kkfwb

the appliest of appleheads. 29. Virgo🫶🏾🪩🍎

[urbanfunkchild]

gonna post tonight

I rlly don’t know if u guys will like this one or…. Hate it venomously.

if you like subby Michael … like really love him down bad then maybe you will enjoy ;)

It’s also triumph era ,,: so my puss was wet whilst writing

part 2 of the ‘email me’ series

[strangerexee]

ʙᴀʙʏ ɢɪʀʟ ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ | ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ¹

، summary𓈒 this man was literally the talk of the town, that town being new orleans; everybody loved him. he was hands down the most generous, gentlest soul you’d ever meet, or so you thought. you would’ve bet your last dollar he didn't have a mean bone in his body, let alone think he’d ever kidnap you. but baby, you thought wrong.

، pairing𓈒 yandere!michael jackson x black!fem!reader

، warnings𓈒 captivity, non consensual restraint, stalking, gaslighting, manipulation, historical violence (murder of an ex partner & more), forced dependency, complex trauma, loss of autonomy, drugging (chloroform), torture, dead dove do not eat or wtv.

، notes𓈒 this is like such a shitty plot, i'm sorry...i couldn't really think of anything else. here’s the preview of you’d like to read that…it’s nice..

، taglist𓈒 @divaaprincess , @myxstrx , @uh444 @dirtydih , @cannonindeez , @saigesspace , @junhuisfairy , @dicksapointed , @bbybeminee , @4ngelfacee , @lyneaa , @theonlyfemme , @mrsjacks0nn , @swavydadon , @xonyx-ravenx , @superstar-t20 , @li-da-savage , @blkkbratt , @yslamore , @niyahctrl , @yamumsfavourite1623 , @mirasjointtttttt , @saintwrld , @sukunasstomachtongue , @chocotragedy , @ooooglymoooogly (go here to be added!!)

want more? go here! 𐃘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 + 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The transition from deep, suffocating unconsciousness to…well, consciousness, was a slow crawl.

The first thing that registered was the pain. A dull, throb heavy ache pulsed right at the base of your skull, radiating down into your neck. When you tried to shift your weight to relieve the pressure, a sharp, biting sting flared across your lower back. Your muscles were stiff, locked up from hours of being kept in an unnatural, rigid position.

You tried to blink, but everything remained pitch black. A thick, coarse fabric was tied tightly around your head, covering your eyes and blocking out every single shred of light. You instinctively tried to bring your hands up to tear the blindfold off, but the sharp, heavy clink of metal echoed in the quiet space.

Your wrists were bound behind your back. Heavy, iron cuffs bit mercilessly into your skin, connected by a short, taut chain that allowed for absolutely zero movement.

Panic suddenly flooded your veins. You opened your mouth to scream for help, to call out to anyone who might be within earshot, but all that came out was a muffled, choked whimper. A thick cloth gag was wedged between your teeth, tied securely at the back of your head, pressing down on your tongue and rendering you completely silent.

The air around you felt entirely different from the damp, drafty quarters you were used to. It smelled of expensive things; sweet beeswax candles, fine french lavender, and the faint, distinct scent of a high grade pomade. This was an estate room. A wealthy man's room.

Footsteps echoed in the space. They were slow and entirely unhurried, the click of expensive leather boots tapping against polished hardwood floors.

The footsteps stopped right in front of you. You instinctively pulled back, your spine pressing hard against the solid wood of the chair you were bound to, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

A pair of hands gently settled onto your shoulders. The touch was incredibly soft, almost reverent, completely contrasting the brutal reality of the chains holding you down. The fingers were long and slender, tracing the line of your collarbone through the cotton of your dress with a terrifyingly familiar tenderness.

"Shh...quiet now, my sweet girl," a voice murmured.

The sound of that voice made your entire body go rigid.

Mr. Jackson.

He was the wealthiest landowner in Louisiana, a man of immense status and quiet, reclusive habits. When he had first hired you to help manage the upkeep of his massive estate's library, you thought he was the sweetest, most gentle man you had ever encountered. In a world that was unforgiving and harsh, especially to a young Black woman like yourself, Mr. Jackson had been a sanctuary. He spoke to you with a soft, soft spoken deference. He brought you imported chocolates, complimented your intelligence, and always looked at you with eyes that seemed to see right through to your soul. You thought he was a protector. You thought he was kind.

So what the absolute fuck was this?

"I know you must be frightened," Michael whispered, his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he leaned down. "I know your head hurts. The chloroform...it can be quite brutal when it wears off, and you did kinda hit your head. I truly apologize for the discomfort, my love. But you left me with absolutely no choice."

You frantically shook your head, the heavy iron chains rattling loudly as you twisted your wrists, trying to find some slack, any way to break free.

"Stop, stop...don't do that. You'll only bruise your beautiful skin," he chided softly, his tone shifting into something slightly stern, like a parent correcting a stubborn child. He reached around the back of your head, his fingers deftly working at the knot of the blindfold.

The fabric fell away, and you automatically closed your eyes against the sudden, bright light. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness from your vision.

The room was huge, and luxurious, and dimly lit by the golden glow of a dozen beeswax candles. Heavy velvet drapes covered the tall windows, sealing the room off from the outside world entirely. And standing right in front of you, looking down with an expression of devotion, was Michael.

He was dressed immaculately, as always, a crisp, white shirt, a dark silk vest, and his hair perfectly styled in soft, gleaming curls that framed his striking features. He looked like one of those oil paintings, all calm and poised and shit, completely unbothered by the fact that he had a woman chained to a chair in his private chambers.

He knelt down in front of you, his long legs folding elegantly as he brought himself to your eye level. He reached up, his long fingers gently untying the cloth gag from your mouth.

The moment the fabric cleared your lips, you didn't hesitate. "Michael, what the fuck is wrong with you?! Let me go! Unchain me right now!"

He didn't flinch at your language or your shouting. In fact, a faint, incredibly beautiful smile touched his lips, his eyes sparkling with a terrifying sort of pride.

"You always did have such fire in you," he murmured, reaching out to gently cup your burning cheek. You tried to bite his hand, snapping your teeth at him, but he merely chuckled, pulling his fingers back just out of reach. "So beautifully fierce. It’s the very thing that made me fall so deeply in love with you."

"You're fucking insane!" you gasped out, tears of anger and frustration already spilling over your lower lashes. "My family...my brothers, they're going to come looking for me! They know I work here! They'll find me!"

Michael’s smile slowly faded, replaced by an expression of calm. He reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a monogrammed silk handkerchief, and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"No, they won't," he said, his voice dropping into a tone so steady and absolute it chilled you to the bone. "Because as far as your family is concerned, you packed your bags and boarded a train back to North last night. I took the liberty of sending a letter in your handwriting, which I’ve spent months perfecting, mind you, explaining that you found a better life elsewhere and that you wished not to be contacted."

Your breath hitched, the gravity of his words crashing down on you. He had planned this. He had planned every single detail. He had killed your ex boyfriend too. Which is why you’re here; but you had to ask-

"Why?" you whispered, your voice cracking as the reality of your situation began to settle in. "Why are you doing this to me? I thought you were a good man."

"I am a good man," Michael insisted softly, his hand moving to rest over his heart, his expression entirely sincere. "I am a man who recognizes a rare, priceless treasure when he sees one. Do you truly not understand the world we live in? Out there, you are subjected to the cruelty of small minds. Out there, men like Thomas think they can diminish you. They think they can possess you or treat you like you are nothing!”

He leaned closer.

"I cannot allow them to look at you anymore," he whispered, his fingers gently tracing the shape of your jaw. "I cannot allow this wretched world to touch you, or taint you, or take you away from me. Here, in this room, you are safe. You are a queen. I will give you everything your heart desires; fine silks, the rarest books, the most exquisite foods. My love. You will never have to work another day in your life. You will never have to face the coldness of society again."

"By keeping me in chains?!" you screamed, throwing your weight forward, the iron links rattling violently. "This isn't love, Michael! This is a fucking prison!"

Michael sighed, a heavy, sorrowful sound as he stood up, smoothing down the front of his vest. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with certainty.

"It is a sanctuary, my love," he corrected gently, walking over to a small table and pouring a glass of dark red wine. "And the chains are only temporary. Only until you realize that your place is by my side. Until you accept that we belong to one another, completely and eternally."

He walked back over, setting the glass down on a nearby stand before bending down to press a soft, lingering kiss directly to your forehead. The warmth of his lips made your skin crawl.

"Get some rest, my sweet girl," Michael murmured, picking up the glass before turning on his heel and walking toward the door. "I’ll return in the morning with breakfast. We have the rest of our lives to get used to this."

His movement died for a second.

“Oh, and please be quiet.” The heavy door clicked shut, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place echoing through the silent room like a gunshot.

You didn't care about his warnings, his wealth, or his twisted version of romance. You opened your mouth and let out a blood curdling scream that tore right from the depths of your throat.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! MICHAEL, LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!"

You screamed until the veins in your neck bulged. You screamed until your throat felt like it was coated in sandpaper. You thrashed against the chair, violently jerking your arms forward, ignoring the way the heavy cuffs tore into your wrists, drawing thin lines of heat across your skin. You screamed for hours. You lost track of time in that windowless, candlelit purgatory, but you kept going, hoping to God that a maid, a stable boy, anybody passing by the estate might hear you.

But you weren't dealing with a normal man. Michael had picked this room specifically. The walls were thick, and the only person close enough to hear you was the very man who put you there.

Suddenly, the heavy lock clicked again.

The door swung open with a harsh bang, and Michael stepped into the room. The elegant, pristine gentleman from earlier was gone. Now, he was dressed in his nighttime attire; some silk, dark blue matching pajamas with white piping down the chest. His hair was slightly disheveled, a few loose curls falling wildly over his forehead, and his jaw was set in a tight line.

He moved across the room so fucking fast, though his feet made absolutely no sound against the floor. Before you could even inhale to let out another shriek, his hand shot forward, his long fingers clamping over your jaw with a bruising force that forced your mouth wide open.

"I asked you to be quiet," he hissed, his usual soft voice replaced by a dark rasp that made your stomach drop.

He pulled out a thick linen rag from his pocket. He stuffed it into your mouth, using his thumb to shove it deep behind your teeth, filling your mouth entirely until you choked, your eyes watering as your gag reflex kicked in. He didn't care that you were making muffled, suffocating noises; he pulled the outer binding around your lips and cranked it tight, tying the knot at the back of your head with a sudden jerk.

The fabric dug mercilessly into the corners of your mouth, stretching your lips to the point of cracking, pinching the sensitive skin until a sharp, throbbing pain flared through your entire face. It hurt like a bitch to say the least.

The moment the knot was secure, the anger in Michael’s eyes instantly vanished, melting back into that terrifying, soft spoken remorse. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his long hands immediately cradling your face, his touch suddenly trembling and gentle.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love," he whispered, his eyes looking up at you with genuine tears welling in them. He used his thumb to softly wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks, completely unbothered by how hard you were glaring at him. "I didn't want to do that. I truly didn't. But you're going to ruin your beautiful voice, and the servants...I cannot risk them getting annoyed by you. Please, forgive me. Just sleep. Please, just rest."

He stood up, looking down at you with a heartbroken expression, before turning on his heel and leaving you in the dim room.

The next morning arrived, though you couldn't tell. In that sealed off room, time was an illusion. The candles had eventually burned down to mere stubs. Your jaw was completely locked in a dull, throbbing ache from the tight gag, and your throat felt swollen in a way.

The door unlocked, and Michael walked in. He was dressed for the day again; a fresh white shirt and dark trousers, looking refreshed, like he hadn't brutally silenced you a few hours prior.

In his hands, he carried a silver basin filled with steaming hot water, a clean cloth resting over his shoulder, and a small ivory toothbrush along with a cup of mint infused water. He set the basin down on the side table and approached you with a warm, cheerful smile, as if this were just a normal morning routine between a husband and wife.

"Good morning, my beautiful girl," he murmured softly.

He knelt down and reached behind your head, gently untying the gag. The moment the fabric came out, your jaw involuntarily clicked, a sharp pain shooting up to your ears. You couldn't even scream if you wanted to; your mouth was so dry your tongue felt stuck to the roof of your mouth. You instantly spat a bit of saliva onto the floor, glaring daggers at him.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, completely ignoring your hostility.

He dipped the clean cloth into the warm water, wringing it out thoroughly. He reached up, his hand steady as he began to gently wipe your face. He was meticulous, carefully cleaning away the dried tear tracks from the night before, washing your forehead, your cheeks, and gently dabbing at the raw, pinched corners of your mouth. The warm water felt good against your aching skin, but the intimacy of it made your skin crawl. You twisted your face away from his hand.

Michael’s hand paused. He didn't get angry. He just firmly but gently grabbed your chin, forcing your face back toward him.

"Hold still, let me care for you," he whispered.

Once your face was clean, he picked up the ivory toothbrush and the cup. "Open up, sweet girl. Let's brush those pretty teeth."

"Get away from me," you croaked, your voice barely a raspy whisper. "I can do it myself. Unchain my hands."

Michael let out a soft, amused chuckle, tilting his head. "Now, you know I can't do that just yet. Come now, don't be stubborn."

When you kept your lips pressed tightly together, Michael’s expression shifted. The warm, cheerful smile vanished, replaced by a calm, chilling neutrality. He set the toothbrush down and leaned in incredibly close, his big ass eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the breath catch in your dry throat.

He reached out, his long fingers gently trailing down your neck, his thumb resting right over your pulse point, feeling the frantic, rapid beat of your heart.

"You know, my love..." Michael began, his voice a low purr, delivering the threat in the sweetest, most polite tone imaginable. "I want nothing more than to treat you like the lady you are. I want to feed you from silver platters, buy you the finest gowns, and love you until the end of days. But if you choose to make this difficult...if you refuse to let me care for you, or if you ever scream like you did last night again...I will be forced to ensure you can never speak at all."

He smiled, a gentle, beautiful smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.

"And I would truly hate to have a doctor remove that lovely little tongue of yours just to keep our secret safe," he murmured, his thumb lightly pressing against your throat just enough to make you swallow hard. "We don't want that, do we? We want to be happy here. Together."

He pulled his hand back, picking the toothbrush back up and holding it out, his expression instantly flipping back to warm and inviting.

"Now...open up for me, please."

Defeated, exhausted, and utterly terrified by the casual malice hidden behind his sweet words, you slowly opened your mouth. Michael smiled brightly, leaning forward to gently brush your teeth, treating you like a porcelain doll he had every intention of keeping broken in his cage forever.

He didn’t rush the process. He spent another few minutes carefully rinsing your mouth, holding the silver cup of water to your raw lips, patiently waiting as you sipped and spat into the basin. When he was finally satisfied that you were completely clean, he patted your face dry with a fresh velvet towel, his movements so delicate you could almost forget the heavy iron cuffs still eating into your wrists behind your back. Almost.

He stood up, towering over you, smoothing down the front of his white shirt.

"There now," he murmured. "Much better. A beautiful girl should always start her morning feeling fresh."

He walked over to the table, setting the silver basin down. He rested his long, slender fingers on the edge of the wood, tilting his head back to look at you over his shoulder.

"Now that we've taken care of that, we need to get some food into your system. You burned a great deal of energy last night with all that fuss," he said, his tone carrying a light, almost teasing amusement that made your blood boil. "What is it you want to eat, my love? Name anything your heart desires, and I’ll have the kitchen prepare it immediately."

You stared at him, your eyes burning with a mixture of exhaustion and deep hatred. Your jaw was still throbbing from the hours it had spent stretched around that fuckass rag, and your throat felt like it was lined with broken glass.

You swallowed hard, trying to summon enough moisture to speak.

"Porridge," you croaked out, your voice barely a faint, raspy whisper that carried no further than a few inches in front of your face. "And some tea. With honey."

Michael stayed perfectly still by the table. He didn't blink. He just stared at you, his pretty eyes hooding slightly as his face flattened into a calm, unbothered neutrality. The playful warmth from a moment ago vanished, replaced with something else entirely.

"Speak up," he commanded softly. His voice wasn't raised, but it carried a dangerous edge. "You know I dislike it when you mumble. Raise your voice and ask me properly."

You felt a hot flash of anger tear through your chest, momentarily burning away the fear. You glared at him, pouring every single ounce of your disgust into the look, wishing your eyes could strike him dead where he stood, because you didn't know shit! He was the one who had jammed a gag down your throat until you choked; he was the one who had ruined your voice, and now he was standing there playing the grand master of the house, demanding politeness.

You took a ragged, heavy breath, your chest heaving against the tight constraints of your dress.

"I WANT PORRIDGE!" you snapped, your voice cracking violently on the words, the raw friction in your throat making you wince. "AND HOT TEA WITH HONEY, MICHAEL! IS THAT LOUD ENOUGH FOR YOU!?"

Instead of getting angry at your outburst, Michael’s expression instantly broke into a wide, brilliant smile. The sudden shift was dizzying, making your head hurt like crazy. He let out a soft laugh, his white teeth gleaming as he walked back over to you.

"Perfect," he whispered, leaning down to pinch your cheek gently, ignoring the way you tried to jerk away from his touch. "See? I know that beautiful voice is still in there. You just have to use it for the right things."

He gathered the silver basin, the toothbrush, and the rags, balancing them all in one hand with the effortless grace of a man born to luxury. He walked over to the heavy door, unlocking it. He stepped out into the hallway, turning back to give you one last, lingering look.

"I shall return shortly, my sweet girl. Don't go anywhere," he joked softly, before closing the door and sliding the heavy deadbolt back into place.

True to his word, it took about thirty minutes. Thirty agonizingly long, silent minutes where you sat alone, staring at the closed door, the reality of your absolute captivity sinking deeper into your bones. Your back was screaming from the rigid wooden chair, and your wrists were throbbing where the iron cuffs had chafed against your skin.

The door opened again.

Michael stepped back into the room, carrying a heavy, polished silver tray. The aroma hit your nose instantly, making your stomach do an involuntary, painful flip. He had brought exactly what you asked for. A bowl of thick, steaming porridge swirled with brown sugar and cream, a teacup filled with dark tea, and a small crystal jar of pure honey.

He set the tray down on the small table right beside your chair. He pulled up a cushioned stool, smoothing his trousers as he sat directly in front of you.

He picked up the silver spoon, ladling a small, perfect portion of the warm porridge. He blew on it gently before holding it up to your lips.

You didn't open your mouth. You just stared at the steaming food, a sudden spike of paranoia freezing you in place.

"Come now," Michael said softly, his voice dripping with patience. "It's getting cold. Take a bite."

You lifted your gaze from the spoon, locking your eyes directly onto his calm ones.

"Did you poison it?" you whispered, your voice still cracked and fragile.

Michael stopped. The spoon remained suspended in the air between you two. The warm, doting expression on his face slowly melted away, replaced by a heavy, unreadable look. His eyes narrowed just a fraction, a flash of offense flickering in the dark depths of his pupils. It was the look of a man who prided himself on his absolute, twisted devotion, a man who genuinely believed he was saving you, not harming you.

"Poison you?" he repeated, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly quiet tone that made the hairs on your arms stand up. He slowly lowered the spoon back into the bowl, never breaking eye contact. "After everything I have done to ensure your safety?"

He leaned forward, his face coming so close you could see the amber flecks in his eyes, the gravity of his obsession radiating off him like heat.

"If I wanted you dead, my love, I would have left you out in that wretched world to be torn apart by the wolves," he whispered, his fingers reaching up to slowly trace the line of your lower lip. "I do not want to destroy you. I want to keep you. Forever. Now...open your mouth and eat the food I had prepared for you."

Your lower lip trembled beneath the pressure of his finger. The smell of the brown sugar and cream was torturing your empty stomach, but his eyes was what truly forced your hand.

Slowly, reluctantly, you opened your mouth.

Michael’s expression instantly softened, a tiny, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he slid the spoon into your mouth. The warm porridge was thick and sweet, coating your raw, scratched throat and providing an immediate, desperate relief to your empty stomach. You swallowed hard, the warmth spreading through your chest, though the food tasted like ash in your mouth because of who was feeding it to you.

"There," Michael murmured, his voice dropping back into that gentle, doting purr as he scooped another perfect spoonful. "There's my good girl. See? I told you it wasn't poisoned. I only want to make sure you're strong."

He fed you slowly. Every time you finished a bite, he would take a white silk handkerchief and gently dab at the corner of your mouth, ensuring not a single drop of cream marred your skin. He followed the porridge with small, careful sips of the hot honey tea, holding the delicate porcelain cup to your lips like you were a fragile glass doll that would shatter if he handled you too roughly. You hated every second of it. You hated how dependent you were on his hands just to survive, but you ate every bite, knowing you needed your strength if you were ever going to find a way out of this nightmare.

When the bowl was completely empty, Michael set the tray back down on the table. He stood up, stretching his long legs, and looked down at you with his hands resting casually on his hips. His eyes scanned your rigid posture, taking in the way your shoulders slumped from the exhaustion of being chained upright for nearly twenty four hours.

"You must be terribly uncomfortable in that chair," he said, his voice laced with a sudden, deep empathy that felt entirely misplaced given the situation. He walked around to the back of the chair, his shoes clicking softly against the floor, and placed his large hands on your shoulders. "Your back must be aching fiercely. And these irons...they're so hard against your skin, aren't they?"

You stayed perfectly still, your heart starting to pick up its pace again. "Yes," you whispered, your voice still cracked.

Michael leaned down, his soft curls brushing against your cheek as he whispered into your ear from behind. "I have a beautiful room upstairs, my love. A room with massive windows that look out over the gardens, though they're locked tight, of course. It has the softest feather mattress you've ever felt, nice sheets. A crackling fireplace to keep you warm. I would love nothing more than to take you up there, to unlock these heavy chains from your wrists, and let you rest like a queen."

He paused, his hands sliding down your arms, his fingers lightly tracing the edges of the cuffs.

"But that privileges requires absolute trust," he murmured. "It requires you to promise me that you are going to cooperate. That you are going to be good for me. No more screaming. No more fighting. Just peace. If you can do that, I will take you out of this dark room right now. What do you say?"

A desperate wave of hope and calculation rushed through your mind. A room with a bed. A room without chains. If you could just get him to untie your hands, you’d have a chance. You could look for a weapon, a weak point in the windows, anything.

You didn't want to look at him, but you needed to convince him. You quickly nodded your head, jerking it up and down to show your agreement.

Michael didn't move. He didn't reach for the keys in his pocket. Instead, the silence in the room stretched out, growing heavy and suffocating. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

"No," Michael said softly, his voice dropping into a stern, chilling tone. He walked back around the chair, stepping directly into your line of sight. He looked down at you, his features flat, his jaw set. "Use your words, my love. You know a simple nod isn't enough for something this important. I need to hear it from those beautiful lips. Tell me."

You glared up at him, your chest heaving as the humiliation burned in your gut. He was playing with you, forcing you to beg for basic human comfort, demanding complete submission before he'd even think about easing your pain. You swallowed the lump of pride in your throat, your voice cracking as you forced the words out into the quiet room.

"I'll be good," you rasped, the words tasting like poison on your tongue. "I'll cooperate, Michael. Please...just take the chains off."

Michael stared at you for a long beat, searching your eyes for any sign of deceit. For a second, you thought he was going to refuse, that he was going to see right through your lie. But then, a breathtaking smile broke across his face, transforming him back into the sweet, gentle man you thought you knew.

"Beautiful," he whispered, reaching into his vest pocket and pulling out a heavy iron key. "That is exactly what I wanted to hear."

The heavy iron key slid into the locks of the cuffs and the moment the metal parted from your skin, a rush of cold air hit your raw, bruised wrists. You instinctively tried to bring your hands forward to rub at the deep, red indentations, but your muscles were so stiff and locked up from hours of tension that they barely moved. You let out a soft, involuntary whimper of pain, your shoulders slumping forward in exhaustion.

Before your feet could even ground the cold floor, his long arms slid beneath you; one supporting your aching back, the other hooking securely under your knees. He lifted you out of that wooden chair effortlessly, pulling your body against his chest.

He smelled so clean.

"Shhh, I got you, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice vibrating right against your ribs as he turned toward the door.

You didn't have the strength to fight him, so you let your head rest heavily against his shoulder, your eyes wide as the door swung open and he carried you out of the dark.

You had worked in his estate library for months, but you had never actually been inside the residential wing of his house. The scale of it was overwhelming. As Michael carried you down the expansive, high ceilinged hallways, your eyes darted to every corner, trying to map out the layout, trying to find anything you could use to your advantage later.

It was nice. Ridiculously nice. And absolutely massive.

The floors were a gleaming, polished marble that reflected the light from the windows. Huge chandeliers hung above, their crystal teardrops catching the sun. As Michael walked with steady, unhurried steps, you caught sight of massive, heavy double doors made of dark oak, leading into rooms that looked big enough to house an entire family.

But the most terrifying part wasn't the size of the house; it was the people.

As you passed through the grand foyer, you saw servants. Lots of them. A maid in a crisp white apron was meticulously dusting a grandfather clock; a butler stood near the formal dining room entrance; two footmen were carrying a heavy trunk down a distant hall.

Your heart leaped into your throat. People. Real people.

You opened your mouth, a desperate impulse to scream, to yell for help, rising up in your chest. But before a single sound could leave your throat, Michael’s grip on your waist tightened just enough to be a warning. He didn't look down at you, but his jaw clenched. The servants didn't even look up. As Michael carried you past them, they simply bowed their heads, completely ignoring the fact that their master was carrying a disheveled, traumatized woman through the halls. They were entirely conditioned to mind their business. The realization hit you like a physical blow: nobody in this house was going to save you. They belonged to him.

Michael carried you up a massive, winding grand staircase, his breathing perfectly steady, as if you weighed nothing at all. He turned down a long hallway where the walls were lined with expensive oil paintings, finally stopping in front of a pair of towering double doors at the very end of the hall.

He pushed one open with his shoulder and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

The bedroom was exactly how he had described it, but seeing it in the light made it feel even more like a beautiful cage. Though the massive windows lined the far wall, letting in streams of bright afternoon sunlight, offering a beautiful view of the sprawling green gardens below, was what really caught your attention. You looked at them almost hungrily, but you could see the iron latches built into the frames. They were locked tight from the inside. No key, no escape.

Michael walked over to the bed and slowly, gently lowered you onto the mattress.

The softness of the featherbed felt incredible against your aching back, a big difference to the wooden chair you’d been trapped in for hours. You practically sank into the layers of cotton, your legs trembling slightly as the tension finally began to drain from your muscles.

Michael didn't immediately move away. He stayed kneeling on the edge of the mattress, his face close to yours as his eyes searched your face. He reached out, his long, slender fingers gently brushing a stray curl away from your forehead, his touch warm and terrifyingly tender.

"There now," he murmured. "When you use your words, and when you're good for me, I will give you the world, my sweet girl. You're safe up here. You're home."

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, forcing your expression to soften, making your eyes look as tired and small as possible.

"Michael..." you whispered, your voice cracking slightly from the rawness. "Can you...can you please back up? Just get out of my face for a little bit. Please."

For a fraction of a second, his fingers stilled against your cheek. Your heart did a violent flip against your ribs, wondering if you’d pushed too hard, if the "please" hadn't been enough to mask the rejection. But then, Michael’s lips curved into a tiny, indulgent smile. He took it lightly, letting out a soft, amused huff through his nose as he lifted his hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

"All right, all right," he murmured, his voice laced with that gentle shit. He slid off the edge of the high mattress, stepping back a few paces until there was a comfortable distance between you. He smoothed down the front of his dark vest, looking at you like an indulgent guardian dealing with a tired child. "I can give you some space. You've had a very long, trying night, my love. I understand."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, your shoulders sinking further into the plush velvet pillows of the canopy bed. Your eyes immediately darted past his hip, tracking the layout of the room again. The fire popped in the hearth, throwing warm orange light across the room, but the size of the space just made you feel smaller.

Michael crossed his arms, leaning his hip casually against one of the bedposts. He studied you, his eyes never truly losing that sharp, calculating look even when his posture was relaxed.

"Now that you're comfortable," he began. "Is there anything else you need? Anything at all to make you feel more at home up here?"

You looked up at him, the bitter truth slipping to the tip of your tongue before you could stop it. "I want to leave."

Michael didn't get angry. He just tilted his head, a faint, almost pitying smile touching the corners of his lips. He let out a soft sigh, shook his head gently, and tapped his long fingers against the wooden post. "Well...other than that, sweet girl. You know we've already discussed that. This is your home now. Think of something realistic."

You clenched your jaw inside your mouth, hiding your fury behind a blank face. You knew better than to argue about your freedom right now. You needed to focus on the immediate necessities; getting clean, getting out of this dress, and finding a way to feel human again.

"I want to take a shower," you said, making sure to keep your voice steady, and perfectly polite so he wouldn't find an excuse to check your attitude. "And I need some clean clothes. Please."

