release.

even with the aggressive knocking continuing down the hall, michael didn't just pull away and rush off. instead, he slowly lifted his head, his eyes soft and filled with adoration as he looked down at her. he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then down to her flushed cheeks, before finally resting his lips gently against hers.

“you did so good.” he whispered against her mouth, as his large hands moved up from her waist to gently cup her face, his thumbs wiping away the sweat and a stray tear from her cheek. “so beautiful. so perfect, y/n.”

y/n could only nod weakly, her heart still racing from a mix of the lingering overstimulation and the panic of his sisters outside, but his sweet words somewhat reassured her.

“michael joseph jackson! open up!” la toya's voice boomed again, followed by another sharp rattle of the knob.

with a slow and reluctant groan, michael finally began to move. he carefully gripped her waist, his muscles flexing as he slowly pulled himself out of her.

the sudden absence of his warmth made her let out a tiny whine, her thighs trembling as they dropped from his shoulders. he reached out, carefully pulling the edges of her white blouse back together over her bare chest to cover her up, kissing her one more time just to reassure her.

"go to my bedroom, yeah?” he whispered, his eyes locking onto hers with a protective gaze. he gave her one last, lingering kiss on the lips before his large hands gently guided her down from the counter. “i’ll be there soon.”

[faylovesmichael]

me rereading my fic and then reading everyone else’s and realising everyone writes in SECOND PERSON. IM TOO USED TO AO3 AND WATTPAD FFSSS 😭😭😭

[ffilthyangel]

The First Sin 𓆩♱𓆪 (One-Shot)

Tags; nsfw, religious guilt, sub!reader(blk), softdom!mike, manipulative mike (if you squint), smut, slight age gap, inexperienced reader, first time!

Sunday, September 7, 1980.

Today, you wore a pink blouse with a black skirt, skin color tights, black mary janes, and a gold cross necklace. It was teetering the line between summer and fall, just hot enough to wear short sleeves but cool enough for an extra layer. The morning started off cool, blue, and breezy.

Your mother decided to stay after church today to help with some volunteering. Usually, when you have to stay a little longer, you go and mingle with mates your age or do some Bible study in the church library. Your younger sister, whom you’re five years older than, decided to spend some extra time with the youth group.

One of the youth group instructors, Michael, was a few years your senior. He was poised, confident, dreamy, sharp, and mysterious.  

However, you feel a little guilty for fancying him in the house of worship. Attraction is normal, but sometimes your gaze lingered a little longer than what you considered appropriate for church.

You can’t help but notice how huge and veiny his hands are when he’s straightening up stuff, or how his adams apple moves in his throat when he laughs, or how his church clothes hug him perfectly. Today, he’s wearing a white button up with grey slacks, black loafers, and a gold bangle on his wrist. 

Your families mingled with one another at times, sharing warm glances and good graces. His family was huge. It was mindblowing compared to your household with just one sister.

Sometimes you get caught up in one of those overly long church conversations– where you two would exchange glances and small conversation every once in a while.

You decide to occupy one of the Bible study rooms while you wait for your sister and mother. Usually, you’d go over verses, take notes, and apply them to your daily life. The room was very quiet most times, and if you were lucky, you landed a study session on your own.

You couldn't help but hover over 1 Thessalonians 4:3-5,

“For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God.” 

The passion of lust. You wondered what that could possibly mean. Does it mean that lust is passionate? Does it mean that passion automatically makes you lustful, sinful?

As you sit to yourself analyzing the passages, your mother approaches you softly.

“Y/N, why don’t you go help Michael in the fellowship hall? He’s setting up for an event coming up this week.”

There’s no way your mother is asking you to go help the guy you can barely look at without crumbling. Assuming he’s in there with other people, you reply,

“Sure, mother, I’ll help. It’ll probably get done faster with a few more people.”

You try to appear calm, but in actuality you just want to beg to go home, or even come up with an excuse to go find your sister. What is this, judgement day?