The word please felt like sandpaper on your tongue, but it worked like magic on him. Michael’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine delight. Hearing you ask him nicely, using your words exactly the way he wanted, was clearly feeding into the sick, domestic fantasy he had built up in his head.

"A bath," he corrected gently, pointing toward a heavy, arched door on the left side of the bedroom that you hadn't noticed before. "There is a beautiful clawfoot tub in the adjoining washroom. The water is drawn from the local springs and heated daily. And as for clothes..." he pressed his tongue against his cheek before he walked over to a massive, beautifully carved wardrobe that stood against the far wall. He pulled the heavy double doors open, revealing rows upon rows of silk, velvet, and fine cotton dresses, all tailored in rich, deep colors. Your stomach dropped as you stared at the full wardrobe.

"I had these brought in weeks ago," Michael murmured, his fingers lovingly brushing against the sleeve of a soft cotton day dress. "I chose the fabrics myself. I knew they would look absolutely exquisite against your beautiful skin."

He pulled the dress from the wardrobe, along with a set of fresh undergarments, and draped them carefully over his arm. He walked back over to the bed, setting the clean clothes down at the very foot of the mattress, far enough away that he wouldn't be invading your space again.

"I will have the maids bring up fresh linens and ensure the water is perfectly warm for you," Michael said, his voice dropping into a low promise as he backed toward the bedroom doors. He paused at the exit, his hand resting on the brass handle, giving you one last, long look. "Take your time, my love. Wash away the stress of yesterday. I’ll be waiting right outside when you're done."

You merely nodded. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the tension left your shoulders, and you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

Michael leaned his back against the double doors of the bedchamber, the soft click of the brass lock signaling that you were safely enclosed within your new room. He let out a slow, measured breath, the tension finally draining from his own shoulders.

He stood there for a long moment, listening to the faint, hesitant rustle of the mattress springs inside as you finally shifted your aching body. A wave of relief washed over him. You were upstairs. You were in a bed. You had used your words, you had eaten his food, and you had looked at him with those beautiful eyes without screaming.

A passing housemaid, carrying a stack of fresh fabrics, froze a few paces down the hallway, her head immediately bowing.

"Madison," Michael called out. "The young lady requires a warm bath. Ensure the pipes are clear and the water is heated to a comfortable temperature. Fetch the jasmine oils from the pantry. When she is finished, leave her be. No one is to disturb her but me."

"Yes, Mr. Jackson," the maid murmured.

"If she attempts to speak to you," Michael added, his voice remaining impossibly sweet, "you will nod, complete your work, and exit. Should I find out that you engaged in unnecessary conversation...well. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the generous salary I pay your family."

"No, sir. Not a word, sir," the girl whispered, her face pale as she curtsied and hurried off toward the servants' stairs.

With his orders given, Michael turned and walked down the grand corridor, his shoes clicking against the polished floor. He bypassed the grand staircase and headed straight for his private study at the eastern wing of the mansion. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and locked it securely behind him, needing the absolute solace of the room to finally sort through the chaotic rhythm of his own heart.

He walked over to his grand desk, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a crystal glass. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted the glass to his lips.

He took a slow, burning swallow, staring out the window, rubbing a long hand over his face.

He hadn't meant for it to get out of hand like this. He truly hadn't. In his mind, he was a gentleman; a man of high status, refinement, and immense gentleness. He had never envisioned himself dragging the woman he worshipped down into a dark, candlelit cellar, chaining her wrists to a wooden chair, or jamming a linen gag into her mouth until she choked on her own cries. The memory of your frantic, muffled whimpers from the night before flashed in his mind, making his chest tighten with a sharp pang of genuine remorse. He had hated hurting you. He had hated the terror in your eyes.

But you had left him with absolutely no choice. You were going to ruin everything. You were going to destroy the beautiful future he had meticulously built for the two of you.

He leaned back and sat down in his chair, his eyes tracking the flickering flames of the small hearth in his study, and let his mind drift back to where it all began. Months ago. Before the chains. Before everything.

It had started off as a little crush. Or, at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself initially.

You were new to town. You stood in the doorway holding a worn satchel, a little bit lost, wiping a stray bead of sweat from your forehead. Your skin practically glowed against the soft afternoon light filtering through the stained glass windows. You were wearing a simple, modest dress, but the way you carried yourself instantly rooted him to his chair.

In Michael’s mind, it was love at first sight. He liked to tell himself that the universe had finally taken pity on his lonely, wealthy existence and delivered his breath of life straight to his doorstep.

You had come looking for a job. You explained, with a voice so sweet it made his pulse stutter, that you had just arrived in the city, that you were literate, good with numbers, and needed employment to secure a small room in the French Quarter.

He didn't even care about your qualifications. He would have handed you the keys to the entire estate that very second just to ensure you returned the next morning. He hired you on the spot as his assistant cataloguer.

During those first few months, Michael was the very picture of sweetness and devotion. He found every excuse to abandon his business ledgers just to sit in the library with you. He would stand on the rolling ladders, pulling down heavy, leather bound texts, his soft voice filling the quiet air as he explained the history of the pages. He brought you little gifts; imported chocolates from France, rare teas, fine charcoal pencils for your cataloging notes. He loved the way your face would light up, the way your voice would lose its guarded edge whenever you thanked him.

The turning point had come during a late autumn evening, right at closing time.

You were reaching up to place a heavy encyclopedia back onto a high shelf, your stretching frame caught in the amber glow of the oil lamps. Michael had stepped up behind you, his hand gently covering yours on the spine of the book to help you slide it into place. You mumbled a thank you but when you turned around, you were trapped between his chest and the shelves. He remembered the way your breath caught in your throat. The way you said his name.

"Mr. Jackson..." you had whispered.

"Michael," he corrected softly, his eyes searching yours. "Call me Michael."

He had looked down at your lips, his heart hammering, before leaning down and pressing his mouth to yours.

It wasn't a demanding kiss; it was incredibly gentle, reverent, and slow only because it was supposed to be a gentle taste, a tentative brush of his mouth against yours. And to his surprise, you had kissed him back and it was filled with months of suppressed longing. The shock of the pleasure had caused an involuntary, soft moan to escape the back of your throat; a sound so sweet, so intoxicating, that it had sent a jolt of possession straight through Michael's veins. He handled you like glass, pulling you closer, his hands sliding up to frame your pretty face as his lips moved down to taste the soft, warm skin of your neck. He wanted to hear that sound again. He wanted to make you make that sound for the rest of his life.

But the moment his lips brushed your pulse point, you had stiffened a bit, your hands pushing gently but firmly against his chest.

Michael had pulled back instantly, his eyes wide, almost identical to a deer, a rush of panic flooding his chest. "I...I apologize," he had whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he adjusted his collar. "Have I misread the signs? Please, forgive me if I have crossed a boundary."

"No, no..." You had swallowed hard, looking at the floor as you tried to smooth down your dress. "It’s...it’s not you, Mr. Jackson. I’m sorry. I just...I recently got out of a relationship. A very bad one. Back north. I just...simply don't want to...I came to new orleans to start over. I apologize for leading you on..."

Michael had immediately melted, taking your hands in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "There is absolutely nothing for you to apologize about," he had murmured, his voice a soothing tone. "You did not lead me on. I pushed too fast, and I am deeply sorry for causing you distress."

He smiled, a sweet, reassuring smile that made him look like an absolute angel. "We will go at your pace, sweet girl. Always at your pace. I am just grateful to have you near me."

But words had haunted him. A very bad one.

Behind his gentle smile, a protective instinct had taken root.

It was as though something had awoken inside Michael. He couldn't sleep. The mere thought of someone causing you pain, of someone making you look so broken and feel so fearful, made his blood run cold with fury. He needed to know who did it. He needed to know everything.

The opportunity arose a few weeks later, you had trusted him enough to invite him over to your small apartment in the city for tea. It was supposed to be a friendly visit, but while you were in the kitchen preparing the kettle, Michael sat in your small parlor. His eyes wandered over your meager belongings; the small vase of dried flowers, your hand stitched curtains, your books. Then, his eyes fell upon a small, locked wooden jewelry box sitting on your vanity in the bedroom.

He stood up, glided silently into your bedroom, looking around a bit, patting his pockets before he found a small random paperclip to pick the lock.

He simply needed to know who had dared to dim your light.

Inside, beneath a few silver trinkets, he found a stack of old letters tied with a frayed blue ribbon. He opened them quickly, his eyes scanning the aggressive, cruel handwriting.

Thomas Dunkonu.

Michael had stared at the name, a sneer curling his lips. Thomas Dunkonu? What a ridiculously, dumb name.

As Michael read through the letters, his blood turned to pure ice. Thomas hadn't just broken your heart– he had abused you. The letters contained horrific threats, cruel insults, and vile references to the physical bruises he had left on your beautiful skin before you managed to escape him in the dead of night.

Michael stood in your bedroom, holding those letters, his body trembling with a sudden rage. A dark, terrifying switch flipped deep inside his psyche. How dare this dirt born pig lay a hand on his angel? How dare any man touch the woman destined to be Michael’s queen?

He put the letters back, closed the box, and walked back out to the parlor just as you walked in with the tea tray. He smiled warmly at you, took his cup, and drank his tea, chatting pleasantly about the weather.

Two days later, Michael took a private train to New York.

He didn't hire anyone. Michael made sure he was the one to do it alone.

He tracked Thomas Dunkonu down to a filthy, low end tavern near the docks. He watched the man for three days, learning his routine, watching him drink himself into a stupor every single night, listening to him brag to his foul friends about the women he had broken.

On the third night, it was raining. Thomas staggered out of the back door of the tavern, reeking of cheap liquor, humming a tune as he stumbled down a pitch black alleyway.

A tall figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking his path.

"Get out the way," Thomas growled, slurring his words, reaching for something in his coat.

Michael stepped into the light of a gas lamp. He was dressed to impress, even if he was going to kill a man. In his hand, he held a heavy, iron headed cane.

Before Thomas could even raise his blade, Michael moved and the head of the cane struck Thomas directly in the knee. The sound of bone shattering echoed loudly in the alley, drowned out only by Thomas’s blood curdling scream as he collapsed onto the muddy cobblestones, clutching his shattered leg.

"Shut up," Michael whispered, his voice dangerously calm, almost clinical. “Why must you yell?”

He stepped forward, bringing the cane down onto Thomas’s hand, the hand that had hit you, the hand that had bruised your skin. Thomas let out a choked, wet gurgle of pain, and tears and rain mixing on his filthy face.

Michael leaned down, grabbing Thomas by his greasy collar, dragging his heavy body deeper into the dark, abandoned warehouse at the end of the alley. He threw him onto the dirt floor, locking the heavy sliding doors behind them.

For the next two hours, Michael took his time.

He pulled up a wooden crate, sat down, and slowly destroyed the man who had hurt you. He used a sharp, thin doctor's scalpel he’d brought, cutting into Thomas’s skin like he was a surgeon, asking him endless questions about you.

"Did you touch her cheek with this hand?" Michael would ask softly, his dark eyes wide and unblinking in the lantern light, before driving a needle under Thomas’s fingernails. "Did you speak to her with these lips?"

Thomas wept, and he begged, and he whimpered, vomiting onto the dirt floor, pleading for mercy from a man who possessed absolutely none.

"She is an angel," Michael whispered, kneeling over the dying man, his face inches from Thomas’s swollen, bloody features. "And you are a rat. You never deserved to breathe the same air as her."

Michael finished it by pressing his leather gloved hands over Thomas’s mouth and nose, watching the light slowly fade from the man’s terrified eyes, holding him tight until his body went entirely limp. He disposed of the body in the dark, churning waters of the Hudson River, packing his bags and catching the early morning train back to Louisiana.

He felt no remorse. He felt only a profound satisfaction. He had cleansed your past.

But it didn't stop with Thomas.

Once Michael had smelt the blood of a man who crossed you, his obsession mutated into something completely unhinged. The world became a landmine of potential threats to your purity.

There was the young fruit vendor at the French Market who made a flirtatious comment about your smile when you bought peaches, he disappeared three days later, his body found floating in the bayou miles away.

There was the wealthy cotton merchant who tried to press his hand against your waist when you were delivering a stack of books to his carriage; Michael ensured his carriage suffered a "tragic accident" on the steep road outside town, breaking the man's neck.

Even a local woman, a bitter socialite who had whispered a racist slur under her breath when you walked past her on the sidewalk, found her home burning to the ground in the middle of the night.

Michael became a silent, invisible grim reaper hovering over your life, slaughtering anyone who dared to look at you or wrong you, or hurt you, or disrespect you. In his mind, he was your guardian angel. He was keeping you pure, and keeping you safe, and unblemished by a cruel world.

But then...you found out.

It was a terrible, tragic coincidence. You had gone to Michael’s private desk in the library to fetch a ledger, and you stumbled upon a hidden compartment. Inside, Michael had kept trophies– Thomas’s pocket watch, the fruit vendor's silver ring, a newspaper clipping detailing the cotton merchant's death, along with pages and pages of journal entries where Michael detailed every single murder, every single stalker like detail of your daily life.

You had read it with horror dawning on your face. You realized the sweet, gentle Mr. Jackson was a mass murdering, obsessive monster.

Panicked, crying, and terrified for your life, you had grabbed the evidence, intending to run straight to the constable's office in town to report him. You ran out the back door of the library into the pouring rain.

Michael had seen you from his upper window.

He didn’t panic. He simply walked down the stairs, taking a secret path, intercepting you in the dark, muddy garden behind the estate.

"Where are you going, my love?" he had asked, stepping out of the dark trees, his voice dripping with that terrifying, sweet calm.

"Get away from me!" you had screamed, sobbing, holding the newspaper clipping against your chest. "You're a monster! You killed them! You killed Thomas! I'm going to the police! I'm going to tell everyone what you are!"

Michael had looked at you with a expression of deep, profound sadness.

"I did it for you," he whispered. "I did it all to protect you."

He shifted the moment you tried to slip past him. His hand shot out, iron grip fingers wrapping hard around your arm to yank you back, all of the evidence slipping from your fingers to scatter across the slick, rain soaked earth. You fought him, your nails tearing deep across his cheek, a sharp shriek tearing from your throat. The sudden violent struggle unbalanced both of you. You stumbled hard into him.

Down you went together into the mud, your limbs tangled, your kicks and thrashes eager as you tried to pin him beneath the weight of the fall. He cursed, his knee pinning your hip into the wet grass while he shoved you back down, your head slamming against the ground. Breathing hard, his face stinging from the bloody welt on his cheek, his free hand plunged into his deep coat pocket, fingers closing around a soaked cotton rag and the small, pungent vial he kept ready for emergencies.

You wrench your head away, twisting violently through the mud, managing to break his grip for one fraction of a second. You scrambled up on all fours, slipping in the wet dirt, lunging toward the trees. He launching himself through the air to tackle your shoulders right before you reached…freedom.

As you twisted around to scream again, he slammed his weight against you and put the rag over your mouth and nose. The sweet, suffocating reek of chloroform hit the back of your throat before you could draw breath to yell. You bucked and pounded your fists against his chest, but the heavy, sweet chemical poured into your senses, dissolving the strength from your limbs until the frantic thrashing slowed to a dull shudder, and the wet grass blurred out of view.

He had carried you down to the dark room in his basement, chained you to that wooden chair, and sat beside you in the dark for hours, weeping as he kissed your forehead, begging you to wake up so he could explain to you why you had to stay with him forever.

Now, in the quiet study, Michael snapped out of his memory. God, how long has it been?

He finished the last drop of whiskey in his glass, setting the glass down on his desk.

He walked over to the mirror hanging near the door, smoothing down his hair, fixing his collar, making sure he looked like the handsome, gentle gentleman you had once trusted. A soft smile returned to his face.

She's taking her bath now, he thought, his heart fluttering with excitement.

He unlocked the doors of his study and glided back down the hallway toward the master suite. He stopped outside the doors, listening intently. He could hear the soft, rhythmic splashing of warm water coming from the washroom inside.

Michael smiled, leaning his head against the wood, closing his eyes.

"Take all the time you need, my sweet girl,"

© 2026 Strangerexee. All rights reserved or wtv.

[sgecat]

I can be your… waiter .ᐟ

.✦ ݁˖ ── nupe!michael x black!fem reader

݁˖ summary: it’s your second year at your hbcu, and you catch his eye at a party.

݁˖ content: MDNI, college setting, slight infidelity, modern!au, toxicity, kinda enemies to lovers, you can't stand him, he misses you, reconciliation, a bit of angst, one night stand mentioned, ffs he's really tryna make it right w you, unprotected piv, missionary sex, he's big, soft!dom michael, you wit da nupes now !!!

inspired by this post | masterlist

The bass is so loud you can feel it in your teeth.

Your third $12.95 ticket of the night is burning a hole in your clutch, and your feet are screaming for mercy in these heels.

You take a lukewarm sip from your red solo cup, the cheap liquor doing little to numb the ache. You lean up against a sticky wall, clammy with cool condensation, watching your girls continue to tear up the dance floor.

God, you really hope this party provides free shuttles. If you have to pay for an uber, you might actually scream.

You’re starting to think about tapping out. You feel blisters forming on your soles, you consider walking out of the party and to your apartment in your bare feet.

But then the music plays, and you internally groan. Their slow, rhythmic steps form right in front of you, and somehow, you’re pushed to the front of the crowd as the circle forms. And then you see them.

The Nupes dressed in crisp red and white, moving in their routine stroll, all in sync.

And then you see Michael. Front and center of the line. Anyone could recognize his face — shit, he was all over campus. He'd be at community service events, looking unusually good in a simple T-shirt. It wasn't always something you were used to.

You were used to seeing him like this. Dressed in the Kappa Alpha Psi colors, strolling through parties with the same confidence. His signature sunglasses were still on; it almost amused you.

Wearing sunglasses in a dimly lit club, you knew it was highly unlikely that he could see anything, let alone move far enough to be in the front of the line. But he did it nonetheless, effortlessly even.

He's in the middle of a step, his body moving in perfect rhythm with his brothers, when he suddenly slows his motion, his head tilted just slightly in your direction. In one fluid motion, he reaches up, hooks a finger under his sunglasses, and pulls them down, just enough to peer over the top. His eyes lock directly with yours.

I know you fucking lying.

A slow smirk spreads across his lips. He pushes the sunglasses back up, and the stroll continues.

"Girl, did you see that?" Your friend starts yelling something in your ear, but you can barely hear it over the blood rushing in your ears.

It was time to go the fuck home.

If you didn't know anything at all, you knew one thing: Don't mess with a nupe.

Your mama told you that, your aunts told you that, even family members who pledged into Kappa Alpha Psi told you that.

Ten minutes. You give yourself ten more minutes.

That's more than enough time to shake off the FOMO and dance to one last song with your girls. But the entire time, you could feel a prickle on the back of your neck. You wouldve thought he'd get tired of watching you.

You grab your friend's arm. "I'm out," you shout over the noise. "My bed is calling my name!"

She laughs, pulling you into a tight hug before you share your goodbyes with the others. You weave through the crowd, the bass fading behind you as you push through the heavy doors and into the blessedly cool night air.

The sudden quiet is almost dizzying. You lean back against the brick wall of the venue, fumbling in your clutch for your phone to — unfortunately — order an Uber.

A low, smooth voice cuts through the quiet, coming from the shadows just to your left. "You gone?"

"Yes." Your voice is sharper than you intended, and you don't even look up from your phone.

He steps out of the shadows, leaning against the wall next to you. The red and white jacket is gone, replaced by a simple black tee that hugs its frame. "Damn, girl, relax. Jus' didn't get a chance to say hello inside."

You finally look up from your screen. His sunglasses are now tucked into the collar of his shirt, and his eyes are exactly as you remember them, all dark and amused, a little too amused for your current level of exhaustion. He nods toward your phone, the glow lighting up your faces in the dimness. "Do you still have my number saved? Or did you delete it after last time?"

The memory hits you with a wave of emotional nausea, taking you back to that one night, months ago. You swore you wouldn't think about it. The way he never called like he said he would.

"Michael, I'm sorry — I don't wanna do this with you right now. I'm tired, and I'm leaving."

"I can take you home... if you want."

As good as that sounded, you swore you wouldn't. Not again. You hesitate, then let out a long exhale. "No, thank you."

The Uber app on your phone glows, waiting for you to confirm the ride, but your thumb stills, silently cursing you. His voice drops, losing some of its playfulness. "Look. I know I messed up. I know I should've called you, 'n when I saw you tonight... I couldn't let you go without saying something."

"Let me do this for you. No disappearing or nothin'. I promise."

God, your feet ache, and your head is starting to pound, and every sensible part of you is screaming to just order the damn Uber. You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You promise? C'mon, Mike. You're gonna have to do better than that.

I ain't a dog you pick up on the street. Miss me with that bullshit."

Ain't a dog my ass.

Your party clothes are now a discarded heap on his floor, his apartment lit only by the street lights filtering through the blinds, painting long, stark shadows across the room. The room smells heavy with your sweet perfume, mingling with the sharp tang of arousal.

His hand is firm over your mouth, his other hand grips your thigh, holding you open for him as his tongue flicks over your clit, trailing down to tease your entrance, then moving back up to suck on the little bundle of nerves.

His voice is a low, soft murmur against your skin, vibrating through you. "Shhh, gotta be quiet f'me, remember? Thin walls."

You can feel the damp heat of his breath, the slick, deliberate noises of your pussy as he muffles himself against your lips, fucking you nice and slow with every dip of his tongue.

You try to nod and conceal your mewls, the noises swallowed by his large palm, coming out as muffled, broken cries. Your fingers fist the sheets, knuckles white. His bed creaks softly as your hips buck upward to match his movements. You didn't even care about your pride anymore. You missed this. Missed him.

A car alarm blares faintly from the street below, a distant, irrelevant echo of the world outside of his room. He nips gently at your inner thigh, removes his hand from your mouth, and puts two fingers in his mouth. The sight alone makes your face hot, his saliva-coated fingers sliding out of his mouth and into your entrance. Your head falls back at the stretch, thrumming against the pillows, a low, desperate sound catching in your throat only to be halted by his lips returning to your clit.

His fingers tighten on your leg, his grip possessive as he flicks his tongue, driving you oh, so, impossibly closer to your much-awaited orgasm. He pulls back just enough to speak, lifting his hand from your mouth. His breath was hot against your overheated skin. "You gonna let me feel it like you did last time?"

His fingers continue to curl against your sweet spot, and your hips buck involuntarily. "M-Mike please — just shut up and let me — fuck!"

His eyes snap up to meet yours again, a flash of irritation cutting through his lustful gaze. In one sharp movement, he clamps his hand over your mouth again and pulls his fingers from your soaked pussy. You whimper at the denial, tears threatening to well in your eyes, blurring the harsh, frustrated lines of his face above you. He shakes his head and lifts his head.

"Nah. You don't get to talk to me like this all night." He crawls over you and leans in closer, his nose almost touching yours. "Do you talk to your new boyfriend like this? W'this much attitude?"

You grab his wrist, forcefully pulling his hand from your mouth. "What I do in my relationship doesn't concern you, Michael."

"I think it does, 'specially when I'm the only one who can make you feel like this." He presses a soft kiss on your cheek. "You don't get to be rude and then expect me to be nice to you. That's not fair." His thumb brushes away a tear that escapes the corner of your eye, the gesture surprisingly tender despite the tension. His free hand grips your hip, holding you still.

"You ghosting me wasn't fair either."

"And I told you, Imma make it right. Alright?" His eyes soften. "I'm not going nowhere." His lips brush your temple, giving you soft and slow kisses, trailing down to your lips. He drinks in your familiar taste, his fingers gently tracing your jawline. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you closer against him.

You can feel his bulge pressed against your inner thigh as he shifts his weight. The friction is practically maddening as his underwear gets closer to your entrance. Your own slick and saliva coating the fabric. You reach down and tug at his waistband, and he complies, finally freeing himself.

His hands move from his hips to yours, gripping you firmly as the head of his dick nudges against your entrance, but he didn't move. He liked the anticipation, letting it build until it made you visibly ache. Your whines grow more frequent every passing moment.

"What's wrong?" He couldn't help but fight a smile.

"I want you, please, Michael." The words escape in a desperate rush; you've been trying to bite your tongue to show patience, but you can't help but plead.

The stretch is overwhelming as he sinks into you, a slow push that steals the air from your lungs. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he fills you, the fit so agonizingly perfect it feels familiar. Your body trembles as he gives you slow, grinding strokes. Each thrust nice and deep, effortlessly hitting spots you forgot existed.

Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, and you bury your face into his shoulder, stifling any moans that threaten to escape you. The change in angle makes him moan against you, pulling him deeper; the sound vibrates from your chest to his.

Michaels mouth finds your neck, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse point as his pace quickens, fucking you so relentlessly it has the headboard tapping a steady beat against the wall. The heat in your stomach tightens unbearably. Your fingers clutch at his back, leaving faint trails on his skin. He grabs your thigh, hooking it over his shoulder to change the angle. He damn near kissed your cervix with each thrust, making you cry out into his shoulder.

"Wai— f-fuck, baby! 's too much—"

His pants and moans grow louder, no longer paying any mind to the thin walls surrounding you. His large hand snakes between you two, reaching down to rub your clit in tight circles, encouraging you to do the same. "I know, baby, just give it to me. Shit — you feel so g- good..."

His assurance, coupled with the devastating angle, is enough to have you come around him, clenching so tightly that he follows with a high-pitched whimper. White paints your vision, the aftershocks of your orgasm crashing, screaming waves that shake your entire being.

His body lifts up slightly, leaving you cold for a moment before he grabs your wrist, pulling you up into his arms. You feel his heartbeat against yours, slowing down with every breath that mirrors yours. His weight around you is a warm anchor, grounding you back from your high; his face is buried in the crook of your neck. He doesn't move, just presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. His arms tighten around you, and you reach up to play with the curls at the nape of his neck.

He shifts just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and hazy. His thumb traces lazy circles on your hip, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "So... we good now?

I, uh, I know I can't fix months of silence in one night. But I'm serious about making it right."

You don't answer right away, your mind still fuzzy from sex, but you could still hear your family's words in the back of your mind.

Don't trust them.

His thumb traces your bottom lip, and you let out a slow breath, your eyes tracing the patterns the city lights make on his sheets. Your body feels heavy, spent, and you know you may or may not regret this later.

"Yeah... we good. For now."

And when he said that he'd make it right, he meant it.

That next weekend, after you officially ended things with the guy you'd been half-heartedly seeing, Michael showed up at your door with flowers. Nothing extravagant or ridiculous, but a simple, thoughtful bunch of your favorites that he somehow remembered.

And the date was a proper one. Dinner at a place where you could actually hear each other talk, followed by a walk through the campus gardens under a blanket of stars. He wasn't even performative when he courted you. He asked about your classes, really listened to your answers, and told you about the pressure of pledging and the brother he'd found.

He made sure you were seen. Not a conquest or a late-night secret, but as the person you really are. The communication didn't stop after that night. Messages throughout the day, just to check in. Late-night calls where you'd talk in all hours of the night.

And after a few months, you realized that the night during homecoming week had been the necessary storm that cleared the air for something genuine to grow between you two.

He kept his promise. He didn't go anywhere, and neither did you.

taglist: @dillydallyonthedaily @premiumgyu @smoothcriminalgf @michaeljacksonfanfictions @yoonitoocutie @miradeezy @mal3volentr0se @solelypyt@jacksonluvrr @mirasjointtttttt

[brownsugarletters]

Just in case you needed your daily reminder that the Jackson’s were black as hell. Marlon joning on everybody and Mike pickin lil buddy’s hair, love to see it 🥹

[mjsbrat]

hi hiii, i have a request that can be any era but preferably invincible/mature or botdf

i dont rly have anything specific except it’ll be like an intense nasty argument to intense …ya know :P also michael dom!!!

thank u sm 🩷 you’re lit the best writer on here i LOVE how long ur stories are

— Fourty-One Minutes˙⋆✮

𑣲 pairing: invincible era!michael x girlfriend!reader

𑣲 cw: 18+ smut, MDNI!, dom!michael, sub!reader, angst, oral (m+f receiving), dirtyyyyy talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, angry sex.