You nod toward your mother and head to the bathroom before joining Michael in the fellowship hall. You go to the mirror and fix up your hair, which has been pressed down with a hotcomb, falling against your armpit. 

“Okay, Y/N. You can do this, you look great. It’s just Church. It’s just Church.”

You take a deep breath and head down the hall. You reach the door of the fellowship hall and peek through the window. There he is. One of his shirt buttons is open because it's a little hot on this side of the building.

The way his brown skin illuminated under the bright, buzzing light was almost unsettling. Your eyes fixed on his chest going up and down with every breath he took.

 You quickly snap your head back and try to gain some couth. You take one more deep breath before you hesitantly push the door open.

He stops and turns around immediately, his eyes locked with yours. And you, of course, stand there like a dumbass not knowing how to move your mouth.

“Hey, y/n, right? Whatchu’ you doin in here? I’m just setting up some stuff for Wednesday’s service.”

“Well-uh-I… my mom sent me here to help you. I figured it would get done faster if I helped you all,” You stutter. Way to play it cool.

Michael chuckles warmly, “Well, actually, there is no all. It’s just me. I guess two is better than one, huh?”

Your eyes widen at the news. You knew that you’d have to be in his space, but all alone? This is torture. Yet, you wanted nothing more than to be around him even though you barely know him.

“Oh. I didn’t know it’d just be us two.” You smile.

“Yeah, I guess you’re stuck with me. Don’t seem so excited.” He teased-----

Little did he know, being stuck with him was paradise. Torturous paradise, that is. He was so much taller than you, and a bit more mature. He felt like a guiding light in a world full of ambiguity. It intimidated you a little, but it made him ten times more attractive. 

You set your Holy Bible down on a chair next to you,  as you’re doing so, you accidentally knock over one of the cheap table decorations. As you bend over to pick it up, Michael can’t help but notice the ride of your skirt. It’s a “modest” length, but it's just short enough to allow his mind to wander. 

“Sorry, sorry.” You blush. Great. You’ve been in the same room as him for approximately forty-five seconds and you’re already making a fool out of yourself. Of course.

“It’s alright. That stuff’s cheap as dirt. Wanna help me clean tables? You can do that while I go bring in the heavier stuff from the closet.”

“O-okay. Yeah, sure!” You respond eagerly.

Michael’s eyes lit up at your response. He liked how eager you were to help him and found your obvious shyness endearing. And that pink blouse complimented your complexion so well.

You begin spraying tables down, the cleanliness of them feeling like an oxymoron considering the temptation that lies only a few feet away from you. Michael continues moving heavier boxes around the area, flashing reassuring smiles here and there.

While you were in the middle of scrubbing a table, he accidentally bumped into you from behind as he was setting something down.

Your eyes shot open and your breath hitched. You didn’t know exactly what came over you, but that three second contact following made your chest feel unbearably hot.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, feeling a bit taken aback by the sudden thrust.

“Sorry–sorry. You gotta watch where you’re bending.” He smiled. You noticed that he suddenly dropped the box he was holding from chest level to waist level, though you didn’t think much of it and reassured him that it wasn’t a big deal.

Trying to find any way to distract him from the sinful thoughts circling his mind, he decides to start a conversation. 

“You uh, you enjoyed the sermon today?”

“Yeah, I did. It was interesting,” you reply, “I um.. I care a lot about that kind of stuff. Y’know, staying pure.”

The pastor preached about adultery, fornication, things of that nature. You’d never had sex before, but you occasionally did explore yourself down there. 

And, well, let's just say your mind has wandered during.

In a way, it almost felt like he was pointing his finger directly at you. A dirty sinner.

“Staying pure?” He chuckled, “That’s what you think you’re doing?”

Your cheeks begin to turn red as you start to play with your necklace. “Well, yeah. I’ve never had, y’know, relations..” You pause, “I-I’m not married. It would be wrong.” 

“Besides, I’ve never really had a boyfriend anyway,” you blurt out, “My mom was always kinda strict about that stuff.”

He reacts to the information as if he’s a little shocked. “You? Never?” 

“Never.” You reply. 

He scans your outfit while his eyes stay fixed on your chest a little longer than intended. “I'm shocked, y/n,” he chuckled, “I’m sure plenty of guys would like you. You dress up nice, and you seem to have a good head on your shoulders.”

You can’t help but flash a cheesy, telling smile. “Wow, Michael, thank you. Yeah, I guess they do like me sometimes but.. I just don’t engage much. I’m very shy.”

“I understand, I’m shy too.” Michael replies.

In the fellowship hall, there lies a small room, with just enough space for two people to be able to move around without making a huge mess. 

“Can I uh, can I show you something?” He asked. “It’ll be quick, we’ll still have time to set up some stuff. Promise.”

“It’s just… I think I can teach you something valuable. I used to be a lot like you, you know. He added, flashing a smile while twirling his curls around his middle finger.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, sure.” He leads you toward the room (which you didn’t know existed until this moment), you follow behind him until he suddenly pauses. 

“Bring your Bible with you.”

You’re not sure why he’s requesting this specifically, but you naively pick it up and bring it with you, assuming that you’re simply going to go over a chapter or a verse. 

He leads you to a dimly lit room with dark blue carpet, a table, a stack of boxes, and a mirror that sits on top of the table.The wooden fan with a light switch attached whirrs above you two. 

Unbeknownst to you, he locks the door as he shuts it behind you both.

“Now, listen, y/n. You do realize that there are ways to stay pure and still enjoy yourself, right?

He asks.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You ask, slightly concerned, but still trusting.

“Well, you told me you’ve never been with a guy before. What about when you get married, or even just have a boyfriend? Wouldn’t you want to know a thing or two before jumping into things?” He pauses, “I-its better that way. Trust me.”

He’s the youth instructor; surely he probably knows how to navigate a relationship while still being religious. If he says it's ok, then it has to be.

 You’re inexperienced, sheltered, shy, untainted. That’s everything he liked about you other than your pretty little face, and the way your voice melted in his ears like molten. Something told him, perhaps his conscience, that it’s a little sick to think of it that way, but lets face it,

Sin feels good. 

You look around the room before meeting his eyes again. Maybe he’s right, you’ve often thought about how embarrassed you may be by the time you get a boyfriend. You didn’t want to date some sex machine, but you also knew you didn’t want them to be just as clueless as you. It’s nice to be guided.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. But.. sometimes I feel embarrassed..” You admit, looking up at him through your lashes, still cradling your bible in your arms.

“You don’t have to feel that way, it's natural.” He reassures you.

“Here, sit in this chair. I want to show you something. It’ll help you get over your little embarrassment. You’ll realize how silly it is.” He adds.

You, naive and curious, sit down in the chair while he stands over you. 

“What could he possibly be trying to teach me? I hope it’s not one of those ‘look in the mirror and affirm yourself’ nonsense. That’s pretty lame.” You say to yourself.

You sit down in it slowly, looking him straight in the eye as you lower yourself down. Your breath gets heavier before you can even notice.

“Now, just look straight at yourself.” He instructs, softly bringing his palm to your face and turning it straight to your reflection.

He kisses your neck, your cheek, and then your lips. Your eyes fly open and you pull away out of instinct. “Michael! Wh-what are you doing?” You whisper, “ We’re in Church. My mom.. If she found out”.

“Nobody is going to find out.” He softly interrupts.

“But what about God Michael? He can see us. He’ll judge us. I don’t wanna go to hell.”

He smirks and rubs your shoulder. “He won’t mind.”

You look away from his gaze, scared that you won’t be able to say no to anything if you look at him for too long. That soft, tantalizing voice and those big beautiful eyes. 

How could anything feel wrong with a man like that?

 “I–I’ve just.. I’ve never.” You pause.

“But I want to.”

Michael smirks with approval and scans your face, “I thought so.”

“Now, let's get these off you.”

He slips off your black skirt, and then your pantyhouse. Now you’re only left in a blouse and panties, which tell on you immediately.