𑣲 wc: 10.2k

𑣲 authors note: thank you so much for your kind words omg!! and THANK YOU for the fic rec!! i hope you enjoy <3

𑣲 tags: (comment/dm to be added/removed! i won't take offense <3) @misscowboyhat @chrollosblackgf66 @bluugangsta @vyvyrulesboisdrool @aloeveraaa333 @smoothcriminalgf @scccm0182 @nodisdino @glitterqueen123 @doefern @cupidslyrics @silentonthedancefloor @savagenctzen @mrsjacksonnnnnn @gleefullywingedvision @michaelsfayvourite @brownsugarbbys-blog @parness @wildpandorasky @cherubae111 @pvtypyt @nylauhh @jasppppeeee @capevans3000 @sunsetdrvr @1-800-angel-ok @narratedillusions @mikaylajacksonnn @galacticpurpl3 @oidloid @veraberaxx @studio03 @mjsfavouritefish @jazzycurls @nuvv2829 @muchluv4mj @heubstr @urdeftones-grrrl @cupidslyrics @loveposiie @micksbby @sampenguin @lostinfogg

you had been waiting for a night like this one for what felt like an eternity.

not dramatically. just in the quiet, constant way that had become familiar over the past couple of months. the low ache under your ribs every time he left for the studio with that soft, almost apologetic look and the same request: “stay tonight, please.”

he always asked. even when he already knew he would barely see you. even when the album was eating up every free hour, he asked, as if the house needed your body in it to keep from becoming completely empty… and you kept saying yes. you slept in his bed more nights than not. you learned the particular silence of neverland after dark when the staff had gone and the only sound left was the distant ticks of clocks scattered throughout the property.

the rooms stayed too quiet. your own footsteps started to sound wrong in the long hallways. you had begun leaving lights on in places you didn’t need them, just so the dark wouldn’t feel so absolute when he still wasn’t home.

tonight was supposed to be different.

michael had dismissed the staff early. the main house settled into that rare, soft quiet that only happened when he decided the world could wait. dinner was simple and late. you sat across from him at the small table near the windows as the last light drained from the sky. he barely ate. mostly he moved the food around with his fork, offering you small, tired smiles that reached his eyes for a second before the fatigue took him somewhere else.

the room was quiet enough that you could hear the soft scrape of his fork against the plate. you watched the way his shoulders stayed slightly hunched, the way his attention kept drifting past the glass into whatever version of the album was living behind his eyes. the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. it was just familiar. the kind that had been growing for months. the kind that made you feel like you were sitting with a memory of him instead of the real thing.

you tried not to fill it. you had learned that filling the silence only made him retreat further.

afterward, you followed him into the sitting room without asking. he dropped onto the long couch with a low exhale that sounded like it had been waiting to escape all day. you curled into his side immediately, tucking your bare feet under his thigh the way you always did when you needed to get as close as possible. he let you. the couch was soft and deep, the fabric worn smooth under your bare legs. his body was warm against you, but the rest of the room felt cool.

after a while, his hand came down to settle at the curve of your neck, thumb stroking once, absently. the heat of his palm against your skin felt like the first real thing that had happened all evening.

he put on a charlie chaplin film. the black and white picture flickered in the corner in silence. normally he watched these with a quiet, almost boyish delight. tonight his gaze rested on the screen without really seeing it. he didn’t smile at the parts he usually smiled at. he just sat there, warm and solid against you, present in body yet somewhere else entirely in his head.

you stayed quiet for as long as you could stand it, breathing in the faint trace of cologne that still clung to his shirt. your fingers traced slow patterns over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart under the soft fabric. almost no real time with him had left you starving for exactly this. the weight of his arm. the sound of his breathing. the simplicity of him not moving away.

you pressed closer and turned your face into the warm skin on the side of his neck, and michael tipped his head just enough to give you more of it. when you placed a soft kiss there, his hand tightened briefly in your hair. a small, instinctive response that made something in your chest loosen for a second.

but he still wasn’t laughing at the film.

the longer you sat there, the more you noticed the tiny absences. the way his fingers would still completely in your hair for several seconds at a time, like his mind had left the room. the way his breathing would go slightly shallow, then deepen again when he came back. those small disappearances hurt more than the longer ones. they made you feel like you were holding onto someone who was already halfway gone, even while his arm stayed around you. you had been living inside that feeling for months; invited to stay, asked to be here, and then left reaching for someone who was only partly present.

you tried again. you shifted closer, sliding one hand up to rest against the side of his face. he leaned into the touch for a moment, eyes still on the screen.

he didn’t come back.

after another few minutes, you lifted your head enough to look at him properly.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

michael blinked like the question had pulled him back from somewhere far away. he looked down at you, and the smile he gave you then was real. small, but real.

“just tired,” he said. his voice was low and rough around the edges. “long couple of weeks.”

you nodded against his shoulder even though the answer didn’t fully settle.

you settled back against him and let the film keep playing. his fingers resumed their slow path through your hair. you kept your face tucked against his chest and tried to memorize the feeling of finally having him still for more than ten consecutive minutes.

the chaplin film ended. michael got up to put on another one without asking. the second film started. the light from the screen flickered across the side of his face. you watched him for a while instead of the picture, studying the tired line of his mouth, the way his lashes sat against his cheek when he blinked too slowly. he was beautiful in the low light. he was also somewhere else. you reached for his hand where it rested on his thigh and laced your fingers through his. he let you. his thumb stroked once over your knuckles and then went still again.

you stayed like that longer than you expected, holding his hand and listening to him breathe and trying not to need more than he was giving. the desperation sat right under your skin, quiet and constant. you wanted him to look at you the way he used to before the album swallowed everything. you wanted him to laugh at the film. you wanted him to pull you closer like he meant it instead of like he was simply allowing it. you wanted, more than anything, to feel chosen instead of allowed.

eventually he pressed a brief kiss to the top of your head and sat forward with a quiet sound of reluctance.

“i need to finish one thing in the office before bed,” he said. his voice was almost apologetic. “give me a little bit, baby. i won’t be long, i promise.”

you nodded even as something in your stomach tightened. he stood, and the sudden loss of his warmth left the couch feeling too big. you watched him walk to the doorway without looking back. the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall.

you sat alone on the couch for a long time after that, while the film kept playing to no one. you could still feel the place where his hand had rested in your hair. you could still feel the shape of his fingers between yours. the longer you stayed, the more the quiet started to press in. the house felt larger again. the rooms beyond the sitting room seemed to stretch farther than they had a few hours ago. you thought about getting up and going to bed. you thought about waiting right there on the couch until he came back. neither option felt right.

eventually you stood and walked back to the bedroom.

his large black shirt was draped over the chair where he had left it earlier. you pulled it on without thinking. the fabric was soft and worn and still held the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean soap he used. it hung to your knees and slipped off one shoulder the way it always did. you weren’t wearing anything underneath. you climbed into the big bed, sat against the headboard, and tried to wait.

twenty minutes later, the restlessness won.

you decided you were going to find him. you were going to walk down the long hallway in nothing but his shirt, push the office door open, and climb into his lap before he could finish whatever was keeping him from coming back to you. you wanted to take his mind off whatever had been sitting so heavy on him all night. you wanted his hands under the hem. you wanted the low sound he made when he realized you were already bare for him. you wanted to be the thing that pulled him out of the fog, even if only for a little while, even if he went right back into it afterward.

you needed it more than you wanted to admit, so you left the bedroom with the decision still warm in your chest.

the only light in the hallway leaving his bedroom came from the small nightlights left on low, the way the staff always left them. neverland at this hour felt like a held breath. vast and completely still. your bare feet were quiet on the carpet. his oversized shirt brushed against your legs as you walked, the cool breeze from your movement sliding under the hem and teasing the soft skin of your inner thighs.

with every step you took, the more the image of him brushing his fingers up your soft thighs and touching your aching heat filled your mind.

the thought of it made the anticipation and hope sharper, and more desperate at the same time. you told yourself he would look up when you opened the door. you told yourself that if you could just get close enough, if you could get his hands under the shirt, you could still be the thing that brought him the rest of the way home.

the office door was closed, but not all the way. a thin line of warmer light spilled into the hallway.

and then you heard his voice.

it was soft.

not the voice he used with the engineers, or the dancers, or the people who needed something from him. this was the private register, the one that only came out when the armor was off and he thought no one was listening. it was lower. warmer. there was a quiet almost-laugh in it, the kind he rarely gave you anymore.

“…no, it’s better now,” michael said, and the fondness in it made something cold slide under your chest. “you were right about the layering. i didn’t hear it until you said it.”

a pause. the soft creak of his chair. the quiet shift of fabric as he settled deeper into it.

“it’s so good talking to you.” another quiet breath, almost like relief. “yeah. i needed that.”

the words were simple. they shouldn’t have gutted you. but the way he said them, like whatever was on the other end of the line was giving him something he couldn’t get from you, made your stomach drop so hard you felt dizzy. your fingers tightened in the hem of his shirt. the hallway suddenly felt too narrow.

you didn’t stay for more.

you turned around before he could hang up, before the softness could turn into goodbye, before you heard his actual laugh. his shirt against your skin felt heavier with every step. the air in the hallway felt thinner. by the time you reached the bedroom again, your pulse was loud in your ears.

you climbed back into the bed the way you had left it. you sat against the headboard and pulled the shirt down over your thighs, smoothing the soft black fabric as if it could somehow cover what you had just heard. the residual cold in your chest hadn’t left. it sat there quietly, waiting, spreading. you could still hear the soft shape of his voice in your head. the words kept replaying, gentle and private and not meant for you.

the clock on his nightstand read 1:51 when you heard his footsteps coming down the hall.

he pushed the door open quietly, the way he always did when he thought you might already be asleep. he was still in the black sweatpants from after dinner, the long-sleeved shirt pushed up to his elbows. his small cell phone was in his hand. he walked straight to the nightstand, set it face down on the wood with a soft click, and then looked at you.

“you’re still up.”

his voice was normal again. the private softness was gone, scrubbed clean. the contrast made your throat tighten.

“couldn’t sleep,” you said. your own voice came out thinner than you wanted. smaller.

he nodded once, reached up and dragged a hand through his long dark hair, then glanced toward the bathroom.

“i’m gonna take a two minute shower,” he said. “then bed?”

there was no real question in it. no pause to see if you needed anything. he was already turning away. you watched him walk into the bathroom. you listened to the door click shut. you listened to the water start. the sound of it filled the room and somehow made the silence between you feel even larger.

the phone was right there on the nightstand.

you stared at it. the way it sat so casually where he had left it, as if there was nothing on it that could hurt you. the water continued to run. your pulse continued to climb. the twisting feeling in your stomach continued to settle deeper.

you lasted eleven seconds.

your fingers closed around it before the decision finished forming. you touched the tiny keyboard, causing the small green-tinted screen to light up, bright in the low light of the lamp. the call log was still open, like he never bothered to close it. like it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone might look.

elena.  

outgoing.  

1:06 a.m. – 1:47 a.m.  

41 minutes.

it sat there clean and undeniable. forty-one minutes of the soft voice you had just overheard. forty-one minutes of it’s good talking to you, and i needed that while you were down the hall in his shirt, planning to climb into his lap and pull him back to you. while you had been telling yourself that tonight was different, that if you were just patient enough and soft enough the distance might finally loosen its grip, but he had found whatever he needed in someone else’s voice.

you sat there with the phone in your hand, your favorite shirt of his hanging off one shoulder, the entire quiet weight of neverland pressing in through the windows. the hurt was no longer sharp. it had become something heavier, something that lived in your chest and made breathing feel like work.

you set the phone back down exactly where he had left it: face down, slightly angled toward the lamp, like nothing had been touched. your hands were steady when you did it. they only started shaking after the screen went dark and the evidence was hidden again.

you sat up against the headboard and waited. the shirt still smelled like him. the fabric had gone slightly warm from your skin. the only sound was the water running in the bathroom, steady and distant.

after another minute, the water shut off. there was the soft sound of the shower door opening, the rustle of a towel being pulled from the rack, the quiet pad of his bare feet on the tile. then the bathroom door opened, and the warmer light spilled into the bedroom for a second before he stepped through and closed it behind him.

he was wearing only a large towel. it hung low on his hips, knotted carelessly on one side. his hair was longer than it had been the year before, the soft dark curls still wet and clinging to the back of his neck and the sharp line of his jaw. tiny beads of water tracked down the center of his chest, eventually disappearing underneath the towel. the scent of his soap moved into the room with him; clean and familiar. the same scent that usually made you want to press your face into his neck.

he looked at you immediately, and whatever your face showed made him pause for half a second in the doorway.

he didn’t ask right away.

he walked to the dresser, opened the second drawer, and pulled out a pair of soft black pajama pants. he turned slightly toward you as he loosened the towel, dropping it to the floor without a second thought. he stepped into the pants bare, pulled them up over his hips, and tied the drawstring with slow, deliberate movements. only when the knot was finished did he glance over at you again.

his voice was quiet. careful.

“you okay?”

the question sat in the air between you for a long moment.

you looked at him, and the soft voice you had overheard in the hallway rose in your throat like something you might choke on.

“who’s elena?”

he went still.

not the sharp, defensive stillness of someone already prepared for a fight. this was slower. genuine surprise first, then something that looked almost like disbelief.

“what?”

“elena,” you repeated. your voice came out thinner than you wanted. “you were on the phone with her for forty-one minutes. who is she?”

his eyes moved from your face to the phone on the nightstand and back again. he didn’t pretend not to understand.

“you went through my phone.”

it wasn’t a question.

“yes,” you said flatly. “it was eating me alive. i had to know who you were speaking to like that.”

“speaking like…” he said it slowly, like he was still putting the pieces together. “you listened? you stood out there and listened to my conversation.”

you didn’t deny it.

something shifted in his expression. the surprise was still there, but anger was moving in underneath it now, cleaner and sharper than the earlier tiredness. he took a step closer to the bed, then stopped.

“i already have to worry about everyone else invading every private second of my life,” he said, voice low. “now i have to worry about you doing it too?”

“you lied to me,” you spit out.

“i told you i needed to finish one thing—”

“you didn’t mention you were going to call another woman in the middle of the night,” you pushed the covers the rest of the way off your legs and sat forward. the shirt slid further down one shoulder. “that’s a lie by omission, and you know it.”

he was stopped at the foot of the bed. close enough that you could see the last drops of water still clinging to his collarbone. close enough that the clean scent of his soap reached you again. the air between you felt tight, almost warm from how close he was standing. you could hear the soft, controlled sound of his breathing. the lamp on the nightstand threw a low gold light across the side of his face, catching on the damp ends of his hair.

the proximity made it worse. your body still wanted him even while your chest felt tight with anger. you hated that most of all.

“i didn’t lie.”

“you did.” the words came out harder this time.

he exhaled through his nose. the sound was pure irritation.

“you’re exhausting when you’re like this.”

“i’m exhausting because i don’t like being lied to?”

“you’re exhausting because you invent problems when there aren’t any and then force me to stand here and defend myself against your imagination.”

you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood. the shirt fell to your knees again. you felt completely exposed under it. bare. small. ridiculous.

“my imagination,” you repeated. “that’s what we’re calling the call log now.”

“the call happened. the meaning you’re giving it didn’t.” he paused, dragging his hand across his jaw in frustration. “you went through my phone. you stood outside my door and eavesdropped on my conversation. and now you’re sitting there looking at me like i did something to you.” his voice stayed low, but there was real heat in it now. “what exactly do you think happened, huh? what story did you convince yourself of while you were going through my things?”

“i don’t know,” you said, the words coming out thinner than you wanted. “i just know it didn’t sound like nothing. you were soft with her. i could hear it in your voice. you laughed at something she said like it was easy. forty-one minutes of easy.”

for a second, he only stared at you. the irritation was still there, but something more focused moved in underneath it. like he was forcing himself back into order.

“she’s someone i’ve known a long time. longer than i’ve known you,” he said finally. “she’s helping with some of the vocal ideas. that’s all. it was nothing. it was work.”

you let out a short, humorless breath.

“that wasn’t a work call.”

his eyes narrowed.

“yes, it was.”

“no.” your voice had gone quieter, but it was harder now. “that was a relief call. that was you needing a break from me. you called her because you didn’t want to deal with whatever this is right now. you didn’t call her about a song. you called her because you needed to talk to someone who doesn’t make you feel the way i do.”

the words sat in the air between you.

you watched them land. watched the way his expression tightened, then closed.

“you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

you let out an air-filled laugh. his shirt had slipped further down your shoulder. you didn’t fix it.

“then explain it to me,” you said. “explain why you needed forty-one minutes with someone else at almost two in the morning. explain why you can be soft with her and then come in here and go cold again. explain why the second things get quiet you go looking for someone who isn’t me.”

his jaw flexed. the muscle jumped under the skin.

“you’re really doing this again?” he asked. the control was starting to fray. “every time i take one breath that isn’t about you, you decide it means something. i needed to talk to someone who wasn’t already waiting to turn every little thing into a problem.”

“someone easier. someone who doesn’t see you.”

the words came out quieter than the ones before them. they still landed.

he went still.

“that’s what this is,” you continued. your voice had started to shake, and you hated it. “you let me close enough to see how lonely you are and then you punish me for seeing it. you go looking for someone who doesn’t know the weight of you. someone easier. someone who doesn’t notice when you disappear.”

“stop.”

“no.” you took a step closer. the floorboard under the edge of the rug creaked. “i think i’m the only person who actually sees you, and it scares the shit out of you. so you go find someone who doesn’t care enough to notice.”

for a second, the only sound in the room was the faint tick of the clock and the wind moving against the large windows of his bedroom. you watched the words hit him.

when he spoke again, his voice was lower. colder.

“you think you understand me. you think because i let you into my bed and my schedule and the private parts of this life that you somehow earned the right to diagnose me. the right to invade my privacy.” his eyes had gone dark. “you went looking for a reason to be angry, and then you made one up out of thin air. that’s not me leaving. that’s on you.”

he let out a short, angry breath.

you watched the way his jaw tightened, the way something cold and final settled behind his eyes. whatever he was about to say, you could already feel it cutting.

“it’s immature,” he said. “going through my phone, standing outside the door listening. turning one conversation into some big betrayal. it’s immature, and it’s exhausting.”

the words hit with enough force that your ears rang for a second.

“fuck you,” you said.

the two words came out quiet and precise.

he blinked once, like he hadn’t expected them. then something in his expression shifted; not softer. darker. the kind of focus that made the air in the room feel thinner.

“say that again,” he said.

your pulse was already too high. the anger was still there, hot and sharp, but underneath it something else had started to move, something that had been sitting under the entire fight, waiting.

“fuck. you.”

he closed the space between you in two slow steps, arriving so close that you had to tip your head back to keep looking at him. the warm scent of his skin hit you like a freight train. you hated how much your body still reacted to it. you hadn’t felt this much of his attention in weeks. the type of attention that was charged and locked completely on you; it made your composure crumble.

your breath had gone shallow. you felt it happen, and you couldn’t stop it. the small, traitorous catch in your chest, the way your thighs pressed together under his shirt for half a second before you forced them still. heat had already started gathering low in your stomach, slow and heavy, and the thin fabric of the shirt suddenly felt too rough against your skin.

your pulse was visible in your throat. when you swallowed, the sound was soft but unmistakable in the quiet room. his eyes flicked down, tracking all of it. the tight breath, the shift of your thighs, the way your nipples had gone tight under the soft black cotton… and when they came back up, something darker had settled in them.

“you’re shaking,” he said quietly.

“i’m angry.”

“is that what we’re calling it?” he murmured. his eyes dropped to your mouth for a second, then came back. “interesting.”

for a second, neither of you moved. the fight was still all over both of you. every accusation. every wound. it had nowhere left to go, except into the small amount of space still left between your bodies.

his hand came up, not fast, and he brushed his knuckles along the edge of the shirt where it had slipped off your shoulder, watching the path of his own fingers like he was deciding something. the contact was light, but it still sent a slow current straight down your spine.

“you want to keep fighting,” he said, voice rough now, “or do you want me to shut you up?” his hand slid from your shoulder up the side of your neck, thumb resting against your pulse so he could feel exactly how fast it was going.

the question was filthy in its simplicity. the heat flared low in your stomach, sharp and completely honest. you hated that he could still do this to you. you hated that the answer was already in your body before it reached your mouth.

he moved his thumb over your pulse slowly, and when you didn’t back away, he tightened his hand slightly, just enough to drag you forward by his grip on the side of your neck until your mouths collided. the kiss was nothing like the ones he’d given you when he was being soft or careful. it was all teeth and leftover venom from the fight.

he walked you backward without breaking the kiss, one hand locked on your throat, the other shoved under the hem of his shirt to grab onto your bare hip. your shoulder blades hit the cool glass of the window with enough force to knock a small sound out of you. the temperature contrast made you shiver: the chilled surface against your back, the heat of his bare chest sealing you in from the front.

you made a small, broken sound against his lips and he answered it by pushing closer, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against him. you could feel how hard he already was. the knowledge sent another pulse of heat between your legs, humiliating and electric.

the anger was still sitting under your skin, sharp and useless, while your body opened for him like it had been waiting for exactly this.

his hand on your hip moved to find you completely bare underneath the shirt. two of his long fingers slid between your legs without any warning, and the sound he made when he felt how wet you already were was filthy. low. almost disgusted with how much he liked it.

“jesus christ. you’re soaked. standing here calling me a liar meanwhile you were dripping down your thighs for me.”

he didn’t ease into it. he pushed those two fingers inside you in one thick, deliberate stroke and curled them hard against the front wall. your head knocked back against the glass with a soft thud. a choked, helpless noise left your throat before you could swallow it.

“that’s it,” he said, voice low and mean right against your cheek. “make that noise again. let me hear what all that righteous anger sounds like when i’ve got my fingers buried in you.”

he fucked you with his hand right there against the window, rough and relentless, the slick, filthy sound of it loud in the quiet room. the heel of his palm ground against your clit on every inward thrust. his other hand stayed on your throat the entire time, thumb stroking the frantic pulse under your jaw.

“you went through my phone,” he said, almost conversational, while his fingers kept working you open with that same punishing rhythm. “stood there looking at me like i betrayed you. and look at you now. spreading your legs the second i touch you. dripping down my wrist.”

you tried to speak. it came out as a moan that cracked in the middle. he laughed under his breath, dark and satisfied. he pulled his fingers out slowly so you could feel every inch of the loss. they were shiny under the low lamplight, coated in you. he lifted them between your faces so you had no choice but to see.

“open.”

you did. without hesitation. he pushed both fingers into your mouth, and you tasted yourself. he watched your lips close around them with an expression of pure possession.

“suck. taste how wet you got while you were calling me lonely.”

you obeyed even while a tiny part of you still wanted to scream at him. the contradiction sat heavy in your chest as you sucked his fingers, tongue working between them. a thin strand of saliva connected his fingers to your bottom lip when he finally pulled them free. he wiped it across your mouth with his thumb and then kissed you again, deep and claiming, tasting yourself on your own tongue.

while his mouth was still on yours, you dropped. your knees hit the carpet, soft but sudden. you kept your eyes on his as you reached up, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pajama pants. you dragged them down his hips, freeing his hard and thick cock, which was already leaking a clear bead at the tip.

he looked down at you for a long second, something dark and approving moving behind his eyes.

“such a good girl,” he said, voice low and rough. “didn’t even need to tell you. so eager for me.”

one hand came to the side of your face, thumb brushing once along your cheek before settling under your jaw, tipping your head back just enough. he pushed his cock between your lips with a low, controlled exhale. the stretch of your mouth around the thickest part of him burned in the best way. he groaned at the feeling. low, almost pained, and the sound went straight between your legs, another pulse of wetness slipping out of you.

he held you there, nose pressed to the warm skin of his stomach, until your eyes watered and your throat fluttered around him. only then did he pull back just enough to let you drag in a rough breath before pushing in again. the rhythm he set was deliberate and deep from the start. spit started to run down your chin. your eyes kept watering. he never looked away from your face.

“that’s it,” he said above you, voice rough and strained. “just like that. look at you… so fucking perfect like this.”

tears slipped from the corners of your eyes and tracked down toward your temples. he wiped one away with his thumb without ever slowing the pace of his hips, the gentleness of the gesture completely at odds with how deep he was pushing into your throat. the contrast made your heart rate skyrocket. you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper on the next stroke, just to hear the way his breath stuttered.

he pulled out suddenly. a thin, glistening string of spit connected your bottom lip to the head of his cock for a second before it broke and fell. you were gasping, chin wet, lips swollen and red. he was breathing hard too, chest rising and falling, the earlier anger still sitting under the surface but softened now into something hungrier.

“get on the bed.”

he stood over you while you climbed onto the bed with shaky legs, still breathing hard, the taste of him thick on your tongue. you scooted back toward the middle of the mattress, the oversized shirt riding up your thighs. he watched every movement like he was deciding how much of the fight he still wanted to punish out of you.

“lie back.”

you did, but slower than he wanted. a small, stubborn delay. his eyes narrowed.

he climbed onto the bed after you, knees spreading your legs open as wide as they could go. the shirt was still on. he didn’t take it off. he just shoved the fabric up past your hips and left it bunched under your breasts, so you stayed half-covered, and somehow more exposed by it. one hand pinned your thigh open. the other wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking once, slow, watching your face.

“still angry?” he asked, voice low.

you swallowed.

“yes.”

“good.” he dragged the head of his cock through the mess between your legs, coating himself in how wet you still were. “stay angry. i want to feel it when i fuck it out of you.”

he lined himself up and drove into you in one long, brutal stroke that punched the air straight out of your lungs. the stretch was sudden and perfect and almost too much. your back arched hard off the mattress, and a high, cracked sound tore out of you before you could stop it. he didn’t give you time to adjust. he set a hard, deep rhythm immediately, hips snapping forward like he was still answering every accusation you’d thrown at him.

“fuck. there it is. that’s the noise i wanted.” he pulled almost all the way out so you felt the drag of every ridge and vein, then slammed back in hard enough that the bed frame knocked against the wall. “still think i’m lonely? still think i need somebody else when i’ve got this tight little pussy wrapped around me like it never wants to let go?”

you tried to answer, but it came out as a filthy, desperate whimper. he laughed under his breath, dark, and drove into you harder.

“say something,” he ordered. “you had plenty to say five minutes ago.”

you dug your nails into the flexing muscles of his back hard enough to leave marks. he hissed through his teeth and fucked you harder for it, like the small pain only fed him. your words came out shaky and defiant at the same time.

“this still doesn’t make you any less of a liar.”

“say it again,” he caught your wrist and pinned it above your head, fingers locking tight around it. “say it while you’re full of me and see what happens.”

he kept the pace punishing. deep and angled precisely to drag against the spot inside you that made your vision blur at the edges, deliberate, like he was trying to drag the fight out of your body through pure force. the wet slap of skin against skin filled the quiet room. your free hand continued to claw at his back. he didn’t slow down.

“look at me,” he said.

you did. his eyes were dark, focused, still carrying the edge of the argument, but something more possessive was at the forefront.

“you’re the only one who gets me like this,” he said, voice rough, almost angry about the admission. “you know that? the only woman in my bed. the only one i let see me when i’m like this.”

the words hit differently than the earlier cuts. they landed lower. your breath stuttered.

he felt it. his rhythm stayed hard, but the angle changed, deeper, more claiming.

“say it,” he muttered. “say you’re the only one.”

you shook your head once, still trying to hold onto the last of the anger, but your voice betrayed you.

“i’m the only one.”

“louder.”

“i’m the only one.” it came out broken. “you’re… fuck. you’re all mine.”

something in his expression cracked open at that. the last of the pure anger bled into something darker and more possessive. he dropped his forehead against yours, still fucking you in long, heavy strokes that made the headboard knock softly against the wall.

“that’s right,” he said, almost to himself. “all yours. and you’re going to take it.”

he released your wrist only to shift his weight, and he hooked one of your legs over his elbow, and the new angle made you sob openly. the slick, filthy sound of him driving into you was the only thing you could hear. the soft slap of it, mixed with the low broken noises you were making and the occasional sharp, controlled exhale from him.

sweat was starting to slick both of you. a drop fell from his temple onto your collarbone. the clean soap smell from his earlier shower was gone, replaced by the thicker, heavier scent of sex and warm skin and the faint metallic edge of leftover adrenaline from the argument. your hands slid down to his moving hips, feeling the powerful flex of muscle under smooth skin every time he thrust forward.

he pulled out without warning, causing you to make a desperate, needy sound of protest that would have embarrassed you any other night. he ignored it completely. before you could reach for him, he had already flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. the motion was effortless, almost careless. one second you were on your back, the next your face was pressed into the sheets and your hips were dragged up until you were face down, ass up, the oversized shirt still bunched under your chest.

he shoved the soft black fabric further up your back in one rough drag, exposing the full line of your spine. his palm settled between your shoulder blades, warm and heavy, and he pushed down until your chest was flush to the mattress and your ass was higher in the air. the position left you completely open. you felt the cool air against how wet you were, felt the way your thighs trembled trying to hold the angle.

“arch your back for me,” he said, voice low and rough. “deeper. let me see how good you take it.”

you did. you arched as deep as the hand between your shoulder blades would allow, presenting yourself. he made a dark, approving sound and lined himself up again. the head of his cock dragged through the mess between your legs once, twice, before he sank back into you in one thick, unforgiving stroke that forced a broken cry out of your throat.

the new angle was deeper; every time he pushed himself to the hilt, you could feel him in your stomach. his hand stayed planted between your shoulder blades, the other tangled in your hair, not pulling yet, just holding, using the grip to keep your back in that deep, obedient arch.