“Oh, wow, y/n. You’re already so wet f’me. That doesn’t seem pure to me.”

Before you can answer, he slips them to the side. He turns your face away from his and toward the mirror, locking eyes with you through the reflection.

He takes his long, veiny fingers to your center and begins rubbing gentle circles. Your hips instinctively buck up and your breath gets shaky. As you look at your face in the mirror, you almost look like you’re about to cry. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second. 

You draw your head back as he continues rubbing you. You can’t even get a word out, you just try your best to stay quiet. Until you can’t. You try to close your legs while he’s between you, but he pushes your thigh open with his hand.

“Mmmnn– Michael. My stomach.”

“That’s where you’re supposed to feel it, baby. It’s okay to let me make you feel like that. Stay still for me, please.”

Only being able to utter a moan in response, you bury your head into his chest. But he isn’t gonna let you off that easily. He moves your face toward the reflection once again. 

“I didn’t say you could turn away, angel. Or have you had enough?”

He retreats his hand back, causing you to squirm. “No!” You beg, “Please. Please. I promise I won’t move.”

He smirks and continues rubbing you relentlessly, using his free hand to hold you in place while you succumb to his touch. He made sure to hit the spot that feels so good it almost hurts. He knew you’d probably never felt anything like that before, and he wanted to make sure that he was the first person to introduce it to you.

“You’re so good f’me, y/n. Look at you, in God’s house like this. Do you usually get this wet during Church? Hmm?” He whispered in your ear.

Before you could even answer, he slipped a finger into your entrance and watched you tense up and then relax around the newfound pleasure.

“Oh, Michael. Mmm.. it feels so good, f–”

You catch yourself. You’re getting your clit played with in the fellowship hall, but God forbid you let a curse word slip out your lips on top of it.

“Huh? What were you about to say, angel? I can’t hear you.”

You shake your head side to side trying your best not to cum right then and there.

“It feels s-so good. Please. I feel so dirty.”

He suddenly stops, which makes your body retreat.

“Stand up.” He instructs.

He undoes his belt, then opens the zipper to his trousers. He pulls himself out of the hole and grabs you by your waist and pulls you closer to his manhood— causing a broken sigh to escape your lips.

You stand up, and he bends you over the table, leaving you eye level with the reflection. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and he grips your hair softly to get a better view of your face

“Can I take you, angel?” He asks, lips to yours, as if he’s feeding the words to you. His breath was hot against your skin, his sweet, musky cologne grounding you with his touch.

“Y-yes.” You cry, “Even if it makes me dirty.”

He pushes himself inside of you, stretching you out completely. He’s so long, wide, and warm. You’d never felt anything like it before. 

“Michael,” You gasp, “Michael. Oh my God. I-it hurts. Please, my mother. She can’t know.”

“I know baby, but you can take it.”

 He grabs your Bible, opens it, and flips to Matthew 6:9-13. He props it up on the mirror.

Read f’me, angel. It’ll cleanse you of your sins, you won’t be dirty anymore.” 

“And make sure to look at me.” He adds.

You let out a shaky moan and bite down on your lips. Whatever chance you had of getting into heaven, surely it’s long gone now.

“O-our. Fuck– our father in heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, oh God.”

Your eyes fill up with tears combined with pleasure, dread, and guilt all at once. You struggle to focus on the words as they all begin to blend together. 

For the first time in your life, it’s like your body and mind worked against each other.

“Yes that’s right baby, keep going. Don’t stop. Or I’ll stop”

“Give us this— our daily bread, and forgive us our debts. As we have forgiven.. forgiven our debtors.

You let out a tearful sigh as you try to keep your composure. 

Without saying a word, Michael pushes himself deeper inside you and holds himself still and begins twitching inside of you. This new sensation makes your body jump forward, making it difficult to even understand what you’re reading.

“Finish it.” He commands.

“And lead us not into t-temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

tags!! @cherrishkissed @thebumbqueen @navydotz @delicate-ray-of-sunshine @michaelssugarbby @borguigrace