“that’s it,” he muttered. “just like that. good girl. taking me so fucking well.”

you could barely answer. every thrust punched little broken sounds out of you that you couldn’t swallow. your fingers clawed at the sheets. the pressure in your stomach was building too fast, too sharp, the earlier fight still sitting under your skin even as your body opened for him completely willingly and desperately.

he felt it. the way you started tightening around him. the way your thighs started to shake harder.

“you close already?” he asked, almost mean with it. “after all that anger you came at me with, you’re about to cum on my cock this fast?”

you tried to speak. it came out a desperate, high sound. he answered by fucking you harder, the hand in your hair finally tightening so he could pull your head back just enough to deepen the arch even further. the stretch of your throat, the burn in your scalp, the relentless drag of him inside you, it all stacked too high.

you finished hard around him, a full-body shudder that made your arms give out. the sound that left you was raw and helpless. he kept fucking you through it, drawing it out until your thighs were trembling and you were gasping into the sheets, oversensitive and still pulsing around him.

he pulled out before he could follow you over the edge.

the sudden emptiness made you whine. he didn’t give you time to recover. he flipped you onto your back again with the same effortless strength, climbing up your body until he was straddling your chest. his cock was slick, and he wrapped one hand around the base and used the other to tip your chin up, and slapped the tip against your lips.

you opened your mouth without him needing to say a word, and he fed his cock back into your mouth slowly this time, not thrusting, just letting you taste. the flavor of the two of you mixed together was thick and unmistakable: salt and heat and the evidence of how hard you’d just come for him. he held himself there, watching your lips stretch around him, watching the way your tongue moved under the head like you couldn’t help it.

“that’s it,” he said quietly, almost gently under the filth. “clean it up. taste what you just did to me.”

he stayed like that, not fucking your throat, just letting you clean him with your mouth while his free hand stroked your hair. the earlier anger had softened into something darker and more possessive, but the edge was still there; satisfied, claiming, and completely locked on you.

“good,” he murmured. “just like that. take your time.”

after a minute or two of letting you worship him with your tongue, he pulled free with a wet sound, moved back down your body, and pushed your thighs apart with both hands. for a second you thought he was going to fuck you again immediately. instead, he lowered his head between your legs and put his hot mouth on you without any warning.

the first long, flat lick made you cry out sharply. you were still sensitive from your orgasm, and his tongue was relentless. broad strokes over your swollen clit, then pointed and precise, then dipping lower to push inside and taste exactly where his cock had been minutes ago.

he ate you like he was starving and angry about how much he needed it at the same time. two fingers pushed back inside you while he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked in a steady, devastating rhythm. the dual sensation built another orgasm almost immediately, faster than you thought possible.

“fuck” was all you managed to get out as you slammed your thighs tight around michael’s face.

he lifted off of you for a second, just long enough to shove your thighs back down onto the mattress, opening you up again. his mouth was shiny. his eyes were dark.

“don’t you dare cum yet,” he warns, voice dripping with lust. “you cum when i say. not before. you hold it.”

you whimpered, already shaking, the edge so close it hurt. he watched your face for a second longer, making sure you understood, then dropped his head again.

this time he was even meaner with it. his tongue worked in tight, focused circles while his fingers curled hard against the front wall, dragging over the spot that made your vision blur. every time the pressure started to tip too far, he eased off just enough to keep you right on the edge, panting and trembling, your hands fisting the sheets.

“michael—” you choked out.

he hummed against you, the vibration making your hips jerk.

“not yet.”

he kept you there, holding you open with his forearms, eating you like he had all the time in the world and zero intention of letting you fall until he decided. your thighs were shaking so hard the muscles burned. every breath came out broken. the need was so sharp it almost felt like pain.

“ask me nicely,” he commanded.

“please—” you choked out, the rest of your plea turning into loud moans as you started wiggling against his grasp, the sensation being too much.

“use your words.”

“please let me finish. please, michael, please. i need it. i’ll be a good girl, i promise.”

he sealed his mouth over your clit again, sucked hard, and curled his fingers deep.

“give it to me,” he ordered, voice rough and right against you. “right fucking now.”

your body broke on the command. the orgasm ripped through you so hard your back arched clean off the bed, a raw, helpless cry tearing out of your throat as you pulsed around his fingers. he stayed right there through all of it, licking and sucking every wave until you were shaking and oversensitive and trying to twist away.

only then did he slow down, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh while you tried to remember how to breathe.

“there it is,” he murmured. “that’s two. my turn, mama.”

he didn’t give you long to come down.

he moved up your body slowly this time, almost deliberate about it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he settled between your legs again. you were still trembling, thighs weak, the aftershocks of the second orgasm still flickering under your skin. he looked down at you for a long second: flushed, wrecked, lips parted, chest rising too fast. the sight made his cock twitch.

he hooked both of your knees over his elbows and folded you open, pressing your thighs back toward your chest until you were nearly bent in half. the stretch pulled at your hips. the position left you completely vulnerable, completely exposed. he held you there, looking down between your bodies at where you were still shiny and swollen from everything he’d already done to you.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice low. “still so wet. still open for me. so beautiful.”

he lined himself up and pushed in with one long, thick stroke that made you gasp and pull on his hair that was dangling in front of your face. the angle was devastating. he sank so deep you felt it in your stomach, every inch dragging against places that made your toes curl, and your back try to arch even in the folded position. a high, shattered sound tore out of your throat before you could stop it.

he stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, just breathing, letting you feel the full stretch of him. then his hand came back to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, warm and steady. the light pressure was enough to make you flutter hard around his cock on instinct. the sudden clench dragged a low, rough sound out of him.

“fuck,” he breathed, forehead dropping against yours for a second. “that’s it. just like that.”

he started to move.

slow at first. deep. every thrust rolled all the way in until his hips were flush against you, then dragged back out almost to the tip before pushing in again. you could feel every ridge, every thick inch, the way your body stretched to take him. his hand stayed on your throat the entire time, the steady pressure keeping you grounded while the rest of him took you apart.

“you wanted nasty,” he said, voice completely wrecked now. “you wanted a fight. you wanted to push until something broke. this is what you get. my cock rearranging you until you forget every single word you said.”

you tried to answer. the words came out broken and shaky as he bottomed out again.

“you were such a bad girl earlier. going through my phone. coming at me the way you did. and now look at you. all you can think about is how full you are. how deep i am.”

you shook your head weakly, barely able to form words. every thrust forced little helpless noises out of your throat that you couldn’t swallow. your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks.

“say it,” he ordered, breath hot against your mouth. “tell me that’s all you can think about right now.”

“you—” you gasped as he ground against you especially deep. “you’re so deep i can’t. can’t think about anything else—”

“good girl,” he dropped his forehead against yours again, still rolling his hips in those long, deliberate strokes.

he kept the pace deep and measured on purpose, grinding against you on every inward thrust just to watch your face change. the third orgasm built slower this time, heavier, coiling low in your stomach and spreading outward until your thighs were trembling against his arms. every time he buried himself completely, you clenched around him harder, and every time you did, he made a low, satisfied sound like he could feel exactly how close you were.

“that’s it,” he murmured against your mouth. “squeeze me just like that. show me how sorry you are.”

his hand on your throat stayed light but constant, the pressure making everything feel sharper, more intense. you could feel your pulse against his palm. you could feel how hard he was inside you, how he still hadn’t cum, how every deep stroke seemed to push him closer too. the air between you felt thick. every breath mixed. every small sound you made seemed to pull another rough noise out of him.

“you’re getting so tight,” he said, voice starting to strain, the rhythm losing a little of its control. “i can feel you shaking. you’re close again, and i’ve barely been back inside you.”

you nodded frantically, eyes locked on his because he wouldn’t let you look away. the pressure in your stomach had become almost unbearable. every thrust dragged against the front wall, every grind of his hips pushed you closer, the hand on your throat keeping you right there in the moment with him.

“michael—” his name came out cracked and pleading.

“i know, baby. i know.” he drove into you harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. “you’re gonna cum with me this time. i want to feel it. i want to feel it while i fill you up. don’t you dare look away.”

you couldn’t have looked away if you tried. his eyes were locked on yours, dark and focused and almost desperate under the control. the coil inside you kept tightening, low and heavy and relentless, until it felt like you were balanced on the edge of something that might ruin you.

“take it,” he ordered, voice rough and breaking. “take all of it. cum with me, mama. right now.”

you came with a raw, wrecked cry, your whole body locking up around him so hard it almost hurt. the way you clamped down dragged him right over the edge with you. he buried himself as deep as he could go with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you in thick, pulsing waves. you felt every single one of them; hot, heavy, flooding you while your body kept fluttering and squeezing around him like it was trying to pull him even deeper. the shared orgasm rolled through both of you in long, overlapping waves that seemed to last forever. your thighs shook hard against his arms. his forehead stayed pressed to yours. both of you were breathing like you’d been underwater for too long.

he stayed locked against you through all of it, hand still on your throat, cock still buried to the hilt, letting every aftershock pass between you. he stayed inside you for a long time after, longer than he needed to, like he wasn’t ready to break the connection yet.

neither of you spoke. the only sound in the room was the slow, uneven pull of your breathing and the faint tick of the clock on the nightstand. his hand had slipped from your throat at some point and now rested against the side of your neck, thumb stroking absently over your pulse like he was checking that it was coming down. his forehead remained pressed to yours. every few seconds one of you would shift the smallest amount and both of you would feel it; the residual heat, the wetness, the way your bodies were still soft and open and tangled together.

eventually he eased out of you with a quiet, careful sound. the loss made you flinch. he noticed. he always noticed.

“shh,” he whispered, voice rough and low. “i got you.”

he reached down between your bodies and gently wiped the mess from your thighs with the soft inside of the discarded towel from his shower, slow and thorough, like the act itself was part of the apology. only when you were clean did he guide your legs down from where they’d been folded against your chest, rubbing the faint ache out of your hips with warm, careful hands.

then he pulled his oversized black shirt back down over your body, smoothing the soft fabric over your stomach and thighs like he was tucking you back into something safe. only then did he shift onto his side and gather you into him.

you went willingly. your face found the warm hollow of his neck without thinking. his skin still smelled like clean soap and sex and the faint trace of cologne that always lived at the base of his throat. his hair was still slightly damp against your cheek, the soft curls brushing your temple every time he shifted.

one of his arms slid under your shoulders. the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against the full length of his body until there was almost no space left between you. he even hooked one heavy leg over both of yours, the weight of him becoming its own kind of comfort.

for a while, he just held you like that, breathing you in. you felt the soft press of his mouth against the side of your neck, then higher, against the hinge of your jaw, like he was grounding himself the same way you were. his hand moved in long, absent strokes up and down your back. every so often he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, or your temple, or the damp hair at your hairline. the silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. it was quiet in the way that felt earned.

then, soft against your hair:

“i’m sorry.”

the words were quiet. honest. no edge left in them.

he exhaled slowly, the breath warming the side of your face.

“i’m sorry i got so angry. and defensive.” his hand kept moving on your back, steady and gentle. “i should’ve just reassured you instead of shutting down. i love you, and i hate that i made you feel like you had to go looking for answers.”

you felt the apology settle somewhere deep in your chest. your fingers curled lightly against his collarbone.

“i’m sorry too,” you whispered into his neck. your voice came out small and a little rough. “i shouldn’t have gone through your phone. i should have trusted you. i just… i heard you laughing with her, and it scared me. i thought—”

his arm tightened around you immediately.

“hey.” he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes were soft in the low light, the earlier darkness completely gone. he lifted one hand and brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, fingers lingering against your cheek. “i’m not going anywhere. you hear me?”

you nodded, but he wasn’t finished.

“i’m not leaving you.” his thumb stroked once over your cheekbone. “she’s just someone i’ve worked with for a long time. that’s all it was. i promise.” he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, then another to the space between your brows. “you have nothing to worry about. not with me. not with this.”

the words landed deeper than you expected. something in your throat tightened. you closed your eyes and let yourself lean into the touch of his mouth against your skin.

he kept talking, voice low and steady, like he needed you to feel every word.

“you’re the one i come home to. you’re the one i ask to stay. you’re the one in my bed every night. i know the album has been taking too much of me. i know i’ve been distant. but none of that means i’m pulling away from you. it just means i’ve been tired and stupid about how i handle it.” his hand slid up into your hair, cradling the back of your head. “i’m still here. i’m still yours. nothing about that has changed.”

you turned your face further into his neck, breathing him in. the solid warmth of his body, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers kept moving gently through your hair… it all wrapped around the leftover fear and started to quiet it.

“i got so scared,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “talking to her sounded so easy. and things between us haven’t felt easy in a while.”

“i know.” he kissed the top of your head again. “and that’s my fault too. i should have been better about making sure you still felt chosen even when things get busy. i’m going to be better about it. i promise.”

he shifted slightly so he could pull the covers up over both of you. the sheets were cool at first, then warmed quickly from the heat of your combined bodies. he tucked them carefully around your shoulders, then settled you more firmly against his chest, one leg still draped heavily over yours so you were completely surrounded by him.

for a long time after that, he just held you. his hand kept up its slow path along your spine. every so often he would tip your chin up and kiss you; soft, closed-mouth, lingering kisses that had nothing to do with the earlier heat and everything to do with reassurance. you kissed him back the same way, slow and quiet, letting the tenderness settle into your bones. between the kisses, he kept murmuring things, half against your mouth, half against your skin. you could hear the whispers, little broken pieces of “i’ve got you” and “you’re safe” and “i’m right here.”

the house around you felt different now. the earlier emptiness had eased. the dark beyond the windows no longer felt quite so large. his heartbeat under your cheek was steady and real. the scent of his skin, the weight of his arm, the quiet way he kept murmuring soft things into your hair… all of it wrapped around you until the last of the fight finally loosened its grip.

you fell asleep like that, tucked against him under the covers, his hand still moving slowly up and down your back, his mouth occasionally brushing your temple in the dark.

and for the first time in weeks, the quiet didn’t feel like distance.

it just felt like home.

[gogoyubari888]

This was phenomenal👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

[pvtypyt]

be quiet and keep the glasses on !

the jacksons!michael x black reader

synopsis: michael was overly loud on the creek after you told him to be quiet constantly he still won’t listen

warnings: riding, michael with glasses, takes place in the 70s, established relationship, whiny!michael, freaky reader.

If you knew anything in this world it was that your boyfriend was the most vocalist person you’ve ever met in your life even after you told him to shut his mouth multiple times or you’d both be caught after sneaking away from the rest of his brothers and Joseph. Right now michael was currently looking up at you with those wide expressive eyes that you could even see behind his glasses that he was wearing, his back pressed against the tree as his hands were holding your hips as his mouth were babbling pleas and whimpers.

“oh f-fuck don’t stop mama,” he whimpered softly his hands squeezing your hips, his glasses on the bridge of his nose. You loved whenever he wore his glasses, made him look so handsome. You bounced slower just a bit to tease him. “mikey we gotta be quiet.” You huffed out sinking down on his dick with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, your dress hiked up to your waist, your eyes looking directly into his making eye contact. You bit down on your bottom lip trying to muffle a moan to be quiet.

“hngh– you’re so tight, feels s’good,” he whines, voice cracking as you bounce up and down on his dick. His hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your rhythm but it’s sloppy like too fast, too desperate. His dick slipping half out before slamming back in at an awkward angle. “uh-uh,” you said sharply, planting your hands on his chest giving him an obvious signal to stop moving like that. “don’t fuck me like that, fuck me like this.” You demonstrate by rolling your hips slow grinding down so every inch of him stays buried inside you.

he whimpers, his glasses sliding down his nose as he tries to watch you bounce on his dick. He reaches up to his glasses trying to take them off, fingers fumbling at the frames then suddenly slight slap that didn’t even hurt went across his face. His eyes blown wide…did you just slap him? He thought. His face turned to the side glasses still on, he turns his head back to you his eyes filled with love and lust. “wha…did you just-“

“Keep them on,” you order, voice low and firm. “I want you to watch me ride you, got it?” You asked, you didn’t know what crossed your mind to smack your loving boyfriend but it seemed as if he actually wanted more of it or sorta enjoyed it actually. His eyes were teary eyed behind the glasses, a small pout on his lips as he pressed his lips together muffling a moan as you started picking up the pace and slamming down on his dick harder.

“Hmnh-“ he whimpers, brows furrowed and biting down on his bottom lip as his hands slide down to your ass spreading them a bit. “i-i love you…..oh wow,” he shutters beneath you a bit. “so much baby,” his big for eyes looking at you. You tilt your head pulling down your dress straps as your boobs were now in his face.

You grip his jaw, tilting his head up as you lean forward, pressing your tits against his mouth. “Suck,” you order your voice low and soft. He whimpers, lips parting obediently as he latches onto your nipple, sucking hard his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. “mmngh” his moan vibrates against your skin, loud unrestrained echoing throughout the area.

“shh,” you said softly still bouncing on his dick. Your pussy making squelching noises whenever he thrusted his hips upward meeting you. This time his thrust were more controlled, short deliberate snaps of his hips that match the grind of your pussy around his thick length. You whimpered letting out moans, the sound was needy and soft. “f-feel that baby?” You ask tilting your head as you wrapped your arms around his neck bouncing up and down faster chasing yours and his release.

He lets your nipple go with a wet pop, his eyes looking at yours as if he craved your soul. “yes God yes!” He moaned out loudly not even caring anymore that he was supposed ti be quiet on the creek. “be quiet baby, you’re so l-loud.” You said throwing your head back as you felt a tight knot in your stomach. His eyes flutter behind those fogged lenses, but he doesn’t stop whimpering and babbling things like.

“so pretty baby.”

“you’re doing so good mama, just like that keep bouncing on your dick.”

“you fucking me s-so good, please don’t stop.”

“I know i know, but you gotta be quiet m-michael.” You pressed your lips together hearing branches being stepped on. The thrill of being caught really seemed to excite you. You started bouncing harder and faster as you started moaning loud just like michael. “mmngh– fuck fuckkk yes mikey! dick fucking me so good!” You moaned out loudly.

“m’gonna cum mommy, don’t stop baby,” his thrust grow erratic beneath you, his dick swelling thick inside your pussy as his whimpers grow frantic. You can definitely feel him trembling every muscle straining as he fights to hold back releasing his thick load of cum inside you. “please– fuck I’m gonna–“ his voice cracks, high and desperate. You cover his mouth with your palm but his words were now muffled against your palm as you press harder over his mouth.

“shh, baby” you murmur, leaning down as your tits brush his face again. “Be quiet f’me, come on honey cum inside your pussy, come on.” You murmur, your thighs beginning to tremble as you felt your release about to snap. His glasses are completely fogged now, lenses streaked and useless but he keeps them on as his hips stutter then slam up one final time. “wait– baby!” Hot cum pulses deep inside you in thick, heavy spurts his whole body jerking with each wave.

The feeling of him cumming, dick throbbing his cum flooding your pussy. It pushes you over the edge, your walls clamp down around him as your orgasm crashes through you, your thighs shaking as you grind down hard taking every drop while your pussy milks him through it. His moans are loud even through your hand, broken and overwhelmed but you don’t let up. You ride him through both of you guys orgasms, slow and deliberate until his dick stop twitching and your own pleasure finally ebbs.

After you both calmed down, you pressed your forehead to his you and him trying to catch your breaths. You gave him a quick peck to his lips. “Good boy,” you breathe finally lifting your head up from his forehead. “so good for me….you did good baby.” You kiss all over his cheeks trying to soothe him.

“just don’t be loud on the creek again.”

🏷️: @superstar-t20 @soleantoinette @curlypytclubx @peterpansdreamer @aloeveraaa333 @youluvyannie @leahmariieee @muchixo @sayyoulovemeziya @totallyavixxen @neverstreett @impala04 @prettygirlwmula @kisscoqueen @flygirlarchivee @tojiswifeforlife @gingerrsnapp @crazylady20 @mrjacksonswh0ree @yesalphadawn @umafanficdoidaqualquer @theprincessh3rself @ryuoniii @btcilovemj @brxght-world @j-nae @michaelssidegyal @mrsfantastic @bawdylanguageee @kissmyglxck @arielletheemermaidd @oidloid @sweettaverntrophy @whimsybunnii @xenni @scccm0182 @ibelieveinmpreg @vvvolatilee @mel4ninduchess @savagenctzen @melodiesmurakamis @lovingyeet @plan3tch1ld @michaeltrapson156 @prettygurljo @alientee @saints4record @apyr-b-mockbe @bellalovessxo @w1ckedp1nk

[theonlyonlinefish]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐬|𝐌.𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

3/3

Months had passed since Michael had heard from you. What started as the occasional call claiming you were sick turned into assistants filling in for you, each arriving with a new excuse for your absence

Michael tried to be patient, but it wasn’t the same

No matter who stepped into your position, none of them measured up. They couldn’t anticipate his needs or understand him the way you did, and it was beginning to frustrate him more than he’d cared to admit. Every passing day only made one thing clearer

He didn’t just miss your work ethic but he missed you just overall

Finally, tired of every excuse, Michael decided he wanted the truth straight from you. Even if it hurt, he’d rather hear it than be left wondering. Without another word, he asked his driver to take him to your house

You were in the middle of turning off the stove, taste-testing the soup with a few small slurps before nodding in approval. Just then, your phone rang

Quickly wiping your fingers on a kitchen rag, you answered, “Hello?”

“I’m outside” Michael simply implied

Your heart sank. Instantly, you looked into the living room, finding your husband still asleep on the sofa

“Michael, wh—” you whispered

Before you could finish, he hung up

You slipped out the front door in your house clothes and a beige trench coat, dodging the rain as you hurried toward the black SUV parked a few houses down

The moment you climbed inside, your heart began racing. There was Michael. After months apart, just seeing him again filled your stomach with butterflies

Silence crept in for a few minutes, only the sound of rain hitting the top of the car. Finally Michael reached for your hand and gently rubbed your knuckles “How are you?”

“I’m okay…how are you?” Your eyes still not meeting his

He chuckled softly “I didn’t come here for small talk, I wanna know why you’ve been making excuses”

Biting on your bottom lip, you withdrew your hand getting nervous. Staring out the window watching the rain fall “I just needed time”

“For what?”

Now looking down at your nails, Michael gently put his fingers under your chin “Time for what?”

“He knows about us Michael” a tear fell from your eye and landed on his hand “He found one of your letters”

Wiping away your tears with the brush of his thumb, he instinctively pulled you into his embrace, holding you close until your breathing steadied. When the two of you finally began to pull away, neither of you truly did. Instead, you lingered there, foreheads resting together, silently searching each other’s eyes as if neither of you wanted to be the first to let go

“I miss you so much baby” you whispered

“I miss you all the time—I need you” he confessed

It seemed the rain had begun pouring even harder over the city, drumming relentlessly against the roof of the car. The sound was almost deafening now, filling the silence that neither of you had the strength to break. As much as you wished you could stay in this moment forever, it hurt even more to remain when deep down, you both knew what had to happen next

“I should get back to the house” your voice cracking as you wiped your tear on your sleeve

“You don’t have to leave, you know”

That’s what made Michael so intoxicating, his sweetness and humble demeanor is what pulled you in. The man who had so much power and everything he could possibly want at his feet, only wanted you when everything was said and done

“Michael…”

“One last kiss then I’ll leave you alone”

You bit on your lip, hesitating “One kiss”

The two of you leaned in, Michael caressing your face as the two of you pressed your lips together. Holding the space just before you both began moving your lips in sync. The both of you holding onto one another just before you gently started pushing Michael onto the leathered seat—still holding onto the kiss. Softly moaning in his mouth

You missed this. You missed the way Michael caressed your body & made you feel so seen without having to do too much, he understood your body

Just that fast Michael had your face pressed into the leather seats, fingers pressed deeply into your hips as he fucked you from behind. The car began rocking slightly at the same speed of his thrusting. He scoffed in a cocky manner watching you cry and cream around the circumference of his dick “You left me alone & he still can’t fuck you like I can”

Your fingers dug into the door pocket, crying out for more and for Michael to keep fucking you. In the moment you couldn’t care less about your husband. Every few seconds it was “I love you so much” “I missed this” or “Please don’t stop fucking me!”

The worst part about it was that Michael listened to you, his body hovered over yours and his hands left marks behind on the window, sliding down from the condensation on the window. The windows were fogged and steamed. His relentless fucking followed by his sweet, affirming, and seductive demeanor

“What am I gonna do without you? Hmm?”

“I don’t wanna be without you” you pleaded locking your fingers with his

“I don’t wanna let go either—but you deserve better. It’s not fair to you anymore”

You climaxed for the last time, this time you were bouncing in Michael’s lap while he held your face close to his, kissing his ear as your sweet whimpers finally released. Your vocal cords on the verge of going out from the constant whining. Michael gently stroked the back of your head until he reached his peak, the both of you cumming for the third time. Even though your body was exhausted, you still couldn’t get enough of Michael. It wasn’t even physical anymore,you craved him mentally and emotionally too. His wit, his charm, the way he could make you laugh without trying. Being around him had become almost addictive, and the thought of having to go without him made your chest ache

It was obvious this wasn’t just normal sex anymore. There was something heavier behind every touch, every kiss. Like neither of you wanted to say it out loud, but deep down you both knew this was goodbye. Even the way Michael stared at you in the final moments was detrimental, like he didn’t want this to end because he knew this was it

Before you walked away, you turned back to Michael one last time. He had already slipped his glasses back on, trying his best to hide the sadness written all over his face, but his eyes gave him away. Stepping closer, you gently cradled his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks before pressing a soft kiss to his lips

“Are we ever gonna see each other again?”

His lips pressed together as he looked down at you, forcing the smallest smile despite the sadness sitting heavy in his eyes. His hands found your waist, holding you there for just a few seconds longer

“I hope so” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your side “I don’t wanna believe this is the last time I’ll ever see you”

His gaze dropped to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “But if it is…” he paused, swallowing hard, “I’m glad the last thing I got to do was kiss you”

And just like that, that was it.

So you thought—until that dreadful moment finally came

You sat frozen on the bathroom counter, the silence around you almost deafening as you stared down at the tests trembling between your fingers. Two of them. Different brands, taken minutes apart, yet both carried the exact same answer

Two unmistakable lines

Your stomach dropped

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t even convince yourself that what you were seeing was real

Positive.

Both of them

Taglist: @slugstarzz @diorzaep @michaeljacksonsfavfish @mikeysfishfr @mikeysfavoritefish @michaelkisskissgirl @michaelsgirllxo @18lkpeters @applesange1s @barnesnnobles @szalipcombo @narratedillusions @savagenctzen @kiwikisses20 @loveposiie @xoxogossipgirl20 @yungrapunzel @botdfaholic @j3nnyluvscupc4k3s @curlypytclubx @neverstreett @matcha-nicolas @evetheegoonette @heeheeconjuring @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @naturallykae @j-nae @ridingreeves @justboredroaming

[nistxrr]

◟ ۫ ׅ FAMILY REUNION (?) ⎯⎯ MICHAEL J. pt. 1

𝒂uthor's note ᨳଓ ◞ ive never ever ever ever everrrr written angst ( i wouldn't even really call this angst ) but i've been practicing so i hope that it's enjoyable!

゛𝒔ynopsis ⨾ are you ready and willing to rekindle with michael after months upon months of abandonment?゛

゛𝐜ontains ━ angst your daughter is referred to as "minnie" ◞ 𝟭.𝟵𝟯𝟴𝓴

if having a child with michael jackson meant raising your daughter mostly alone, you would have wished you’d taken more time to weigh that choice.

michael hadn’t come to see her since her fifth birthday in january, and now april had arrived– which meant Minnie's favorite holiday was coming up, easter.. the three of you had always spent that holiday together at neverland. the night before, you and michael would quietly set out the easter egg hunt in the backyard, preparing the small magic for her to discover. you pushed those sweet, cherished memories to the far edge of your mind. there was no room to linger in sadness when you had to keep balancing the demands of being an artist with the daily work of raising a child.

of course you called—again and again. but michael was never available. without a tour to keep him moving, he buried himself in work, rarely leaving the studio. that kind of total immersion, it seemed, was reserved for him alone. when you wanted time to work on your own projects, the studio hours you could claim were scarce and hard-won.

you had just finished putting your daughter down for her afternoon nap when the doorbell rang. you walked to the door and opened it. the moment you saw michael standing there the shock hit you hard. your face went still and your eyes widened before you could stop them. a sudden heat rose behind your eyes and they began to water. you blinked several times but the tears stayed close to the surface.

michael looked past you almost immediately. he physically couldn’t hold your gaze for more than a second or two, as if he were almost too ashamed to meet your eyes. his attention was already moving beyond you into the house.

“where’s minnie?” he asked.

the question landed flat. he didn’t wait for you to answer, nor did he ask how you were. he stepped forward as if the doorway belonged to him. you moved aside without thinking. he walked in and scanned the hallway.

“is she upstairs?” he said. “i need to see her.”

michael kept looking toward the stairs and the rooms beyond, clearly focused only on finding his daughter. he didn’t turn back to you or acknowledge the tears rolling down your face. he repeated her name once more, quieter this time, as if saying it would bring her into view. he knew she could recognize his voice, and before he knew it, she was carefully retreating down the stairs–carefully like you’d taught her–doe eyes bloomed at the sight of her father with a cheeky smile on her face. calling out his name.

michael’s posture changed the instant he recognized the sound. he moved toward it without another word to you. when she appeared at the end of the hall and saw him she stopped. then she ran. michael dropped to one knee and caught her. he kept one arm around her and finally glanced in your direction, though only briefly. the look didn’t linger. his attention returned to minnie as she asked where he’d been. he gave a short answer about work and told her he’d missed her. she accepted it, took his hand, and pulled him toward the living room.

you finally moved from the front door after locking it. you stood for a moment and watched your daughter speak to her father. she was telling him about easter and the egg hunt from last year. you took a slow breath and gathered yourself as she turned and asked you to come sit with them.

“mommy, come here,” she said. you couldn’t do much but follow her words. seeing her so happy after all this time, you just couldn’t push yourself to ruin it. so you sat, slightly distancing yourself from michael but not enough for your daughter to notice.

minnie immediately climbed into the space between you, still holding michael’s hand. she chattered on about how much fun she had last easter, though she didn’t remember much. michael listened, nodding at the right moments, murmuring soft answers.

after a few minutes your daughter slid down and ran to her toy basket, returning with a worn picture book she wanted him to read. he took it without protest and opened it on his lap. his voice was quiet, almost careful, as he began the story. you stayed where you were, hands folded in your lap, watching the two of them.

she noticed your distance from michael and pulled you closer by your arm. hugging it tightly as she grew the courage to ask the question she’d been so eager to ask.

“mommy, can we go spend the night at daddy’s house?”

before you could get the words out, michael responded instead.

“not today, baby,” he said, voice gentle but already edged with the kind of finality that made your stomach tighten. “daddy has to go soon.”

minnie’s face fell so quickly it almost hurt to watch. the bright excitement that had carried her down the stairs drained away in an instant. her small hands tightened into little fists.

“but you just got here,” she said, confused. “you said you missed me. you said—”

he reached out and smoothed her hair, fingers careful, almost hesitant, the way he used to when she was much younger and still fit entirely in the crook of his arm. “i know. i did miss you. i do. and i’ll come back. i promise.”

she didn’t look convinced. her lower lip pushed out, and she glanced at you as if hoping you would override him the way you sometimes did when bedtime came too early or when she wanted one more story. you stayed quiet, letting the moment belong to them, even though every part of you wanted to step in and soften the blow.

michael shifted on the couch so he was more fully facing her. he closed the photo book with care and set it aside, then took both of her hands in his.

“listen to me, okay?” he said, softer now. “i’m not disappearing again. not like before. i have a few things i still have to finish—important things—but i’ll be back on sunday. all day. we’ll do whatever you want. we can go to the toy store, or just sit right here and talk. whatever you choose. whatever, minnie.”

she studied his face, searching for the same careful distance she had grown used to hearing in his voice over the phone. “you promise? really promise?”

“i really promise.” he lifted one of her hands and pressed a light kiss to the back of it, the old gesture that used to make her giggle. “sunday. i’ll be here before you even finish breakfast.”

she still looked uncertain, but the sharp edge of disappointment had dulled a little. he asked her what she wanted to do on sunday and listened carefully while she listed ideas, nodding and adding small suggestions of his own so it felt like a real plan instead of an empty reassurance. every time her eyes flicked toward the door as if expecting him to stand and leave, he gently redirected her attention back to the present.

eventually the light outside began to soften into late evening, and minnie started to rub at her eyes the way she always did when tiredness caught up with her. michael noticed first. he glanced at the clock, then at you, then back to her.

“how about this,” he said, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “let me give you a bath and get you ready for bed. i’ll stay until you’re all tucked in. then daddy has to go, but only for a few days. okay?”

she hesitated, still reluctant to let the visit end, but the offer of more time with him—real, ordinary time—won out. she nodded and slid off the couch, already reaching for his hand.

michael stood and looked at you over the top of her head, a quiet question in his eyes. you gave a small nod. he would handle bedtime. you would stay downstairs and try to steady whatever was still left unsettled between the two of you once the house grew quiet again. he led her toward the stairs without another word to you, her small hand wrapped tightly in his, and the soft sound of their voices drifted down the hallway as they disappeared upstairs.

you were wiping down the counters when michael came back downstairs. the sponge moved in slow, habitual circles over the same stretch of granite you’d already cleaned twice, the kind of mindless motion that kept your hands busy while your mind stayed somewhere else. you heard the soft announcement from the entryway of the kitchen—“she’s asleep”—and gave a short nod without looking up.

“close the door behind you,” you said, still focused on a faint sticky spot near the sink.

you heard the soft thump of his baseball cap landing on the sofa cushions, followed by the creak of the cushions as he sat down. for a few seconds the house was almost completely still except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

“come sit with me,” he said after a moment. his voice was quieter than usual, careful. “we need to talk. like grown adults.”

you stopped wiping. your hand stayed on the sponge for a second longer than necessary before you set it down and finally turned around. michael was sitting on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them. he looked worn out in a way that had nothing to do with the late hour—his shoulders slightly hunched.

the phrase “like grown adults” sat between you like something that had been waiting to be said for a long time, only now it was coming from the wrong direction. you had been trying—quietly, carefully, choosing the moments yet to have exactly that kind of conversation for the last four months. every time you brought something up, it got deferred–whenever he would actually answer the phone.

saying he was too tired. the timing was bad. he needed to decompress first. there was always a reason it wasn’t the right moment, and eventually you stopped pushing because pushing only made the distance wider.

you leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed, and looked at him for a long second before speaking. “interesting timing,” you said, keeping your voice even. “i’ve been trying to have a grown conversation with you for four months. it’s kinda funny how it only becomes possible when you decide the moment is right.”

michael’s jaw tightened. he looked down at his hands, then back up. “that’s not completely fair.”

“isn’t it?” you didn’t raise your voice. there was no point. “every time i tried—you found a way to shut it down. you were exhausted. you needed space. it wasn’t the right time. we’d talk soon. and now, just ‘cause you feel like it, we’re supposed to sit down and finally do this?”

“i know i’ve been avoiding it,” he said finally. his voice was quieter. “i know that. and i’m sorry. but i’m here now. i’m asking. can we just sit down and talk?”

after a few seconds you pushed off the counter and walked into the living room. you didn’t sit next to him. you took the armchair across from the sofa so he had to look at you.

“alright,” you said. “talk.”

“i…i don’t even know where to start,”

taglist ؛ ଓ @bbybemine @jasadist @flygirlarchivee @rejithink @sighrns @fortuncooki @vict-oryy @muchluv4mj @diaryofmichaelsgf @melodiesmurakamis @yearlyjams @chai4bambi @sayyoulovemeziya

[carouselgirl77]

⋆˙⟡⋆ BUSY WOMAN .ᐟ.ᐟ

pairing: 𝓶ichael jackson x 𝓯em!reader

summary: 𝔂ou are far too busy for a boyfriend, which is why your arrangement works perfectly with michael. 𝓪t least that was until he confronts you for something more.

tags: 18+ mdni, 𝓼ituationship, 𝓯riends with benefits, 𝓯ashion industry!reader, 𝔀orkaholic!reader, 𝓬ommitment issues, 𝓶ichael's greedy apparently, 𝔂earning, 𝓾nprotected p in v, 𝓼oftdom!mike, 𝓹raise, 𝓼mut with plot, 𝓱appy ending.

wc: 3.1k

a/n: thank you all for 350 followers!! got this idea listening to busy woman by sabrina carpenter. i cannot help myself writing bird & yearning mike, so ur welcome!!

"hold still," you mumbled through a pin you were holding in your teeth.

"i am holding still."

"you're talking."

"i can't talk?"

"not when you move every time you do."

michael stood a little straighter, planting his feet firmly on the floor so as not to move. but you could still see the smirk he was trying to hold back in your peripheral vision.

technically, you weren't supposed to be here at all. you had just finished an eleven-hour day, and tomorrow promised at least ten more. you had three unanswered messages on your answering machine, four appointments tomorrow, and a meeting with some of the girls who worked under you in your company.

and yet, you were kneeling in front of michael jackson, fitting him for a suit he was supposed to wear later that week.

it was for work, or well, mostly.

"what are you doing on friday?" michael asked.

"working."

"saturday?"

"working too."

"you didn't even check."

you sighed, looking up at him, grabbing another pin from the cushion next to you. "i don't have to. i know what i'm doing."

michael bit his bottom lip, silent for a moment before continuing. "sunday?"

you laughed under your breath. "what, you trying to make an appointment?"

"apparently."

you and michael's relationship (or lack thereof) started completely innocent. his team worked routinely with your company, and as the head stylist, you were usually the one working on him.

michael was a total flirt, but you assumed it was harmless. at least that was until he began lingering longer after appointments, 'accidentally' bumping into you or brushing your skin, and finally, one day, kissing you after a three and a half hour fitting.

it was a total breach of conduct in every single way that you guys were hooking up. but you were now twenty-eight, and you, in full honesty, needed some dick or else you'd probably lose your mind.

that's what was so perfect about you and michael. despite being one of the busiest & most famous people on the planet, he was always available when you were free. he'd bend around your schedule. and, on top of it all, he was completely fine staying as hookup buddies.

"how much longer?" he asked.

"i'm almost done."

"and after that?"

"after this, i'm done."

"with me?"

"with work," you corrected.

michael hummed in approval, seeming to appreciate the distinction. you folded a piece of fabric over, sliding the last pin into place. "but i don't need to go home for another two hours."

"two whole hours?" he joked.

"i know, it's basically a vacation."

"let me take you to dinner then."

you rose to your feet, furrowing your brows at him. "i already ate."

"that's not what i meant."

"well, then you should've asked me earlier."

michael tried to smile, but you still caught the small eye roll. "i've been asking you."

"don't get greedy now. i just told you i have two hours."

michael repeated it under his breath. "greedy."

you put a hand on his chest, the same one that was wearing the suit you just carefully fit to him, making a clear distinction between working and being with him. "what? you don't want to?"

he melted under your touch, smiling, and bringing a hand up to wrap around your waist. "of course i do, baby," he said, pulling you in for a deep kiss.

and that's how it always happened. he could never stay mad at you, and anyway, it wasn't ever your fault. you never minded how all your carefully protected free time had become his. that was the whole point.

over the next month, you saw michael four times. once for work, and the other three completely by choice.

along the time you spent together, you started to learn more and more about him. he hated spaghetti. he loved kfc. he got quiet when he was tired, as to not lash out at anyone. he hated being rushed, and would wake up an extra twenty minutes earlier if it meant he could enjoy his morning.

similarly, he seemed to be noting things about you too. you'd bring flats to work just because you knew your feet would be hurting by noon. how you'd forget to eat after long days. how you hated being called before eight, because that's when 'the worst clients call.'

it didn't mean much to you. spending a lot of time with someone meant knowing someone, and knowing someone didn't mean loving someone.

one afternoon months ago, michael had called your work number late into the night.

"hello?" you said through gritted teeth, absolutely exhausted.

"you're still there?"

"i'm always here."

"have you eaten?"

you glanced over at the now-cold coffee cup sitting beside a stack of sketches. "not really- but i was gon-"

"no," michael interrupted. "you need to eat. i'll have my security get you that chinese place you like."

"michael, you don't need to do that."

"i know i don't need to," he paused. "i want to."

you couldn't put up much of a fight, and just thinking about your favorite chinese restaurant had your mouth watering.

so you let him. just like you let him do a lot of things for you; completely voluntary on his part. he was just a nice guy that was looking after you, but you didn't need it.

of course, it wasn't completely one-sided either. you had gotten him a new pair of sunglasses from one of your fittings. when you first saw them, you smiled to yourself. he would love these. the designer had told you he had a whole box of them, and let you keep them. you gave them to michael the following week.

"for me?" he smiled as you showed him the glasses from behind your back.

"i thought you'd like them. i imagined you'd look good in them."

"where'd you get them, baby?" he blushed. he'd always call you that, despite the fact you were not his baby.

"they're versace. i got them from a fitting."

michael smiled, opening them up and sliding them over his nose. "just like you imagined?"

you hummed lowly, coming close to whisper to him. "hmm... almost. i also imagined me riding you with them on."

his breath caught in his throat, fully freezing before his lips crashed against yours. he couldn't let anything you dreamed of stay inside that pretty head of yours.

a friday after your back and forth, michael had called your work number and asked to see you that night. actually, he specifically asked to get dinner with you.

your schedule was suffocating, and from the looks of it, you wouldn't be done until around eleven.

"so no dinner?" he asked through the receiver.

"unless you want to eat at twelve," you laughed, the phone cradled between the crook of your neck and your cheek.

"i would."

you licked your pointer finger, flipping through a stack of paperwork on your desk. "you'd fall asleep at the table."

"no, i wouldn't."

you grabbed the phone from your cheek. "michael, i'll see you another night."

michael paused, silence stretching through the call before finally speaking. "...okay."

"okay?"

"yeah. okay."

"i'll call you," you smiled, even though he couldn't see you. "bye, baby."

"bye" was the last thing you heard before the familiar tone of the other line dropping came through.

you set the phone back down, and got back to work.

as it turned out, eleven was a dramatic estimate. you signed off on the last design that crossed your desk around nine-fifteen, checked the clock, and started packing your bags.

with the now-free time, you decided to head over to neverland to see him.

most of the lights were off in the office; your purse slouched over your shoulder when you grabbed the phone. you knew michael's number by heart.

michael answered on the second ring, and you explained to him that you had finished early. he, very hesitantly for whatever reason, said you could still come over.

once you got there, you knocked on the heavy wooden doors before michael came to open them.

"hey," you smiled.

"hi," he said quietly, opening the door more to let you in.

"what happened to eleven?" he continued.

"i'm more efficient than i thought."

"good for you."

you hung your jacket on the nearby rack, turning to look at him. "what's wrong with you?"

"nothing's wrong with me."

"...you're acting weird."

"no, i'm not, i'm just tired," he said, stepping closer, his hands finding the fabric of your shirt around your waist.

"mhm..."

he softened, even slightly smiling. "what?"

"you're grumpy."

"me? i'm never grumpy."

you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek, the skin blooming red afterwards.

he came down, his lips finding yours lazily, before walking you backwards into the wall.

you breathed heavily onto his skin, your hand coming up to run through the back of his curls. his hands moved further down, grabbing your ass and pulling you flush against him.

you could feel everything- the familiar heat pooling in between your legs, as you began absentmindedly rocking against the growing bulge constricted in his pants.

his tongue broke between your lips, messy, but with a precision that alone made you weak. he kissed you with such intensity, as if he was trying to leave your taste on his lips so he could memorize it forever.

he broke away for only a second, heavy breathing. "let's go upstairs."

you nodded intently, your eyes already heavily lidded with lust. you followed him upstairs and down the hall of the home, into his master bedroom.

once you both got into the room, his lips found yours again. he groaned into you, not pulling away until finally tossing his shirt off in one, fluid move.

his hands roamed all over you, first to your ass, then your waist, then to cup your breasts- his fingers feathering your nipples over the fabric, then up to your face to cup your cheek.

you grabbed the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head, leaving you in just your bra.

he bit his lower lip, kissing the side of your neck as he unclasped the back of it. once your chest was bare, he stood, admiring, like you were the most beautiful thing on this planet.

"i could never get tired of seeing you like this," he whispered. "you take my breath away every time, my pretty girl."

you smiled, almost a little nervous, feeling his gaze on you. he quickly slid your pants off, making sure to hook his fingers on the edge of your panties, leaving you fully naked.

he did the same for himself, stuttering with his belt buckle and his pants sliding off and pooling on the floor. his boxers came off next, his cock springing free- fully erect and precum sitting atop his tip.

"lay on the bed for me baby. i've been thinking about you all week."

you stumbled back, your knees catching on the edge of the bed as your back hit the mattress. your thighs widened, practically involuntary, as he settled himself in between them.

michael brought his fingers to your folds, lightly grazing them through your wetness.

"baby, you're so wet already. just from me kissing you? you missed me that bad?"

you bit your bottom lip hard, a little shy, your back arching as he teased you. "you missed me more," you choked out.

his fingers stopped, landing just at your hole. "that might be true."

he smirked, driving two fingers directly into you, curling them just to the spot that drove you crazy.

you cried out, your knees buckling as he slammed his fingers into you. he brought his mouth to yours, trying to swallow your moans with a kiss, but you could hardly kiss him back.

he was not letting up, and if anything, his pace ran harder and quicker, even bringing his thumb up to circle around your clit.

you trembled, your hands not knowing where to grab. his back, drawing lines into the skin. his forearm, grasping it as he fingered you. the sheets, pulling at the fabric. nothing worked, and the coil inside you was tightening quickly.

"stay still, pretty," he coaxed, bringing his other hand to hold down your thigh onto the bed.

all you could do was yell out random profanities and his name, all falling from your lips. and then, you came. hard. the coil inside you snapped, your legs trembling, your vision going to stars, and a rush of pleasure filling every nerve in your body.

"you did so good for me, baby. you're so pretty when you come," michael whispered, guiding you through every aftershock that came. he was dedicated to riding this out.

michael slowly came up, sliding his fingers out and sticking them in his mouth. he couldn't let a drop go to waste. he needed your taste on his tongue forever.

he captured you in another kiss, and you could taste the musky flavor of yourself still on his lips, only turning you on more.

his hardness grinded against you as he moved lower, his mouth finding your nipple and lapping it flat against his tongue. his hand came up to roll the other one in between his fingers, his teeth grazing the one in his mouth. god, you could've come right there.

"please-" you whined.

"please, what baby?" he asked between kisses. "i'm going to need words."

"please," you hesitated. "please fuck me. i need you in me."

his hips stuttered forward at your words, finally settling himself fully between your legs and bringing your thighs to wrap around his waist.

he stabilized his hands on the bed, slowly pushing his length into you, letting you adjust to his size. you gasped as his tip bobbed in, filling you so completely in a way no one else had.

he eased in more, quicker this time, before fully bottoming out. he groaned deep, coming down to plant a kiss against your neck.

you two hardly did missionary, as you both agreed it was far too intimate. yet, now that you were, you understood the hype. you wanted to see his face fucking you forever.

"you drive me crazy, you know that?" he said through his heavy breathing.

you moaned as he moved, sliding in and out of you slowly. "i knew i could fix your attitude."

michael didn't reply, but instead showed it in his thrusts. he began pounding into you, his dick curving to your g-spot over and over again. you had, apparently, not fixed his attitude.

and his pace didn't stop. once he started, he couldn't stop. he was addicted to the way your pussy felt squeezing him.

"fuck- you feel so good," he said, his composure breaking, his thrusts becoming inconsistent.

and you got close- quickly. you grabbed hard onto his forearms, your back arching off the bed as you moaned incoherently.

"fuck- michael- please, don't stop, don't stop."

"i'm not gonna, baby. this is all for you. let go."

and as if on beat, you did. your pussy contracted on him, the wave of ecstasy rolling through your entire body. you were practically screaming, your thighs actually shaking around his waist.

michael wasn't far behind you. while fucking you through the aftershocks, it was bordering on overstimulation; he finally released into you. his hips hit yours in a rough slap, bottoming out, his balls hitting your ass.

"fuckkkk," he groaned, his head tipping back towards the ceiling.

he stayed inside you, slowly softening as you both heavily breathed in each other's arms. he finally pulled out, landing one final kiss on your lips. not sexual, but intimate. almost sad.

he stood on the edge of the bed as you stood up, your legs almost giving out on you, as you found your bra on the floor. you grabbed it, throwing the straps on your shoulder before going to hook the back.

michael stood behind you, reaching his hands out to brush your hair out of the way. "let me do it."

you let him, dropping your hands to your side. he hooked the clasp, but his hands lingered on your back.

"have dinner with me tomorrow."

you turned to look at him. "michael."

"i'm serious."

"i know you are."

he shook his head. "then say yes."

you sighed, grabbing your blouse off the floor. "i'm working tomorrow."

"you always are," he scoffed.

"what's that supposed to mean? i have a job, michael."

"so do i. and i still make time for you."

"me coming over after a long-ass day isn't making time for you?"

"no," he laughed bitterly. "you're giving me what's left. you're not really making time." he walked over to the other side of the room and slid his boxers back on. "i'm the one that makes time for you, and guess what?"

the guilt began rising in you. "what?" you said quietly.

"you never ask. you don't know that i have to cancel meetings, or move interviews, or just change my entire schedule to see you. and it's just because you never ask."

"that's not fair. you never tell me."

"and say what?" he laughed again, angrier this time. "'hey, i moved around my entire schedule because you called.'"

"don't say it like that."

he snapped his head around. "like what?"

"like i don't care about you."

"well, what am i supposed to think?"

"that i'm busy!" you raised your voice. "that you've known exactly what my life looked like the moment you met me."

"i know," he said, almost guilty.

"then what? why are you acting like it's my fault?"

"because i fell in love with you."

the words hung heavy in the air. you froze, the breath completely knocked out of you. there was no hesitation from him, no embarrassment after saying it. he looked at you like he had already practiced saying it to you hundreds of times.

"i love you," he repeated, shaking his head. "and i know that's not what we agreed on, but i can't spend another day doing this."

"michael..."

"you don't need to stop working. you don't even need to decide now." his voice dropped. "i just need to know if there'll ever be room for me."

his eyes scanned around the room, finally landing on your hands fumbling nervously with the blouse still in them. "because if there isn't, i don't think we should see each other anymore."

the silence after his words stretched long, weighing heavy on your heart. he had just put himself fully out there, and was prepared to be rejected. that's how much he meant it.

"what time?" you finally said.

michael's brows pulled together. "what?"

"for dinner, tomorrow. what time?"

"you're working."

you looked into his eyes. "i'll move it around."

⋆˙⟡⋆

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read my other works!

[blackwoman4mj]

This post is for black women only:

Anyways y’all I’m going to be completely honest, I hate sharing Michael with #those fans. I know it’s toxic but I feel like he should only be ours; I don’t like the way #they act in this fandom. Call me greedy I don’t care but #they don’t deserve him at all especially with how they treat us. As his women, I think we have every right to be strict and honestly we should be more strict because of what we have to deal with from #those fans. This is definitely going to piss them off but honestly I really don’t care at this point. I feel like they tend to have a habit of forgetting that Michael was Black first and that we (black women) were here long before any of them would’ve even looked his way. Like no shade but at the end of the day they’re just fans, we are literally HIS PEOPLE. Okay that’s enough being messy for today but it needed to be said and I’m pretty sure y’all understand why I’m saying this 😭

[gogoyubari888]

No cause I felt this on a spiritual level. Michael would actually be repulsed by them if he was still here. How you call yourself a fan and don’t like the women who made him? How you call yourself a fan if you only post and glorify everything post bad era?

Not only was he a black man. He was proud to be black.

[mjsheartbreaker]

it’s something about him and a varsity jacket…

[2006watts]

⋆˚꩜｡ don’t walk away

featuring: mature!michael x black!fem reader

synopsis: after years of coming second to the stage, you reach your breaking point.

content warning: 18+, MDNI—angst, no use of y/n, established relationship, groveling, vitiligo, m!receiving, f!receiving, p in v, verbal sex, breeding kink, creampie

author’s note: this surprisingly isn’t the filthiest thing in my drafts…

it’d been over two months since you’d last seen your husband.

you’d gotten used to the late nights and long tours. being alone in your home that was too big for the two of you started to feel normal—and you hated it.

it was approaching one a.m., and you were tossing and turning in bed. the scent of the candle you’d blown out hours before was now long gone, and the only light in the room was that of the moonlight peaking through the curtains.

you laid on your back, counting on your hands the amount of times michael had called since he’d left.

him being absent wasn’t unusual, but it was putting a strain so strong on your marriage that the idea of divorce seemed more and more likely.

in the first three years of you and michael’s marriage, you didn’t think there could ever be anything that’d bring you two down from your high.

you were utterly infatuated with each other.

now, approaching year five, that couldn’t be any farther in the past.

you began getting teary eyed thinking about the newlyweds that were so incredibly happy—you were oblivious to reality.

refusing to feel sorry for yourself, you dragged yourself out of your king-sized bed and made your way through the empty halls—catching glimpses at photos of you and michael hung up on the walls.

your silk robe did nothing to embrace you in warmth when you stopped to gaze at your wedding photo. you wore a beautiful, handmade gown that you had every intention of passing down to your daughter one day.

suddenly, your ears started to grow hot. you felt so stupid to think that someone like michael jackson could keep all of his attention on you—could make time for you in his busy schedule.

you had a life, too. you worked in the entertainment industry before you met michael and fell in love. you two ended up deciding that you’d take an indefinite leave from work. not because he in any way forced you, but because you were exhausted. you worked your entire life and just wanted to exhale for once.

you finally took a deep breath and continued your long walk to the kitchen. when you reached it, the cold floor invited you. you flicked on the nearest light and opened the cabinet next to the refrigerator. you reached for a glass to pour a ridiculously expensive bottle of red wine into.

as you stood barefoot in the robe michael had gotten you from europe months prior, you were reminded of the empty home by the echo of your wine glass hitting your marble island.

you’d hoped the alcohol would’ve calmed you down, made you think more rationally. but it did the opposite. it always did.

this wasn’t the first time you’d resorted to alcohol to try to take some of the edge off. it had become some sick and toxic routine.

michael would leave for whatever duration, and whenever he’d return, you’d argue.

argue for hours, days—sometimes weeks, until the cycle repeated itself.

sometimes things would get so heated that regretful words would be exchanged, things would get thrown, and you’d question what made you marry the most famous man on the planet.

then, after all of the yelling and screaming, your pulse would slow, your heartbeat would quiet, and you’d find yourself back between the sheets with michael: apologizing, making promises, and fucking until you forgot what you were upset about in the first place.

this time—this time was different though. before he walked out of the door nine weeks ago, he started a discussion that you held out on having due to the chaos that would ensue between the two of you—he’d asked to expand your family.

you were taken aback by his timing. it had been the height of your fighting. you couldn’t help but wonder if this was his attempt at using a baby as a bandaid to temporarily patch things between you up—to ignore the elephant in the room.

your time was simply up.

you knew that michael would never consciously use a child in that way, but you also knew that he loved you and that he’d do anything to keep you as his wife.

in that moment though, you looked into his eyes and saw a glimmer of hope. maybe he’d finally see how much you were hurting while he was away, and that he had responsibilities to be home with his wife and growing child—so you agreed. when he got back, you’d start trying to have a baby.

the thought filled you with immense joy. you’d always knew you wanted to give michael the eighteen children he wanted, it was just a matter of when.

and he was excited, too. you knew he was destined for fatherhood. when you two weren’t biting each other’s heads off, he was patient. and kind. and loving.

he was calling frequently to check up on you. asking about doctor’s appointments you’d went to alone, making sure you were healthy and eating, just calling you to say hello in between meetings. you thought things were changing for the better.

but then the calls became less and less. he’d barely called you once a week. you’d spoken to his manager more times than him. you didn’t know what snapped.

there was an unbelievable gap between the man you married and the man he was today.

by the time you’d finished your now three glasses of wine, you washed your two dishes and went back to into your shared bedroom.

you lit four candles around the room and inhaled deeply. you then sat on the ottoman that rested at the foot of the bed, and crossed one of your legs over the other, getting lost in your thoughts.

the more you thought, the angrier you became.

loving michael was difficult—more difficult than your friends and family warned you, but you believed that love could outlive anything negative that could threaten to come between the two of you.

the only reason you were snapped out of your head was because of the click of your bedroom door. it had startled you, but you knew it couldn’t have been an intruder who made it through the gates of neverland—it was your husband.

his posture was tired as his lean frame made its way further into view. the scent of him is what you noticed first. he smelled of cologne as he usually did, but something was off. he didn’t seem nearly as much like himself. and he smelled sweeter.

he didn’t even spare you a glance when he dropped his travel bag and headed into the bathroom and shut the door. the audacity he had to not even have the gall to look at you.

you were dumbfounded to say the least.

you thought to get up and bang on the door. yell what his problem was. but in that moment, you didn’t have the energy to. instead, you patiently waited in that same spot. you waited for an explanation, an apology.

you soon heard the shower click on, and you just sat there.

your body tensed as soon as you looked at the clock on his side of the bed and realized that over thirty minutes had passed—just like that.

you couldn’t control your body as it hauled ass to the bathroom door, moving to open it, only to realize it was locked. instinctively, you knocked twice. softly first.

no answer.

you knocked harder, quicker.

after what felt like hours, he’d finally emerged—towel around his slim waist, water droplets still visible on his skin. his eyes locked with yours as you stared him down, searching his eyes for some sort of emotion, but failed to find any that was recognizable.

the beautiful eyes that used to look at you like you were his entire world, now looked at you with some form of contempt. before you could even register what was happening, your hands found his chest and pushed him. not enough to hurt, but enough to get a reaction from him. he barely flinched.

“what the fuck, michael?!” you asked, the words ripping from your throat with so much emotion that your voice didn’t sound like your own. “why the hell haven’t i heard from you in weeks?”

he ignored you, simply brushing passed you politely. you were seething at this point. something that could’ve been solved with a conversation was being blown out of proportion—yes by you, but also by his stubborn and childish ways.

“and don’t think you could run into the shower and wash that bitches perfume off of you before i could smell it,” you were talking to his back as he put on a white tee shirt, “you fucking disgust me.”

he quickly turned to face you, “you ain’t right, woman.” your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “can i have two seconds of peace? every time i come into this room it’s like ’m being interrogated with questions.”

you felt the rage build inside of you. “i’m your wife, michael! it’s well in my right to question you!” you scoffed, inching closer toward him. “you stepped out on our marriage? you haven’t fucked me in months, but you can go to some bitch and get your dick wet?” you asked, completely serious, looking him in his face.

he stayed silent, which only answered your question.

you couldn’t even register how you felt, only one thing was racing through your mind. “i want a divorce.” your voice broke. “i’m done.”

michael stood there, letting your declaration settle into him. he didn’t react. you threatened separation countless times before and you’d never acted on it, so he figured divorce wasn’t any different.

the thing about michael was, it took a lot to drive him to the point of arguing back with you. you were truthful when you said he was patient, but his patience sometimes felt like neglect.

“you’re not going anywhere.” he stated flatly, eyes darkening. “you always say you’ll leave and you never do. i’m exhausted.”

“i don’t give a shit if you were flying a plane, michael!” you yell, getting fed up. “don’t leave out the fact that it’s you who begs me to stay!—oh, and not to mention the last time, you told me you wanted to start having children with me. you want to bring innocent babies into this toxic fucking household, our house is not a home when no one is there, michael!” you spat, “you don’t care about anyone except yourself.”

the words that came out of your mouth were harsh, but that didn’t make them any less true.

your chest was heaving and your blood felt like it was about to burst out of your veins.

michael let out a low, bitter laugh. “woman, don’t y’dare let it fly out ‘a your mouth that i only care about myself. what d’ya call bein' there f'you and carressin' you when you're drunk 'n out of it?" his head cocked to the side, "reassurin' you whenever you're being impossible to deal with? i don’t do that for just anyone. you’re special t’me, doll.” his words softened, and his tone almost—almost felt genuine. “but you’re pushin’ it.”

there it was. finally some honesty from him.

he’d walked away toward the bathroom door, and leaned against the wall beside it with his arms crossed. he radiated calmness while you were a trembling mess. “and to accuse me of stepping out on our marriage is a low that i didn’t think you’d stoop to. i was at my mother’s house, curled up on the sofa watchin’ charlie chaplin.”

again, you almost felt bad until he added, “how do i know you’re not projectin’? havin’ some random man in my bed where we make love? touchin’ you where i make you feel good? hm?”

the accusation made your face pale. “how could you say something like that to me?” you tried your hardest not to show him how hurt you were. “you’re the only person i’ve slept with in over eight years and you’re accusin’ me of being disloyal to you? honey, if i were sleepin’ around, trust me, i would’ve left you two years ago. for good.” you said, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him.

“then what is it?” he straightened. “why does your mind always shoot to the worst possible case scenario?”

“because, michael, you never give me a reason to think otherwise. you’re so reserved. and comin’ home tonight after not seein' me for months, smellin' like you were with another woman doesn’t ease my mind!”

he finally snapped. “i’m not fuckin’ around! and the idea even running through your head really makes me wonder why i try in the first place.”

“try?” you scoffed, truly baffled by his statement, “please point out in any part of this where it is that you’re tryin’.”

he didn’t say a word, and the weight of everything was now crushing you. tears swelled in your eyes as you thought about where you went wrong. you were choking on your own bitterness and was silently screaming for him to soothe you.

you didn’t see an ounce of love in his eyes anymore, only some form of obligation.

“how can you go from practically begging me to have a hand in bringing a life into this world—to being so fucking cold to me? i don’t understand you, michael.” you sighed in defeat. “you’re not the man i fell in love with. the man who swept me off of my feet and promised me the world.” your voice betrayed you by cracking, “you’re a liar.” everything you’d been holding in for the past month began to slip. you told him how unimportant you felt to him, and how he didn’t do his part of being a husband. you sniffed, “do you see the life we’ve created for ourselves? we’re strangers. i don’t know you anymore.”

you felt like throwing something to take the pain off of you, to redirect the conversation rather than force yourself to confront whatever this was. but you didn’t. it wouldn’t help anything.

“baby—”

“michael, i am so damn tired of being hurt by you. tired of pretendin' like shit will be fixed with sex and gifts. none of that fixes anything. we still have problems.” now, he was closer to you, trying to touch you but you recoiled at the action. “i don’t think this is fixable.” you settled. “i don’t want anything from you anymore. i don’t want your love or your affection,” you sniffed, “i just want peace.”

“p-please…” his soft voice got small, “i-i can’t do this without you.”

it took every ounce of your being to walk past him and make your way to the closet he’d recently rebuilt on a whim for you. you began taking your clothes off of their hangars, not bothering to see what you were throwing on the floor.

your heart pounded against your chest and your eyesight got blurry, but you didn’t stop.

in that instant, the idea of not coming home to your warmth and laughter made michael sick. he genuinely couldn’t fathom a life where you weren’t in it alongside him.

he knew he’d messed up, but it had never gotten to the point where you were actively packing your things, ready to stand your ground of divorce. he couldn’t have that. not a second of it.

so, he turned and strode to where you were, now on the other side of the closet, grabbing what you’d take with you. you heard his heavy footsteps, but didn’t bother to face him. “i’ll be gone within the hour.”

he desperately made is way through the piles of clothing, taking his place behind you. his large hands grabbed your waist, and he breathed into you. “baby…” he started, “please don’t leave me.” the words her vulnerable. you knew he meant them, but you felt it was too late. “let’s talk about this. p-please…”

you stiffened yet again, still choosing not to face him. “i gave you a chance to talk. instead you basically spat in my face. i’m leaving.”

he moved quickly, his hands now pulling you to twist toward him. if you were serious about leaving him, he wanted you to do it to his face. when you were facing him, you averted his eyes. “tell me what t’do,” he pleaded, “i’ll do anythin’.”

your shoulders hung low, “you don’t care. you don’t love me. you just loved my company.”

he peered down at you, wondering how you two ended up in this state. “of course i love you. how could you say that? i’ve loved you since the second i laid eyes on you. i need you.” he spoke. “i just—i—”

you interrupted him to catch his gaze. “you what, michael?” he just stood there frozen, not knowing how to fix this—not knowing what to say to get you to just hear him. “that’s what i thought. i’m leaving.” you shook your head, trying to get free of his hold, but he was too strong. “let me go.”

reality hit him like a semi-truck. all the years you shared flashed before his eyes. when he blinked, you noticed his lip began to quiver. tears formed in his eyes as he continued to plead. “baby, i-i need you…”

you shook your head. “no, michael. you need to be needed.”

“don’t leave me, sweets,” he started, his hands now pulling you into an embrace, “i’ll do anything—therapy, counseling—anythin’ t’get you to rethink this. don’t leave me,” his voice cracked, “don’t give up on us.”

you closed your eyes as you welcomed him. you missed just holding him close and feeling at home with him. “i’ll be better,” he sobbed into your thick hair, “i love you.”

“this is a fucked up version of love,” you whispered back into him, “i can’t do this.” you pulled away from him. “it’s too much—”

“it spread.” he cut you off, and you immediately knew what he meant.

“what?” your voice had no trace of anger.

“the vitiligo… it spread.”

“michael…”

by this point in his life, michael had only a few spots of melanin left on his skin—not anything visible to the public, but visible to you and him.

for the eight years you’d known him, his biggest insecurity had been his vitiligo. it took well into a year of your relationship to even get him to open up about it. the media created their own insane narratives which only made it worse for him to deal with.

his brown eyes mellowed, “i don’t feel like myself. there is no speck of who i was left on my skin.” he was defeated, you could hear it in his voice.

“oh, michael,” you moved your hand to lift his chin, “i’m sorry.”

“thas’ the reason i haven’t had sex with ya’, and thas’ the reason i been been actin’ this way. i couldn’t imagine you would still want me. i don’t want t’be rejected...”

the way he spoke about himself made you realize how a person can act out of emotion. he thought you’d no longer be sexually attracted to him. but boy, was he wrong.

“of course i still want you,” you moved your hands to his hair, “i want you all the time,” you placed a gentle, lingering kiss to his earlobe, “in fact…” your voice became lower, more rough, “i want you right now.” your right hand traced down his neck, then to his chest, then his stomach. all the way down until you reached the towel he still had around his waist.

“b-baby,” he began, “you don’t have to.”

your hand traced his growing bulge, “i want to.” you slipped your fingertips inside, being careful not to let the towel fall. “you,” you bent down to kiss his abdomen, “are so beautiful.”

he hitched at the contact of your lips, “’m sorry for causing all of this. so so sorry.” he sharply inhaled when you purposely dropped the towel. it felt to his feet and his dick sprung free.

you knew by this point, you weren’t going anywhere. he reacted because of something he was deeply insecure about. he held on to the fact that down there, there were still traces of the man he used to be. he then felt like that was no longer.

you grabbed his long and thick length with both of your hands—it was so big—and brought your lips to it. you trailed kisses from the base to the tip, then the tip to the base.

you saw what he meant. it had spread. before, there were only lighter patches that stopped at his pelvis. now, there were traces of vitiligo on the one place he’d told you he was glad still looked the same.

all you wanted to do in that moment, was make him feel loved and accepted. you knew that based on your argument that night, that he was letting it take a toll on him. you just felt the need to make sure he knew that you’d still love him the same.

with slow and deliberate movements, you flicked your tongue out to graze the tip of his dick, tasting the precum that rested on it. michael reacted to your every move. you craved him and you knew he wanted you just as bad—if not more.

"you taste s'good, mikey," you murmured, looking up to catch his intoxicating gaze, "so good." your lips formed a mischievous smile as his jaw tightened in response.

his fingers found his way into your coiled hair and gripped like his life depended on it. he was on the brink of losing control, and you relished in it.

your tongue began tracing each vein on his length, occasionally meeting his tip again to lick, suck, and kiss. michael's body trembled in response, his muscles tightening as you taunted him with every slow, delicate movement.

"you likin' this, baby?" you whispered, voice low and hungry, "did you miss this?"

"y-yes, mama," he inhaled sharply, "yes."

you then ran your tongue along the underside of his dick, moving it to his balls, and trailing it all the way back to his tip again. while you mellowed out there, his hand that was in your hair gripped a little tighter, and pushed your head down to force you to take him deeper. your hands shot to his thighs to hold yourself steady, but he didn't let up.

michael let out a low and heavy breath, chest heaving as you began to choke on his large dick. as his hands guided your mouth, you welcomed the feeling of his length slamming the back of your throat. a mix of your own saliva and his precum dripped down your chin, rolling down onto your breasts. you knew the sight excited him.

you came up for air to swirl your tongue along his tip, a string of spit following you.

after a few breaths, you took his length back into your mouth, and one of your hands found its way into your panties, desperate to stimulate your clit. you were wetter than you'd been since you could remember. your body was responding to every thrust and every jolt. your eyes were watering, but you couldn't get enough.

"baby," michael breathed in between strokes, "i love this warm mouth," he gently yanked you off of his length to bend down to kiss you. it was rough and wet. your hand moved from your wet folds to grab his neck. your tongues swirled against each others, yearning for more. you two fit together so well. the kiss didn't last long, though. he quickly filled your mouth with his length again. his eyes flickered down, watching you swallow him whole, "you take me so well, my perfect girl..."

you loved his praise. there was something raw and primal about the way he spoke to you.

your hand found your clit again, but this time—you were needier. your body was shivering at every stroke and every sound he was giving to you. your fingers were moving in circles over your clit as you moaned around his dick.

michael was feeding you low and guttural groans, and you were relishing in it.

the wet sounds of your mouth fueled him as he gave you short, rough strokes. with each, your hunger intensified for him, for more. your fingers pressed harder against your sensitive clit, begging for a release.

"m'girl ready to cum?" michael grunted out, "i can't wait t’feel you tremble all over my tongue." his thrusts grew more eager, and you knew his release was nearing, too.

his balls slapped against your chin, over and over, dripping with your spit. his moans grew louder and deeper, signaling he was about to reach his peak. "can i cum in this mouth, sweets?" he groaned, "can i cum down this throat?" you managed a weak 'mhm,' as you relentlessly continued your attack on your clit. "thas’ right," michael said, "thas’ my good girl."

the heat in your stomach grew stronger as you struggled to keep up with his movements. the sounds of the two of you echoed through your bedroom as you started to whimper. you moaned deeply around him as your orgasm swept over you, swallowing you whole. your thighs shook and your folds were covered in your release.

the vibrations were what sent michael over the edge. his thrusts slowed and his words became incoherent. his warm seed spilled into your mouth and you swallowed all that you could, while the rest seeped out onto your chin.

michael watched your every move, never taking his eyes off of you. he slowly pulled out of your mouth, his dick somehow harder than before, and helped you stand on your feet. your lips were swollen and wet, while your chest rose and fell.

your glistening fingers moved from your folds, and you brought them to his parted lips. he happily took them in, tasting your ecstasy. "you are..." he cupped your chin, "gorgeous." he didn't give you a moment to respond as his lips crashed against yours. the kiss was deep and rough, his mouth ravishing yours like he needed you.

the remnants of both your releases were still present. his hand found your right nipple quickly. he twisted and grabbed at it until you moaned into his mouth and devoured you completely. with every movement of his tongue, he reminded you that you were his, and that you weren't going anywhere.

when the kiss finally broke, the two of you were a panting mess, but he wasn't through with you. "go get on the bed, sweets," michael's voice was low and sultry, "lay on your back," he walked toward you, causing you to back up against the bed, "and spread those pretty legs f'me."

you didn't think twice about it. you did exactly what he said, exactly the way he said it.

you two made your way out of the closet and back into the dimly lit bedroom. you didn’t have time to think about if this was toxic or not. you didn’t care.

you'd dropped your robe and was left in nothing but your panties. you laid against the plush bed and it engulfed you. your eyes were locked on michael—who was in nothing but his white tee shirt that hugged him perfectly. his eyes were also on you, taking mental pictures of how good you looked. he loved your body and made sure you never forgot it. "s'beautiful..."

his lean frame walked toward you, his knuckles meeting the bed first, "you don't know how much i enjoy seeing you like this," he whispered, "wet and waiting f'me..." his large hands explored your thighs first, fingertips grazing you slowly. you gasped softly, the anticipation of his mouth eating away at you was enough to make you cum right then and there.

his movements weren't rushed. his lips pressed against your inner thighs, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. he pulled your panties off of you and threw them to... wherever. he then kissed his way upward, purposely avoiding your wetness. his tongue teased you as he licked and kissed, making your back arch off of the bed.

"michael..." you moaned softly, not entirely sure of what you were pleading for.

his mouth finally found your folds, then your clit. the warmth of his tongue sent pulses through you. the intensity had you hitching at every movement.

it didn't help that it had been so long since you had been intimate. you craved this feeling.

his tongue grazed over your swollen clit with precision, tasting your arousal as it coated his sweet lips and tongue. he adjusted one of your legs to open you completely to him. he wanted no spot gone without attention. "y’taste like heaven, mama," he managed to murmur. every lick of his tongue was deliberate. he knew just how to get you on the brink of another release. “such a pretty pussy.”

your hands moved to your sides, then the comforter. your knuckles grew white as you gripped with all of your might. he was sucking your clit with such devotion that you didn't know if he was seeking more than just your orgasm.

with that, he began to ease both his middle and ring finger inside of you. the sudden intrusion made you shiver. "baby... i can't take it..."

"yes y'can, sweets," he looked up at you, eyes dark and hungry. with his free hand, he reached up to grab your breast. he kneaded and rolled your nipple between his index and thumb, coaxing loud moans from you.

you were whimpering as he curled his fingers inside of you, feeling that sensitive, spongy spot. his mouth attached itself to your clit again, and you weren't sure of how much more you could take before you came.

you bit your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to supress your moans, but michael wasn't having any of it. "unt unt, sweets," he said from below you, "let me hear ya'," he sucked at your clit some more, meaning what he said about wanting to hear you. "i love this pussy, girl..."

"mmfph," was all you could manage to form from your mouth, aside from his name escaping from your lips. he pressed his fingers harder against your g-spot, mouth forming into a sly smile as he continued finger-fucking you into oblivion.

michael groaned against you, fully drunk off of the sounds that were coming out of you. he took much pleasure in your pleasure—despite your bickering and fighting. he loved you, and pleasuring you like this was one of his favorite ways to show it.

you began to gasp, "michael," your voice shook as the intensity became too much to handle. your body was quivering in gratification.

with one last lick to your clit, and one more curl of his fingers, the tension finally broke inside of you. your back arched and your orgasm crashed over you violently. the sounds that erupted from your throat were that of a woman who was deprived of love from her man.

though, michael didn't stop. his fingers kept their rhythm inside of you, "oh, God..." you breathed.

"you know better than to use Jehova's name in vain," he said, "y'wanna cum again, baby?" his voice laced with intense amounts of need.

"yes," you breathed, the word barely coming out coherently under his touch. "you make me feel so good..."

"i know," he whispered, "i know, sweet girl." he started to ease the pace of his fingers, "i need one more from you. just one more before i give you what you need, baby."

"mikey..."

"y'can give me one more... right, mama?" his head ducked back into your pussy, licking and sucking yet again. his persistence alone sent you over the edge.

"i'm close," you drew out, "i'm cumming."

"thaaas' it, girl. give it t'me."

your legs began to shake uncontrollably and a loud moan spilled from your lips. the force of your orgasm left you breathless. your toes were curling as pleasure completely washed over you.

michael finally withdrew his fingers and you watched him. your breathing was heavy and ragged. you never left his gaze as he brought his fingers to his wet mouth. he savored the taste of your sweet release.

his dick was pressing hard against the mattress, and he raised up a bit to position himself at your awaiting entrance. his size compared to you was intimidating, some foreskin still covered the tip. "you're so desperate for this dick, ain't that right?"

you nodded profusely. you were desperate for it.. he grabbed your hips to pull you closer to him, then grabbed the nearest pillow to stuff under you.

your body was positioned perfectly for him. the head of his dick pressed against your wet hole, teasing and torturing you. he leaned in close to your ear as he whispered, "this is mine. only and always mine." his voice was menacing, dripping with truth. and you knew it.

he backed into his previous position and spat into his palm, then brought his hand to roughly stroke his length. he didn't know whether to fuck you until you forgot why you wanted a divorce, or until you felt how much he loved you.

he compromised with both.

he then swiftly removed his shirt in one motion to make sure nothing was in the way of how close he was going to be to you.

then, without warning, he shoved himself inside of you, forcing a loud gasp to leave the both of you. there was nothing sweet about the way he began to fuck you. he liked feeling you crumble beneath him.

inch by inch, he pushed deeper, filling you to the brim. "so fuckin' tight, baby," he said, voice rough. he then gave you no time no adjust to his size before he started giving it to you. “i missed this pussy.”

"m-michael, please..." you begged, but he didn't show an ounce of care.

"take it, baby... i know y'can," his face contorted as he plowed into you, each thrust making your body jolt forward. your moans and his whimpers filled the room. your legs shook as he hit deeper and harder, the pressure building up inside of you until you had to remind yourself to breathe.

the pressure was intoxicating, and you both knew it. you were well aware that this kind of relationship wasn't healthy—but it felt damn good. it was wrong, but with every movement of his hips, you craved him even more.

you loved him, and michael loved you too—more than he knew how to express. somewhere between giving you sweet love and giving you heart racing excitement, he forgot the happy medium between the two.

"you're so deep, mikey," you said, feeling him practically poking your lungs.

he blushed, "yeah?" his big hand rested on your lower belly, "y'feel me there?"

you nodded, completely undone.

he bit down on his lip as he looked down at you. he was gorgeous. forehead was dripping in sweat, but he still somehow looked like the prettiest man on the planet.

he drove so deeply into you that you tried pressing your body far into the mattress, "where y'goin', girl? don't run from this dick." you moaned at his vulgar words, sounding broken. you tried to plead with him, but no words dared form. “goddamn, baby.”

"why..." you whimpered, and your hand found his arm. you weren’t completely sure of what you were asking him, but in some way, you think he knew.

he leaned into you, touching your nose to his, "because i love you," he whispered, "i love you s'much that i can't let y'go..."

his strokes slowed, but he was still relentless. your vision began to blur and flutter open and shut as he dug into you. his mouth found your nipple and he sucked. hard.

"tell me y'love me, sweets," michael urged, his voice a mix of plead and command, he desperately needed to hear you say you loved him.

you breathed in deep, "i love you, michael, oh, i love you," you moaned loudly, your voice filled with passion, "i'm gonna cum again," you gasped.

"cum f'me, baby—claim this dick," he rasped, "you're so perfect."

your core tightened and your eyes fluttered shut. your third orgasm of the night made you completely submissive to him.

something flipped within you. you needed to let him know you were still somewhat in control.

you managed to flip him on his back and get on top. you could tell you surprised him by the raise of his eyebrows. you straddled him, then lined his tip up again with your soaking entrance.

you eased down and his eyes didn't dare leave yours. "you feel so good inside of me. this dick was made to fuck me." you threw your head back in pleasure.

you rocked back and forth on his length, hand moving to his throat. your eyes narrowed and his hand matched yours, and found your neck. you were fighting for control, and you weren't ready to give in.

your movements got rougher, and he could see it. "give me all y’anger, baby..." michael groaned. "i don't deserve this pussy, mama." his eyes fluttered in and out of consciousness. the feeling of you warmly and tightly wrapped around him was making him dizzy.

your eyes softened, "yes you do, michael," your hips stuttered, "you deserve it all..."

that was enough to push him over the edge.

"can i put a baby in you? get you all big an' round with our baby?" he begged, "can i fill y'up, angel face?" he whimpered.

there was nothing you could say but yes. you knew your agreement meant repercussions, but in that moment, it didn't matter. you just wanted him to finish in you.

“gonna stuff you full of my cum…”

and with that, a shuddering exhale escaped his lips as he let himself go. his warmth filled you completely as you sat fully on his dick. the sensation of him spilling inside of you, hot and thick, set off something inside of you that made you cum right along with him.

you cried out each other's names as breathless plea's.

michael pulled out of you and managed to push any remnants of cum that escaped, back inside of you. he couldn't let any go to waste. he wanted your family.

you rolled over on the other side of him, and listened to yours and his breathing. you lazily wrapped one arm around his torso, and gazed up at him. you waited for him to say something—anything.

he traced his fingertips in circles over your stomach, and his expression was hard to read.

"'m so sorry for all of the pain i've caused you," his voice was low, "i don't want to keep you here if you want t'go..." with a broken sigh, you force him to look at you. you didn't want to leave, but something had to change. "say somethin', baby..." he pleaded, "please..."

"i don't wanna go, michael," you said, "but i can't stay in an environment where 'm bein' hurt all the time."

"i know angel, an' i'm sorry—"

"then fix it, michael!" you whisper-yelled, voice hoarse, "i can't keep repeatin' this same toxic cycle. we're a mess.”

"i love you, baby." he whispered, tear falling from his cheek. "i want ya' and i need ya'. i'll do anythin' to fix this. i want our family." his hands roamed your hair, and somehow, you believed him. through all of your fighting, there was still love buried somewhere. “i want t’make this house a home.”

you nodded weakly, then he kissed you. slow and tender. it was like he tried to fix all that he broke within you. for the first time in a long time, his kiss didn't feel like desperation or need, but love.

pure and genuine love.

he brought you into an embrace, and planted a kiss to your forehead. "i'll fix this, sweets. i know it." and you both drifted to sleep in each other's arms—raw and vulnerable.

through all of the pain, you knew your relationship still stood a chance. if anyone could get through anything like this, it was the two of you.

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- @pytforever @sonnetsforher @mjslovrr comment to be added/removed, asks/requests open! <3

[infernwetrust]

Daddy’s Boy

Summary: Moments shared between you, Michael, y’all’s baby boy, and the family.

Warnings: all cuteness, all fluff, slight angst at the end :)

WC: 5.17k

A/N: Thank you all for the overwhelming love on Not Like Him. I thought a little more into their would be cute to do as well. I plan on doing more of these to show the family’s progression as well as the birth of the 7 kids you’re thinking about giving him :). The origin of baby Esco can be found HERE. Not proof read. Thank you so much for the support and thank you for reading. -J

You watch as Michael gently rubs baby Esco's back as he lays flat on his own, his precious month and a half year old tummy down on him. It's tummy time and he's frustrated, his loud cries bouncing off the walls and making Michael's ears ring. But after months of reading a bunch of baby books, attending classes with you, asking for advice, and doing his own research, he knew how important it was for his son's development.

"Come on dada." he encourages, keeping his same tone of voice. "I know you can do it. I know you can lift your head up for daddy. You're a strong boy."

"Maybe we can try singing to him again." you suggest.

"But I want him to be able to do it without the added stimulation." Michael pushes back.

"Baby he's one and a half months old." you grin. "He's needs all the added stimulation that he can get."

You move from your position on the couch, coming to lay down next to the both of them, propping your elbow up and resting your head in the palm of your hand. You rest your other hand gently on Esco's head, your thumb moving through what is damn near a full head of hair. That seems to have calmed him down momentarily  until he gets agitated all over again because the magical forces haven't set him up right yet.

"Okay okay, you win little man." Michael huffs as he clears his throat. He sets both his hands on Esco's back, doing very very very gentle taps to the rhythm of 'Shake Your Body(Down To The Ground)'. "I don't know what gonna happen to you baby. But I do know that I love ya."

"You walk around this town with your head all up in the sky." he continues and Esco's loud cries become small, silent, broken ones until they cease already together. He sniffles, his little arms moving slightly as Michael continues to pat him lightly, his body grooving slightly because he can hear the music in his head. "And I do know that I want yaaaaa.. Let's dance, let's shout!"

"Shout!" you chime in.

"Shake your body down to the ground. Let's dance! Let's shout!"

"Shout!"

"Shake your body down to the ground!"

"Let's dance! Let's shout!"

"Shout!"

"Shake your body down to the ground!"

"Let's dance! Let's shout!"

"Shout!"

"Shake your body down to the ground!"

Esco begins to smile, his fingers gripping Michael's wifebeater as he attempts to lift his head. He stares at you first for reassurance as his little head continues to wobble. Michael brings his knees slightly upward so he can create some more bounce and this keeps a smile on Esco's face. He starts trying to turn his head, so you tap Michael on his shoulder lightly, motioning for him to slow down a bit, but keep singing.

"You tease me with you lovin' to play hard-to-get. Cause you do know that I want ya." he sings as baby Esco continues to try and turn his towards him. And when he does, Michael starts bouncing his legs slightly again to keep him motivated. "You walk around this town with your head all up in the sky and you do know that I want yaaaaaa. Let's dance. Let's shout!"

Slowly, but sure, he lifts his little head up and looks right into his father's big grown orbs and Michael almost loses his mind out of excitement right then and there. He continues to sing, wanting to finish the song for his boy. Soft little sounds leave Esco's mouth as his head continues to wobble from a combination of strength building and his father's movements. Anytime his head starts to fall, Michael bounces his leg a little harder and then gets him to pop that little head right back up.

"There's mama's and dada's strong boy!" you say happily as you clasp your hands together. You lay on your back a little closer to Michael, cheek resting on his arm as you watch the two of them finish out tummy time.

~

When Michael bought the Quivira, a luxury super yacht, Tito swore up and down that he was trying to "out yacht" him and the two formed an on going joke about it. But, Michael simply wanted a slightly bigger space for his family, existing and growing. You sit next Michael on the middle deck, his arm throw snuggly around you as you breastfeed baby Esco, a light towel thrown over him to protect him from the sun.

In several various locations onboard are the rest of the Michael's family and the families they've formed, except for Katherine and Joseph. He couldn't exactly celebrate the release of 'Off The Wall' the way he wanted to, so for him, this was the next best thing.

"I'm so glad California has good weather." you sigh as you caress his head, his latching become weaker and weaker as he starts to fall asleep.

"I know." Michael agrees with you. "I couldn't imagine being back in Indiana with all the snow. Although it would be nice since we've been finally celebrating Christmas for these past couple of years."

"Mama Katie would have a heart attack if she learned that we use to sneak and have Bill bring you over to celebrate." you laugh.

"Ain't nothing she can do about it now." he shrugs. "And it was worth the sneak getting to spend the holidays with you. I remember having to leave all my gifts at your house."

"And I think my parents still have them too after all these years. Still put away in our basement." Once baby Esco stops drinking all together, you unfortunately have to pull him back out of his slumber because you must burp him. He whines slightly at the sudden position change, balling his little hands into fists.

"Ooo looks like someone is a little angry." Michael chuckles, slipping his index finger between one of his fists. Esco immediately lightens up as he grips Michael's finger and you pat his back firmly, swaying him side to side.

"I'd be angry too if I was almost asleep and then someone started slapping me in my back."

Michael laughs again and attempts to pull his finger away, but Esco's grip is stronger than it looks. For a split second he plays tug-o-war with his daddy until HE decides that he wants to let go and when he does, his rests his hand on the side of the arm, finally burping.

"Now you can sleep munchkin." you tell him as you give him a few quick kisses on the cheek and he makes a happy noise before yawning and burying his face in your bosoms and attempting to fall asleep once more. "You made sure to bring his bassinet right?"

"Sheeeesh, what kinda father do you take me for?" he asks you, raising a playful eyebrow.

"One that's gonna answer to me personally if he don't answer my question before his son wakes up." you raise the same playful eyebrow. "You know he wakes easily."

"I'm about to ball my fists up next." he jokes in reference from earlier.

"Y'aint gon' do shit anyways."

"Oh never." He stretches as he gets up, slowly and carefully peels baby Esco away from you. He immediately wraps his arms around Michael, hugging him like he's a giant teddy bear as he stirs.

"Better be quick, papa." you say as you notice that he's already starting to be pulled back out of the sleep he just fell into.

~

"Bababababababababa!" Esco rambles on as he crawls around on the studio floor in you and Michael's family home. Because of this, Michael made several new rules. Smoking was no longer allowed even if you were a guest and no shoes were allowed. He had the floor cleaned regularly and I mean regularly, just incase Esco decided he wanted to stick his hands in his mouth when no one is watching.

"Yes, exactly." Michael agrees with him as he sits across from Marlon. "See? Even your nephew thinks that's a terrible idea."

"No he's actually agreeing." Marlon shakes his head. "Babies usually only use one sound when they disagree with you. Kind of like a 'WHAT?!' moment. You know what I mean?"

"AH!" Esco screams before picking a block up off the floor and slamming it back down.

"I don't think he knows what you mean." Michael grins.

"Nah he's over there playing with me now." Marlon playfully sucks his teeth. "He ain't say none of that earlier."

Esco squeals when his favorite uncle Jackie, Randy trailing behind him, re-enters the room, scooping him up off the floor and raising him above his head before giving him a raspberry on his tummy. He squeals and kicks, grabbing a two baby fist fulls of Jackie's Afro.

"What's up big man?" Jackie asks as keeps him up in the air, smiling as he flails his arms before reaching out for his uncle, wanting to be pulled in for a hug.

"I'm just saying." you continue your conversation with Marlon. "We just toured for an entire year and you think going out of the country to celebrate is the brightest idea? On top of already having to travel back and forth between home cause' of Junior."

"But this time we'll be going out of the country on vacation.." 

"Bababababababa.." Esco mumbles to Jackie, but Michael overhears.

"See?" he mocks Marlon. "He agrees with me."

"Maybe we rent out a vacation home down in Malibu?" Tito suggests as he makes faces at baby Esco who rests his chin on Jackie's shoulder.

"Yeah." Jackie agrees. "Keeps us close by and in the country. State even."

"That I can get behind." Randy chimes in and he sits on the chair between Michael and Marlon, drinking from his Pepsi can.

"Get a coke, loser." Marlon says as he squishes Randy's can with minimal effort. Thankfully it wasn't a lot left in there. Randy chuckles at his failed attempt, downing the rest of his drink from the crushed up can before throwing it at blank point range at Marlon's temple.

"Try again, loser." Randy mocks.

"Make sure you pick that up.." Michael mumbles as he leans back in his chair, tipping it back slightly.

"Yes dad." Randy says sarcastically as he leans over to pick it up, shooting with ease into a trash can nearby.

"I know you guys wanna go all out, but I just want baby E to finally settle down. He was born right in the middle of touring."

Baby Esco's birth on July 1st of 1979 was both a blessing and a nightmare. It was definitely a tester in your already existing relationship and still relatively new marriage. A blessing because it was the beginning of a 3 month long break that he got to spend with his baby and the love of his life, hell because Michael wanted the two of you close always and when Joseph tried to open his mouth about it, everyone saw a different side of Michael.

Your husband wasn't known for cussing up a storm, but man did Joseph strike a nerve. Michael would be damned if his son would go months without being in his physical presence and he told Joseph he can shove the rest of this tour up his ass if his wife and son couldn't be around. No one said anything that day, but they were all in Michael's corner. So by the time the beginning of October rolled around, Michael already had your transportation and living accommodations sorted.

He played it smart too. He wouldn't have you stay exactly in the city or state he was performing in, but instead find a good middle ground so that you and baby Esco didn't have to move around often, at least for a couple weeks. He'd come to you instead, sometimes bringing his family with him, even his grumpy old grandpa who was against the idea in the first place.

"I don't want him to spend most of his life on the road like how we had to." Michael sighs and his brothers immediately understand.

"Then we'll do Malibu." Marlon agrees.

"Babababababababa!" Esco, who is now in Tito's arms, claps his hands together at Marlon's words.

"Okay, he FOR SURE agrees with a nigga this time."

"Nah, he agrees with me." Tito says. "It was my idea to begin with. He's clapping because you finally said something smart out cho' mouth."

~

"Ssssh." you press your fingers to Michael's lips, watching as baby Esco grips the fuck out of the couch cushion to stand himself up. "Baby look.."

The two of you watch from your position on the loveseat across from him. Michael tries to not laugh at his monster grip or risk resetting his progress. Instead, he rests a hand on your thigh, tapping and watching patiently as his bright boy reaches yet, another milestone.

When he finally pulls himself up, he wobbles on his legs, body swaying back and forth as he tries to find his balance, but this time he's unsuccessful. He plops back down on the floor and lets out a scream in frustration before trying again. But not before turning his little head around to see if the both of you are watching. You and Michael quickly look in other directions and when that's when he tries again.

This time, he is successful, just for a few seconds. He holds himself up, bouncing on his knees slightly and making happy noises. He slowly plops back down to the floor, turning over onto his stomach so he can crawl.

"Wow I'm impressed." you say clapping and Michael joins you, assisting with the positive reinforcement. Esco smiles and giggles before slowly making over to the both of you, reaching his arms up slightly and clenching and unclenching his fists as if to say 'any takers?'. You pick him up and he smiles again, fingers gripping your collarbone. Michael uses a single finger to tickle his neck and he squeals and tries to swat him away, but Michael is slightly faster. He has him in a fit of giggles as continues to try to avoid being tickled.

"Daddy's boy is getting so independent?" he coos. "Aren't ya?"

"He'll be climbing the furniture real soon." you add.

"And then jumping off-,"

"Too far."

"I'll be there to catch my little Superman, don't you worry your pretty little head."

"Michael if I catch you having my baby jump off the furniture, that's your ass."

"You won't be there for boys day anyways."

"Michael."

"No jumping off the furniture, got it."

"Do you smell that?"

"Nope. It's your turn." Michael jumps up from the loveseat. "I changed him this morning. TWICE."

"But he puts up less of a fuss with you." you pout.

"But-,"

"Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. I just got done eating like half an hour ago and I don't wanna smell that."

"You owe me 4 kisses."

"I'll give you more than that."

~

"Hold the camera up you shmuck. Damn." Michael says to Randy. "I'm ready to take this damn mask off

"I'll slap you in the back of your head with this camera you keep talking crazy to me." Randy says back, adjusting the camera the way Michael wants. "You wanted to scare yo' son."

"It's builds character." Michael chuckles. "Smiles anytime something scary is on TV."

Michael looks directly into the camera when he says this.

"It's October 30th 1981. Baby Boogie, I don't know if we should be afraid of you or not yet."

"You know he gets it from you right?" Randy cuts him off.

"I am so sick of you."

"I'm just saying man."

"Just shut up and follow me."

"You got it boss."

Michael playfully, but still roughly swats at Randy behind the camera who chuckles breathlessly before he dodges it. The two make their way down the stairs and towards the family den, slowly and quietly. The scene before them is so precious it almost makes Michael change his mind, but he remains committed.

"So, here we have baby Boogie, curled all up with his auntie Janet, taking a nap." Michael whispers as Randy zooms in on the two of them fast asleep. Every single weekend, when Joseph permitted it, Janet was here bonding with her nephew. The both lay comfortably on sides, Esco's little back pressed firmly into Janet's chest while he snores like a grown man. She holds him close, even in her own sleep, so he doesn't accidentally fall off the couch. "Just wait until Dunkaroo sees herself snoring on camera."

"She's gonna beat your ass." Randy says.

"Challenge accepted."

Michael kneels down directly in front of them, trying not to snicker too loudly underneath his scary mask. He places his hand on Esco's chest, rubbing gently, but firmly to try and ease him out of his nap. He fights at first, grabbing one of Michael's fingers and almost bending it backwards. When he finally does start to open his eyes, it's a look of pure amazement, confusion, and minor fear. His fight or flight kicks in first and he's not running.

"Ahh...aAAH...aAhAaAh.." little broken sounds of protest start to come out of his mouth as he starts swatting at his father while still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Huh?" Janet questions as she also begins to stir out of her sleep.

"No no no no no no no no no!" Esco whines and screams as he starts swatting at Michael harder. "Weave me and my auntie awone!"

He flies out of Janet's grasp quickly and starts hitting on Michael with all of the two year old toddler strength he could muster up. Randy is a cackling mess behind the camera as he watches baby Esco's little fists fly. Michael grabs him, wrapping his arms completely around him in attempt to get him to stop, giggling at his son's warrior attitude. Once Janet fully gets the sleep out of her eyes, she immediately notices those long legs and Randy behind the camera and she yawns and rolls her eyes.

"Y'all play too much.." she grumbles. "Waking me and my gumdrop up.."

"Boy if you hit me one more time!" Michael says playfully as he takes his mask off. "It's just me!"

Esco immediately takes a deep breath and sighs. Resting his hands on his knees as he gives his father a not so pleased look and shakes his head before throwing himself into his arms. He huffs and sits there in silence, not too sure what to make of the situation. Michael is still grinning as he holds onto him, his hand patting his little tummy.

"If y'all two aren't eating, y'all are sleeping." Randy jabs at her. "Get up and do something with my nephew."

"And you're always in my damn business."

"What in the world is all that screaming?!" you ask as you make your way through the den door with your glass of lemonade, Enid trailing behind you also with a look of concern. "Michael you in here scaring my baby?"

"Mama!" Esco says excitedly as he reaches his hands out for you with a smile. "Nid nid!"

"Him and Randy's funky butt!" Janet says as she teams up against the both of them.

"I was just the camera man." Randy defends himself.

"A crappy one at that, probably." Michael rolls his eyes.

"Jackie use to do that same mess to Siggy until he popped him in the mouth real good one time." Enid cackles. "He never scared that boy ever again."

"He's too sweet to do that." Michael says.

"I don't know." Janet disagrees. "Looks like he was about to punch your lights out."

You scoop him up in your arms and he hugs you, shooting a hard look at his daddy when you are looking and then making a soft face when you aren't. Randy has still been filming this entire time.

"Oh so you're gonna play me like that son?" Michael questions.

"Me and my baby are leaving. Bye!" you say as you kiss his cheek.

"Ahhhh he's so cute!" Enid coos as softly pinches his cheek.

"And me." Janet says as she gets up. "Not safe at home, still not safe at bub's house."

"Well we didn't stop being your brothers over night." Randy says. "This is pay back for last year."

"A year's worth of a gru-," Michael tries to chime in.

"Shut up, Mike."

~

"Daddy." Esco calls for Michael even though he's sitting in his lap, fully leaned into his father as he drinks from his sippy cup.

"Hm?" Michael questions.

"Daddy."

"Hm?"

"Daddy."

"Hm?"

"Daddy."

"Hmmmmmmmmm?"

"Daddy!"

"Jesus boy, I'm right here." Michael laughs as he spins him around to face him. "How can daddy help you?"

The truth is, he wanted nothing more from his father than to be close to him, so he simply just giggles and buries his face in Michael's chest. Michael kisses the top of his head before patting his back and smiling.

"Crazy just like your uncle Marly." he says and Esco giggles again at the sound of his uncle's name. Him and Marlon were always up to no good and sometimes neither of you could tell if Esco was the baby or if uncle was. 'You better be careful with my baby' was a phrase embedded into Marlon's memory.

Before Michael can say anything else, in comes Bill through the front door. Esco immediately turns his head around and almost takes a leap of faith off of Michael in excitement. Michael, using his still developing dad instincts, lurches forward to catch him mid air before he hits the floor, but Esco remains unphased.

"Grampa Bill!" he smiles as Bill slips his shoes off before continuing his way into the house.

"Well good morning baby boogie!" Bill greets him, taking him from Michael's arms and giving him a tight hug. "Got that donut for you like I promised. G'morning Mike."

"What do you say when someone gives you a gift?" Michael asks him. "Morning Bill!"

"Tank wu." he says to Bill, giving him another hug. Bill sets him down and hands him the donut still in the bag and pats him on the head before slipping away to use the restroom.

"C'mere and I'll break that up for you." Michael says.

"No mine." Esco whines.

"Daddy'll give it back. C'mere boy."

He reluctantly walks over to Michael, handing him the bag and bouncing up and down impatiently hands gripping the edge of the sofa. He takes it out of the bag, unwrapping it and breaking it in half.

"You'll get the other half after we get mama from the airport and go to breakfast, okay?"

"Tank wu daddy." he says to Michael as he grabs the donut half from his hand and immediately places it in his mouth. After he gets done, Michael gives him a bath and gets him dressed before showering and doing the same for himself. They were both so excited to see you after you've been gone for 2 weeks on a trip for your own small business that Michael helped you get started with. You had been promoting your brand well, so naturally the invitations came.

"You ready to go?" Bill asks Michael as he holds baby Esco in his arms.

"Uh huh." Michael answers he grabs a set of roses for you off the table. He slips one rose out of the dozen and gives it to Esco. "You hand this to mama when you her, okay?" He nods.

"Okay daddy." he smiles.

~

"Michael why are you crying?" you ask him, your hand resting on his thigh as the two of you sit together on a park bench.

"Because." he says through a shaky breath. "That's all I ever wanted from Joseph. He didn't give it to me or my brothers and sisters, but I'm glad he can give it to his grandkids."

Off in the short distance, by a set of slides, Joseph stands next to his grandson who reaches for his hand as he points to something that he wants to show him. Joseph grabs his hand and kneels down so that he's at his level. In his hand, he picks up a tiny rock and shows it off like it's his most prized possession. Joseph smiles and laughs at him, taking the rock from it and actually examining it as if it means something, but to his grandson, it means everything.

"You really do a great job of reminding me why I married you." you say as you lean over to give him a kiss on the cheek, wiping away the tears from his eyes. You wrap your arm under his neck, cupping the side of his face before you pull him in closer to you, kissing his cheek over and over again.

"Do you think he'll be like me?" he asks with worry in his voice. "Do you think any of kids will be like me?"

"What do you mean?" you asked confused.

"Do you think he'll have the same issues I do?" Michael looks you directly in your eyes when he asks. "Any of them?"

"It's always a possibility." you answer truthfully. "But what does that change? You're still their daddy. You're still oh so handsome. They'll still love you and we'll still love them."

"I don't want them to-,"

"I wish anybody would." you say firmly. "Your skin condition doesn't define you, Michael. I honestly think it's cute, your moomoo skin."

"Moomoo skin?" Michael chuckles.

"You love it. Don't act like you don't love it."

Michael had to admit the nickname for his vitiligo was cute. And when looked at himself in the mirror bare, your kind, gentle, and reassuring words play in the back of his head to remind him that he isn't a freak and that he's just uniquely him. He knows he's not the only one to suffer from it and prays silently for the rest out there in the world that share the same insecurity that he does.

"It'll be fine." you reassure him again. "You have not one, but two families behind you. I don't care what anyone has to say."

"I love you mamas." Michael says still with a broken voice.

"I love you too papas."

"Mama!" Esco's voice shrieks through the air as he runs over to the both of you, that rock clutched tight in his hand, Joseph trailing behind him. "Daddy! Look! Look wut me and grampa found!"

"Very nice! Very nice indeed." you say as he sets the rock your hand. There's nothing special about it really, but you too look at it like it's a trophy.

"We should take him to the beach sometime." Michael suggests. "Real pretty rocks he can pick up down there."

“I think that’s a great idea.” Joseph says as he stands behind Esco with his hands in his pockets, but not for long as he reaches for his grandfather and Joseph quickly picks him up.

“Grampa go too, daddy?” Esco asks Michael. You watch the interaction between the three of them carefully. Joseph had already picked up a new tune when it came to his grandchildren, but with Esco it was different. Away from him, he could keep up that hard exterior, but around him he couldn’t. His youngest grandson had him wrapped around his little finger. “Right daddy?”

“Of course.” Michael says without really thinking much about it. Knowing Joseph, he probably would for forget that he even agreed to go. But maybe this thought was wrong. He never stood his grandson up.

“Michael can I talk to you for a minute?” Joseph abruptly asks and you can see Michael’s body go rigid, but he agrees anyways.

“Sure..” he says lowly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sure Joseph.”

He hands Esco over to you and promises he’ll be right back when he starts to whine from not wanting to be separated from his grandfather.

“You always show out when you’re around your grandpa.” you huff. “C’mere before I eat cha’.”

Michael and Joseph walk off to where he and Esco at once stood. He runs thumb and index finger along his mustache, looking at the ground before looking at his son. Michael stands there, eyes darting everywhere, but at Joseph.

“Michael.” Joseph says firmly, but not aggressively. “Look at me. I need you to to look at me when I tell you this.”

Still, Michael struggles to maintain eye contact. How could he? The only reason they were even out here was because Katherine encouraged him to give him the chance properly bond with his grandson.

“Can I at least get a glance from you so that I know you’re listening to me?”

Michael gives him what he wants, his eyes quickly looking away.

“I’m listening to you da-, Joseph.” he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry.” Joseph says and Michael almost thinks he’s dreaming. He stands still, his ears ringing slightly as he brain continues to process the words he may or may have not heard. His body gets hot and he’s crossed between passing out and throwing up. “Michael? Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Michael answers, clearing his throat and Joseph sighs.

“I said I’m sor-,”

“No don’t say it again. I heard you.”

“I just. I just wanna know what you’re sorry for.” he lies because he already knows, he just doesn’t know if he can accept this apology because it’s too soon. “Like. I’m confused on what you’re apologizing for.”

“You don’t gotta play stupid with me boy.” Joseph says, never taking his eyes off of Michael. “I know heard me. Look. I know I wasn’t exactly the easiest on you and-,”

“Just tell me what you want Joseph. I don’t want to have this conversation with you right now.” Michael says firmly, but respectfully.

“Just.” he sighs. “Don’t take my grandson away from me.”

“Why would I take your grandson away from you?”

“I thought you didn’t want to have this conversation right now?”

“You brought me over here, so tell me. Why would I take your grandson away from you?”

The silence is loud between the both of them as Michael finally gets the courage to look him in his face because he knows it’s the one question he won’t be able to answer. After a few moments of silence pass, Michael speaks again, closing the distance between him and his father.

“Look.” Michael begins as he leans over his shoulder and speaks directly into his ear. “You fucked up with me and the rest of the family, but you’ve been good to your grandkids. I won’t take Esco away from you, IF, it stays that way.”

“I hungry daddy!” Esco yells from afar, wanting them to speed up the conversation.

“Thanks for the chance.” Joseph says before patting his shoulder and walking away. “Son.”

Read Not Like Him, Here.

[foreverevertrue]

"MORNING WOOD"

Pairing: pre-otw/the jacksons!michael x girlfriend!reader SYNOPSIS:michaels embarrassed about having morning wood, and while you try to make him feel better about it his brothers interrupt

content: michael getting morning wood, michaels brother cockblocking, suggestive,embarrassed michael,fade to black,

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Masterlist

The air in the room was cold, the kind that made staying under the heavy comforter feel like the only reasonable option. Outside, the early sun was barely peaking through the thin curtains, casting long pale shadows across the scuffed floorboards and the cluttered wooden dresser.

Michael shifted his shoulder just an inch, making sure he did not jostle you too much.

You were tucked entirely beneath his shirt, your face pressed right against the warm spot where his neck met his shoulder. Your breathing was slow and steady against his skin. The shirt was just an old, worn out white cotton tee he had washed a hundred times, wide enough at the neck that you had burrowed your way inside it sometime around three in the morning when the temperature dropped. Your smaller frame was resting snugly right against his bare ribs, your arm looped over his waist while his arms stayed wrapped around your back to keep the loose cotton pulled over both of you.

He stared up at the ceiling, listening to the rare quiet in the house. No heavy boots coming down the hall yet. No loud arguing over who finished the orange juice or who left the tv running. Just the hum of the old refrigerator down the hallway and the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing.

He gently ran his palm up and down your back, feeling the quiet rise and fall of your chest. You made a little muffled noise, rubbing your forehead against his collarbone, but you did not open your eyes. You just curled a little closer, hooking your knee over his leg.

That small shift made Michael go completely still.

He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet breath through his nose as the reality of waking up next to you hit him. Morning light always brought its usual physiological reaction, but having your body shifted directly over his lap made it impossible to pretend it was not happening.

He tried to subtly slide his hips back half an inch to make some space, but the mattress sagged toward the center anyway, pulling you right back against him.

He looked back up at the ceiling, trying to think about literally anything else. Cold water. Fixing the porch step. The vocal warmups he had to do later.

Against his chest, your eyelashes fluttered open. You blinked a couple times, squinting against the soft light coming through the window, your hair sticking up in soft static tangles around your face.

"Morning," you mumbled, your voice raspy and low.

"Morning," Michael said softly. His voice came out a bit lower than usual, so he cleared his throat gently and offered you a small, slightly crooked smile. "You sleep okay?"

"Yeah," you murmured, stretching your arms out inside the shirt, which pulled the stretched fabric tight across his shoulders. "You are like a heater. It's freezing in here and I'm sweating."

"Well you stole my shirt," he said, his thumb lazily tracing a circle over your shoulder blade. "You owe me heat."

"you need to share" you reasoned, your fingers trailing casually down his chest, sliding down toward his stomach.

You shifted your hips again to get comfortable, your knee brushing solidly against the hard shape pressed against his shorts.

Your hand stopped right on his lower stomach.

Michael held his breath, his eyes widening slightly. He could feel the heat climbing straight up his neck.

You slowly tilted your head up, meeting his eyes. The sleepy haze in your face vanished in about two seconds, replaced by a slow, knowing smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth.

"Oh," you said quietly, your tone full of quiet amusement.

Michael groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm. "Do not start. Just pretend you didn't notice. It is just a morning thing."

"Is it?" you asked, sliding yourself up his body just an inch or two. The movement brought your chest flush against his, the loose neck of the shirt pooling around your waists as you propped your chin on your hands over his chest.

"Yes," Michael insisted, though his hand drifted down to rest on your hip anyway, his fingers curving around your waist. "It happens every single day. Totally normal."

"You do not look like you want me to ignore it," you whispered, leaning down until your lips were resting right against the line of his jaw. Your hand dipped lower, your fingers lightly catching the elastic band of his shorts, your knuckles brushing warm skin.

Michael felt his pulse jump straight into his throat. He took his arm off his face and looked at you, his dark eyes fixed on yours. He reached up, tucking a loose curl behind your ear, his touch surprisingly soft for how fast his heart was beating.

"You are playing with fire for eight in the morning," he warned quietly, his voice rough.

"Maybe I like fire," you murmured against his lips.

You shifted yourself over his lap, your knee sliding over his thigh so you could sit up over him, your hand moving lower to trace the warm skin beneath his shorts. Michael let out a low breath, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you down into a deep, slow kiss that made you hum softly against his mouth. The cold air in the room completely vanished, replaced by a thick, quiet heat that made his head spin.

You began to lean into him, your fingers tugging at his waist, and Michael was just about to flip the two of you over when the heavy bedroom door was slammed inward so hard the handle banged against the wall.

"Mike! Wake up! Where are the car keys?"

Michael and you both gasped in pure terror.

In less than a second, instinct took over. Michael grabbed you by the shoulders and shoved you sideways onto the mattress, yanking the heavy quilt all the way over your head until you were completely buried under a giant pile of blankets. At the exact same time, he sat up like a lightning bolt, pulling his knees up tight against his chest to hide himself, his face burning like a furnace.

"Marlon! What the hell!" Michael yelled, his voice cracking straight into a high register. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Marlon was standing right in the open doorway, wearing an oversized hoodie and holding a half eaten piece of toast, looking totally unfazed. Behind him in the hallway, Randy was stomping around in his boots, shouting about someone stealing his jacket.

"I did knock," Marlon lied instantly, taking a bite of his toast. "Well I thought about it. Where are the keys? We got to go pick up the equipment before noon."

"They are on the kitchen table!" Michael shouted, his knuckles white where he was gripping his knees to his chest. "On the table! Where they always are! Get out!"

Marlon didn't move. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, squinting his eyes as he looked at Michael, and then down at the gigantic, distinctly human shaped lump twitching under the comforter beside him.

"Why are you sitting like that?" Marlon asked, his brow furrowing. "And why are you so red? It is like thirty degrees in this room."

"Because you just almost gave me a heart attack," Michael snapped, his voice tight. "Leave!"

From under the massive pile of blankets, a muffled, choked sound came out as you tried not to laugh into the pillow.

Michael immediately slapped his palm down onto the blanket right over your back to keep you still, glaring at his brother with absolute hatred.

Marlon stared at the blanket lump. Then he looked back at Michael. A terrible, wide grin slowly spread across his face as he put it together.

"Oh," Marlon said, rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh of disgust. "Gross. Man, it is eight in the morning. Have some decency."

"I am literally sitting in bed!" Michael yelled, his voice cracking again. "Get out of my room!"

"Hey!" Randy yelled from down the hall, his heavy footsteps coming closer. "Did you get the keys? Tell him to hurry up!"

"He's busy!" Marlon called back over his shoulder, laughing out loud now. "He's busy being a whole degenerate!"

"Shut up!" Michael yelled, grabbing the nearest pillow off the bed and launching it with full force straight at his brother's head.

Marlon ducked easily, the pillow bouncing harmlessly off the wall behind him as he cracked up. "All right, all right, calm down! We are leaving! Just put some pants on, nobody wants to see all that!"

He finally grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it shut, though he did not close it all the way, leaving it cracked open as his loud laughter faded down the hallway toward the front door.

Michael sat frozen in the middle of the bed for a long ten seconds, listening intently until he heard the heavy front door click shut, followed by the sound of the car engine turning over in the driveway and pulling away down the street.

Once the sound faded completely, Michael let out a long, pathetic groan and buried his face in his hands.

The huge lump of blankets beside him started squirming.

Slowly, your head peeked out from under the heavy quilt, your hair sticking up in every direction, your eyes watering from holding your breath for so long. You looked at Michael, shoved your face straight into the mattress, and started laughing so hard your shoulders shook.

"It is not funny," Michael muttered through his fingers, though his own lips were twitching as he tried to stay mad. "They are actual wild animals. Zero manners."

"The way you shoved me," you wheezed, sitting up and wiping your eyes, your voice completely breathless. "I thought you were going to throw me out the window!"

"I panicked!" Michael defended himself, flopping flat onto his back next to you with a heavy thud. "You were half naked in my shirt! What was I supposed to do, introduce you while you were sitting on my lap?"

"That would have been amazing," you giggled, rolling onto your side and resting your chin on his chest again.

Michael looked at you, taking in your bright eyes and the soft red flush on your cheeks. All the awkward tension from his brothers barging in melted away, leaving the room feeling quiet and warm again.

He reached out, smoothing down your messy hair with his fingers, a real, soft smile finally breaking across his face.

"They ruined it completely," he murmured, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

You smiled back, your hand sliding under the hem of his shirt again to feel the warm skin of his waist. "We have all day now. They will be gone for hours."

Michael looked at you for a beat, a slow grin spreading across his face. "You know what? You are right."

He reached over the side of the bed, grabbing the long brass handle on the door and pulling it until the lock clicked firmly into place. Then he turned back, pulling the heavy blanket up over both your shoulders, shutting out the cold morning entirely.

[moejacksonn]

im salivating

[infernwetrust]

Not Like Him [Michael Jackson x Fem Reader]

Summary: Pregnant with you and your husband’s second child, tensions boil over when you’ve had enough of him spending so much time away from his family more than usual.

Warnings: fluff, angst, fluff, angst, fluff, angst, fluff, angst :)

WC: 6.3k

A/N: This wasn’t suppose to be that long fr lol, but I love writing cute little family stuff. Not proof read. Thank you for reading. -J

Daddy’s Boy

You and Michael were just 18 years old when he decided he wanted to marry you. Three years later during the production of ‘Off The Wall’, you'd unexpectedly give him the greatest gift in the world, his son. Born July 1st, 1979 was Michael Esco David Jackson. When you presented the name to Michael, although he agreed to it, he spent the first month after he was born making sure you were actually okay with it. For Michael, his brothers were a source of strength, comfort, and guidance and you knew that. And if his son were to ever ask him the origins of his name, he could tell him he was named after some legends.

Only 6 months into his birth, he would gain several nicknames. Baby E, Baby Esco, Baby Esky, Junior. And sure enough, Jackie seemed to be his favorite uncle. So for the most part the family ended up calling him either Esco or Baby Esco and it stuck.

"Baby are you sure?" Michael asks as he sits behind you in a warm bath, rubbing your back and shoulders.

"Boy if you ask me that again, I'm gonna have an attitude." you playfully say as you lean your head back against his shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure. I know how much your brothers mean to you and you know how much they mean to me too."

"I just don't want to leave your input and your side of the family out." He presses his lips to your shoulder, giving it a tender kiss.

"As many kids as you want, they won't be left out. There will be room for everyone."

"So we can actually have 18 ki-,"

"No." you chuckle softly as you turn your head to look him in his eyes. "6. 7 maybe if you're good."

"I think I can settle for that."

"Waaaaaaaaaaay down the line though."

Nerves were high between the both of you. At only 20 years old, you were both so young to be parents. But one irresponsible night lead to another and you quickly learned that your husband was terrible at pulling out quickly. Nonetheless, Michael made sure that you knew he was going to be a father and continue to be a devoted husband to you no matter what.

Safe to say, way down the line didn't make it very far. Now, with the impending release of ‘Thriller’, you were pregnant with you and Michael's second child. But that wasn't really the issue. You had been watching your husband drift away for a couple months now, not out of love, just away. You knew that the pressure Joseph had him under was to blame, but that's never kept him so distant. You knew he was stressed, but honestly, when was Michael never stressed? Even when he was having a good time, the stress always lingered.

When he found out you were pregnant, he moved the two of you out of his family home in an instant. You had longed witnessed the tension, the arguments, the passive aggressiveness between him and his father since you started dating him. He needed an out for the both of  you and he took it. He moved the two of you into an estate about the same size and within the neighborhood so that he could keep the family close by.

An attentive father from the very start, it was like he was now running on autopilot when he interacted with either of you. It's been 3 months since the three of you have sat down for dinner as family. It's been 3 months since he's stopped tucking Esco into bed. 3 months since he's last held you in bed. He dare never forget to tell you that he loves you though. And when your son looked into your eyes with a face like his father's and asked you where his he was in his tiny little voice, how could you tell him that he simply did not have the time?

But Michael didn't see it that way. To him, he was going through the motions like a busy husband and father should. He was still next to you every morning you opened your eyes, but not for long. He made an appearance at breakfast, but only to grab two things off his plate and the glass of orange juice before making his way into the family studio. When he stepped out of the studio, he spent an hour max between you and Esco before he was tucked away again.

Today was suppose to be a family day, literally, yet you've never felt more alone. You lay on the big plush sectional in the family den, watching through the glass as your little ray of sunshine ran around in his swim trunks with his cousins. You smile to yourself, cheek resting on the back of your hand, as Jermaine picks him up, flipping him upside before spinning him around. His joyful squeals can be heard from a mile away.

Your happiness was soon replaced by a mild irritation that was growing stronger by the second. Here every single member of the Jackson's and your family was, but Michael. Like usual, he was tucked away in that fucking studio working himself to death for the completion of his 2nd album. Janet and Latoya tried to get you to come back outside, but you just gave them the excuse that you were a little tired from the summer heat. You leave the side door open just incase they need you.

"Uh oh big man!" you hear Jackie yell when he sees Esco attempting to pick up a basketball with his tiny hands. Siggy, Jackie's oldest at 5 years olds, walks over to what his little mind considers an extension of him and helps. He places the ball in Esco's hands and helps him hold it. The two awkward walk around like that for a bit before he gets distracted by one of his aunts, his little feet stomping over in excitement.

You continue to watch as the family interacts, sad not out of jealousy, but because you miss your husband so fucking bad. Janet is chasing him back and forth now, but when he makes eye contact with you he stops dead in his tracks. He turns and looks at you, cheesing harder than ever as he waves. And when you wave back, he waves with two hands, bouncing up and down slightly.

This instantly improves your mood and you sit up, motioning for him to come over and he takes off like a rocket, Janet rubbing his head gently and handing him a juice box before he goes. He throws himself into your arms at full force, choking on his juice slightly and you respond by patting and rubbing his back.

"Slow down there, Boogie." you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead as he twirls himself around comfortably between your legs, sipping on his juice box still. Boogie was the nickname Michael had given him because the moment he could stand on two feet, just like his father, he was grooving.

"Mama." he simply says, his voice a crackling a little and you can only hope that's he's not getting a summer cold.

"Hm?" you respond, your arms wrapped around his little frame, chin resting ever so lightly on top of his head.

"Daddy." he simply says again.

You smiled as you stood in the courtyard of your new home, watching mama Katherine, your husband and your mother from afar. He holds year old baby Esco in his arms, stomach down, like a football, gently swaying him from side to side. He giggles and kicks his feet as your mother tickles and softly pinches his chubby legs, his arms occasionally flailing and grabbing Michael's. Inside, your father and Joseph continue to walk through the house.

"I hope you're prepared to keep up with Mike's crazy ass spending habits." Tito laughs as he stands next to you with his hands shoved in his pocket, also looking towards the affectionate display. Whatever Michael is saying has the two ladies cracking up a storm. His humor and silliness was a major attraction for you. And you grin when you remember him telling you he sure hopes y'all's kids are funny.

"He's already started by buying us a house that's the same size as the one a few streets down." you answer. "As if he's planning seriously for those 18 kids he wants."

"And is still a baby his damn self."

"You were in his shoes once, Toriano." you raise an eyebrow, nudging him with your shoulders.

"Do as I say, not as I do." Tito replies and you both bust out laughing. "He's gonna kill me for telling you this, but I got to."

"I remember when Mike was scared as shit to make the first move on you." Tito begins. "And this was after y'all had already been dating for like a year. He came into Jermaine's room in fucking shambles because he thought he couldn't handle you."

"I mean he was fucking panicking." he continues. "2 years later he marries you. 4 years later you both bless me with one of my nephews."

"When you have a good group of brothers behind you, I'm sure it's easy for your confidence to grow." you say back. "He speaks fondly of all of you any chance that he gets. It's why I wanted to name Esco what I named him."

"Jermaine is very jealous by the way." Tito laughs. "He said y'all gave his nephew an extra middle name just not to make it his."

"This ain't our last kid. He'll get over it."

~

"Heywatchadoin!" Michael playfully says to Esco when he walks back into bedroom and sees him standing in his crib. Esco squeals and jumps up and down before plopping himself on his back. "Woah-,"

"I swear he gets so excited when you walk into the room." you smile as you watch Michael walk over and pick him up. He can't throw himself into his father's grasp fast enough, his little arms locking around his neck and resting his head on his shoulder. Michael carries him over, sitting down on the edge of the bed before laying on his side and setting him between the two of you.

He leans back comfortably against Michael who props himself up on his elbow. You lean forward, tickling Esco on the bottom of his foot and he kicks his feet and squeals. When you pull your hand away he reaches for it, pulling it right back as he plays with your fingers, fascinated by the beautiful wedding ring that adorns one of them. You stop him when he tries to pull it off, grabbing his nose instead.

"Aht aht." you say. "You take my ring, I take your nose."

He finds this so amusing that he throws his head back like an old man in laughter, hitting Michael in his bottom lip.

"Oop." you cover your mouth, trying not to laugh too much.

"Head big as hell.." Michael mumbles as he rubs his bottom lip that is throbbing slightly. "Must of gotten it from his grandpa..."

Within the next hour both of your boys are asleep. Michael lays flat on his back, snoring. Baby Esco is also flat on his back, on his father, fast asleep. You yawn before getting up and stretching, slowly and carefully lifting him up and setting him down in his crib and kissing his forehead. You crawl back into the bed next to your husband, kissing the side of his face before reaching over to turn the lamp off. Just when you thought you're also going to get to finally rest, the phone rings.

"I know you' fuckin' lyin." you mumble to yourself and you can already hear baby Esco stirring in his crib.

"Whoever just woke my baby up.." Michael says lowly as he's also stirred awake. "Is gonna have to answer to me personally.."

~

Latoya gasps dramatically and bounces Esco in his arms as she points in the direction of his father who is making his way into his dressing room. Michael's sweaty and exhausted, but the adrenaline after shows always kept him going. You sit there and watch in amusement at his excitement as you continue your conversation with Katherine. The closer Michael gets, the louder and more excited Esco responds.

"Who is that?!" she asks, still pointing at Michael. "Is that your daddy? Hm?"

He looks up at her, still giggling as he grabs her shirt and hides his face before popping it back out. She laughs that high pitched laugh and you can't help but snicker to yourself.

"That boy really loves his father." Katherine says to you warmly, her hand resting over yours.

"Trust me I know." you sigh out contently. "I think he can tell when someone has a pure heart. He's such a happy baby."

Michael smiles at him, stopping to wipe the sweat off of him with a towel before throwing it over his shoulder. He does a little spin before taking Esco out of Latoya's arms and hugging him, showering him with kisses. He wraps his arms around Michael, clinging to him and finally yawns. His father brought him so much peace that after terrorizing everyone for most of the show, he was finally ready to go to sleep.

He walks over to you and his mother, giving the both of you a kiss on the cheek, baby Esco falling into a deeper slumber by the second. You urged Michael to keep him awake because you knew that there would be hell to pay in the middle of the night if he didn't.

~

You lay comfortably on your side on the floor, eyes on the TV as Esco leans back against you, his little fingers playing with the necklace Michael got you a few weeks ago. When he makes a noise that somewhere between confusion and amazement you grin, grabbing his hands and giving them a kiss before running your fingers through his hair.

When Michael stumbles through the front door, with him he has some roses in his hands, a teddy bear for Esco, and a few bags full of groceries that you asked him to bring home. He sets everything down, but the two gifts, in the kitchen. When he makes his way into the sunken in living room, he immediately gets on his knees next to the both of you, apologetic.

"I know I'm few hours later than I said I would be..." he sighs out. "I'm sorry baby." He leans over to kiss Esco on the top of his head before setting the decent sized teddy bear down in front of him. Esco immediately leans over onto it, rubbing his hands across to determine whether or not he likes the texture. Michael hands you the roses and leans forward to kiss you softly.

"I'm like really sorry." he says again. "I just got-,"

"What are you apologizing for?" you ask as you stare up into his eyes, damn near falling in love with him all over again.

"I hate leaving you and Esco here alone all day while I'm busy." he admits. "I feel guilty."

"You shouldn't feel guilty for showing up and providing." you say, sitting up and kissing him again, watching Esco entertain his new teddy bear out the corner of your eye. "Even when you're at your absolute end, you're here and present."

So then what changed?

You didn't even notice that some of the family had gathered to keep you company until your husband's voice snaps you out of your memories like clockwork. And while you thought you would happy, you just ended up even more irritated instead by the words coming out of his mouth.

"Aw come on Mike!" Randy throws his arms up at the door. "Just have a burger or something man. You've been locked away all day. We haven't seen you for more than 15 minutes at a time."

"Seriously Michael." Janet agrees, also sticking her head out the door.

"Just give me like 30 more minutes!" Michael says to them as he walks backwards to retreat to his studio once again. You finally reach a breaking point as you abruptly get up from your seat and excuse yourself from the few family members in the den, brushing past Randy and Janet that are still standing in the door.

You're quick and heavy on your feet despite being 6 months pregnant. A few eyes follow you across the backyard and they already know that you're on a mission. They don't blame you. Nope. Not one bit. He's so focused on the studio door in front of him, he doesn't even hear that you're catching up to him. And when he swings the door open, he expects it to close behind him shortly thereafter, but it doesn't. He looks over his shoulder before turning fully around when he realizes that it's you.

"Oh sorry sweethe-," he begins, but you immediately cut him off by slamming the door behind you.

"Why are you the only one not out there?" you ask, trying not to raise your voice immediately, tears wanting to form in your eyes. A hand rests on your hip, another on the door handle as you stare him dead in his face.

"I'm working." he simply says.

"On the ONE day that the family decides that everyone shouldn't be? You are literally the ONLY ONE, Michael."

"Not everyone is working on producing-,"

"Michael Joseph Jackson, I promise you that I will cut everything in this motherfucking house OFF."

"Will you calm down?" he says with a calmness that almost makes you turn into a wild animal. He literally cannot be this dense right now, but he is. "I did the same thing during ‘Off The Wall’ and nobody said anything."

"You did the same-," you hysterically repeat before laughing to yourself so you genuinely don't lose your mind.

"What's so funny?"

"No. NO." you say through a clenched jaw. "During ‘Off The Wall’ you were present. During ‘Off The Wall’ everyone still got to spend time with you. During ‘Off The Wall’ you were still paying attention to your fucking family."

"During and after ‘Off The Wall’." you continue, dragging out your words. "I was able to see my husband and my son was able to see his father."

"Baby what are you talking about?" he asks in genuine confusion.

"Yeah I'm about to fuck this whole place up." you say at the height of your pregnant emotions.

"Okay." Michael takes a seat on the edge of the table behind him, running his hands down his face. "Are you serious or is this your-,"

"I'll smack the fire right out your mouth boy." you say with an attitude.

"I really wish you'd tell me what the problem is." he says, starting to get irritated as well. "’Thriller’ is set to be released before the end of this year. I. Am. Working."

"Go ahead and keep prioritizing business over family." You don't really have the energy to fight with him and you're really thinking about crying, but you don't want to break now.

"I'm literally still here!" Michael yells slightly. "You have infinite access to me! I'm still taking care of OUR son. I change his diapers, I feed him, I make sure he has whatever he needs! Every damn day!"

"You just like your damn daddy thinking doing simple shit makes up for lost time." the words slip out of your mouth faster than you can catch them and you both freeze and just stare at each other. "Michael I-,"

"I'm just like my damn daddy huh?" he asks you and you can hear the cry in his throat. The last thing Michael wanted to be was like his father. Sure. Joseph provided everything that his children needed, but he wasn't a father. He wasn't the father they needed him to be. And when Michael married and bred you, he promised that Esco would know what it was like to be loved unconditionally for who he was and not whatever talent he could possess. Hearing these words come out of your mouth, even though you knew it was far from the truth, broke him.

"Baby-,"

"I'm just like my damn daddy..." Michael repeats as he wipes his mouth, chuckling quietly to himself as he walks past you.

"Michael.." you grab his arm and he stops and looks into your eyes and beyond your soul.

"I'm just like my damn daddy." he says to you. "I'm just like my damn daddy..."

"I didn't mean it like th-,"

"So then what the fuck did you mean? Huh?"

"Michael I just.." you begin, your voice cracking. "I just miss you. Esco is always asking about you. The night after you won your grammy.. you just-,"

"I busted my ass day and night for that album just for them to play in my face and give me one grammy." he says through gritted teeth. "They won't get the chance to disrespect me again? You hear me?"

"So you're willing to neglect your fam-,"

"IM NOT NEGLEC-," he stops himself when he looks down at your stomach, not wanting to stress you or the baby out. "I'm not neglecting my family. This album has to be it. It has to be. The world doesn't look at us past our skin color and what we have to offer."

"I gotta make sure my son sees that you can get anything you want as long as you work for it." he continues. "And you wanna know what makes me different from Joseph?"

"Michael I know you're not like him." you say as the tears start falling.

"Esco can call me dad. Esco can come to me crying about the silliest thing and I won't make fun of him and I'd never put my hands on him." he says, ignoring what you just said. He presses his nose firmly against the side of your face incase you can't hear him. "Esco will always know what it's like to feel a fathers love. Esco will get to take part in all his interests and not have any pressure on his back. Esco will get to celebrate birthdays, holidays, and whatever else.."

"So before you tell me that I'm just like my damn daddy."  he chuckles on the side of your face. "Consider the way I was brought up then and then consider the way Esco is being brought up now. I'll NEVER be like Joseph. NEVER."

With those words said, he respectfully pulls his arm away from you and walks through the studio door, leaving you with your thoughts and his words. Everyone is shocked and happy to see him leave as quickly as he entered, but those faces are quickly replaced with looks of concern when they see the look on his face and the way he's walking.

"You alright?" Marlon tries to stop him, but he just pushes right past him and keeps going. The only voice he doesn't have the heart to ignore is the one little one that screams daddy as he walks by. He stops and turns around, forcing a smile to appear on his face when he makes eye contact with Esco who caught him through the den door. He turns and walks in that direction instead, not saying a single word to anyone else in the room.

In one quick motion he scoops him up into his arms, giving him a tight hug before carrying him into the main part of the house.

"Daddy done with work?" Esco asks and Michael simply nods before giving him a kiss on his temple and rubbing his back.

A mixture of yours and his family start to grow extremely worried when they don't see you exit the studio after about 10 minutes. Rebbie and Latoya take the initiative to make the first move and both frown when they find you on the studio sofa in tears. And once you finally calm down and explain the conversation, everyone has different opinions.

"No." Latoya disagrees with Rebbie. "He knew damn well what she was talking about. He took her words and spun them out of proportion. With that attitude he was acting just like his damn daddy."

"Now I do think it's fair to consider Michael's workload and work ethic." Rebbie says. "I think this is all just a big misunderstanding. You girls know. You know when Michael gets in the zone there's no taking him out of it."

"When Michael decided to have a family, he decided to make some sacrifices. And I'm not saying he should sacrifice his entire career.. but..."

"I think that as Michael continues to gain his independence, he needs a little more structure." Rebbie sighs as she rubs your back while you sit there silently, just listening to what they both have to say. "He's so use to doing everything on a schedule.. Joseph's schedule at that."

"I should of never said he was like him.." you interject.

"Well he sure was acting like it..." Latoya mumbles as she rolls her eyes and runs a hand through her hair. "I'm trying to give him some grace, but it sucks to watch the man you love slowly fade away not only in his physical presence, but mentally too."

Inside the house, Michael paced around with Esco in his arms as he tried to determine what his next move would be. He was hot, but couldn't outwardly show it. He didn't want to.

"You sure are getting heavy boy." Michael says to him as they stand in the middle of living room, staring out the window as everyone continues in the festivities outside.

"Big, strong!" he squeals. "Like uncle Esco and uncle Randy!"

"That's right." Michael chuckles.

"Mike." Marlon calls for him as he walks through a side door, Jermaine trailing behind him. A few of Esco's cousins come scrambling behind them as well, asking Michael if he can please let him come back outside and play. Michael sets him down, watching as he runs off towards the group. He slips his little hand into Stacee's as they dart out the door, the sound of children's screams and laughter filling the air.

"You gonna keep ignoring us or what?" Jermaine asks with an eyebrow raised.

"What does everyone want from me?" Michael asks as he faces the two of him, a hard look on his face.

"What are you going on about?" Marlon asks.

"Oh so we're all just gonna stand here in and play the question game now, huh?" Michael shifts his stance slightly.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Marlon asks again.

"No what's everyone else's problem?" Michael asks. "What do y'all want? What does everyone want from me? Tell me."

"Are you really standing in front of us getting mad because everyone wants to spend some time with you?"

Jermaine asks. "You know how hard it is to get ahold of you outside rehearsals?"

"Y'all don't need me."

"We absolutely do need you."

"No, wait. Hold on. What do you mean by that?" Marlon asks. "Cause I know you're not implying what I think you are. So tell me, my twin, what do you mean by that?"

Michael stands there and continues looking at the both of them without saying anything because he is implying exactly what Marlon thinks he is. Which is crazy because that's not even the context of the situation.

"Riiiiight. You think this is about business." Marlon continues with an irritated smirk on his face. "Because I'm sure when your wife marched in there after you, it was about business. Right?"

"Joseph has you so hardwired that now even when we delegate family time, you still can't separate business from leisure." Jermaine adds. "Everyone has spent the entire day with each other except for you. It's 4 in the afternoon and we've all been up since 8. How much have we seen of you?"

"I think the three of us should go for a long drive." Marlon suggests. "Don't you think so Jermaine?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Michael honey, I'm fine." you say to him as you run your fingers through his hair before cupping underneath his chin. This is the 6th time he's stepped out of the booth within the last hour and a half to check on you. You had long offered to leave the studio to give him his space, but he insisted on having you right underneath him.

"You sure? Can I get you anything? Hungry? Thirsty?" he asks with pure devotion in his eyes. He rubbed every part of your aching body, offering you temporary relief.

"Michael. At this rate you're not gonna get through Workin' Day and Night before the sun goes down." You run your finger along his jawline and he grabs your hand and kisses it before pressing it to his cheek. "And I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you tell me that I must be seeing some other guy instead of you."

"Ahahaha." he laughs. "You got jokes."

"I learn from only the funniest man on the planet."

"Ooo don't let Marlon hear you say that."

He kisses you slowly and tenderly, tuning out all thee other bodies in the room before standing up from kneeling and stretches. He rubs your stomach and smiles to himself as he takes a few sips of water before stepping back into the booth.

~

You smile wide as you stand stage side with your mother and your mother-in law as you watch Michael prance around the stage with two year old baby Esco in his arms, his hold and strong firm as he bounces him up and down to the beat of the music. If the crowd wasn't lively already, they were when Randy decided to come scoop him up from stage side.You admire your husband and his brother's work ethic as even with Esco moving around between their grasps, they never missed a beat.

"She's says that workin'." Michael sings into the mic, changing up the lyrics slightly, as he looks at his son who is as giddy as can be in his arms. "Is what a man's suppose to do." 

"And I say it ain't right.." he continues, his smile growing wider and wider at his son's happiness. "If I can't give sweet love to her."

Marlon is right off Michael's shoulder as they continue moving and Esco reaches out for him. Michael passes him off with ease, pinching his cheek gently as he continues to sing. Marlon carries him around now, alternating between carrying him at waist and shoulder level and even in the air. When he needs to use his entire body, he places him on Jackie's shoulders.

His hands make their way around Jackie's forehead as he hangs on for dear life, giggling the entire time while his favorite uncle continues to dance. You wipe the happy tears away from your eyes when you feel your mother’s warm embrace around you.

“You know.” she begins in your ear over the music. “As your father and I watched you grow, I prayed that you’d find someone to love you the same way your father loves me.”

“Now I didn’t think you’d still be so young, but.” she continues. “I’m glad it’s him.” Your mother’s words leave you speechless and all you can do is turn around to hug her.

~

Michael has no choice but to go with his brothers because he knows they won't leave him alone. Jermaine tells everyone that they're "simply going to the store" and will be back in a bit. Michael sits up front with Marlon, Jermaine in the back, but middle seat as they drive off. They reassured Bill that they would be fine.

By the time they had gotten back, the sun was setting, much to everyone's irritation. But, Michael needed the very long conversation. He was still in a piss poor mood when the three of them returned, but he had a better understanding of what the issue was. However, things would remain awkward between the two of you for the remainder of the of the evening even as the both of you continued to interact with the rest of the family.

The two of you assisted in giving y'all's three year old a bath before bed, not exchanging more than a few sentences at a time. After Michael put him to bed, he joined you in bed, scooting over to give you a kiss on your cheek before scooting back over to his side of the bed. You immediately turn around to face him, grabbing him and pulling him back to you before pressing your lips against his.

A slow and heated kiss is shared, but it’s left at just that. The following morning when the sun rises and you open your eyes, you’re slightly startled to see Michael still next to you when he hasn’t been in so many months. At some point in the night the two of found your way into a cuddle and so you find yourself completely snug against his chest. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps and the guilt of what you said yesterday immediately hits you like a brick.

You take the opportunity to slowly sneak out of the bed, taking a shower and freshening yourself up for the day. When you check on Esco, he’s just now opening and rubbing the sleep out his eyes. He turns around slightly still on his stomach and still rubbing his eyes as he looks at you.

“Mama?” he questions, more for himself while he still can’t see. And when he realizes that it is in fact you, his mood changes from still sleepy to excited. “G’morning mama!” He yawns as he crawls out of his bed and walks over to you, one of his stuffed animals by his side.

“Good morning cutie pie!” you say happily as he slips his hand inside of yours. Walking to the top of the stairs, he holds your hand even tighter before stopping completely.

“Need to go slow.” he reminds you. “Can’t hurt your belly.”

“So smart and caring just like your father.” you praise him.

“Daddy is the best!” he agrees as the two of you slowly make it down the stairs.

“He sure is.”

You wish you could take back what you said and you wish you would of approached Michael a different way about it, but it’s in the past now. By the time he wakes up and makes his way down stairs, you’ve already eaten and fed Esco. You almost forget the two of you even argued yesterday as you watch him continue to walk down the stairs. The post sleep look always fits him so perfectly.

“Good morning the loves of my life.” he says groggily as he throws himself onto the soft carpet where Esco kneels, playing with some of his toys, the tv merely background noise.

“Hi daddy!” he says. “You sleep too much.” Michael just chuckles because he knows he actually doesn’t sleep enough.

“I’m sorry.” you say. “We wanted to wait for you, but I didn’t know when you’d get up.”

Michael throws his arms around Esco, pulling him for a hug before he props himself up on his elbow next to him, letting him continue to play with his toys.

“Don’t ever wait on me to eat if you’re hungry sweetheart.” Michael reminds you. “Can we talk actually?”

You don’t even let him finish his question before you start nodding. He rises to his feet before grabbing both of your hands and helping you up. Walking just out of ear shot of baby Esco, you lean against the wall to the entrance of the dining room, looking up at Michael as he stands in front of you. And when he makes eye contact with you, you both say it at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.” you piggyback right off of him.

“Don’t apologize for it.” he says, honestly. “I needed to hear it. Did I want to? Ehh, not really. But I needed to.”

“No, Michael. Listen to me.” You place a finger firmly on his chest. “I was wrong and out of pocket. You’re nothing like Joseph and I know you never will be.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.” Michael wipes away a tear from your eye before it can make its way too far down your face. “But after some thinking and much needed conversation, I realized that maybe you weren’t all the way wrong.”

“I don’t want you believing you’re anything like your father for a split second.” you slide your hands up his chest before cupping both sides of his face. “Maybe I just got too spoiled when things were a little easier..”

“Not at all.” Michael is quick to defend you from yourself. “I don’t consider you spoiled. I think of it as you getting everything that you deserve. And baby you deserve so much.”

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been present with you and Esco.” he continues. “There’s just so much push and I’m so use to always having to do something.. I just.. I don’t know. I guess I don’t know how to take a break.”

“I know how much this means to you and I don’t want to take it away from you. We can wa-,”

“Don’t ever say that to me again.” Michael says seriously. “Wait my ass. You and my children are my priority.”

“But this is your career.”

“What’s this career worth if I lose my family behind it?” he asks you, bringing his face closer to yours. “I’m building a legacy for not just myself, but for our future too. I don’t have anything, if I don’t have my family.”

Read more about your son, here.

[bawdylanguageee]

AN: After 96 chapters of teasing, of love, of lust, of almosts, of hesitations, here is their first time (michael's first time, lena has a little experience).

uh. p in v, fingering (f receiving), yearning in its sensual form.

there's also a don't stop till you get enough reference and if you catch i will love you till the end of time

only condition is....oh yeah MINORS DNI. THANKS!!!

idk if yall know this about me, feedback makes my world go round and i appreciate comments for sureeee. reblogs are lovely as well.

i hope this lives up to expectations, otherwise im going to delete this entire story (jk!!!)

(kinda). truth is im kinda in my head about this chapter soooooo yeah

Also Quincy put his whole QUINTUSSY in Body Heat y'all!!!

Chapter 97 - Body Heat

By the time they finally reached the apartment, seventeen flights of stairs had taken some of the glamour out of the evening.

Only some.

Michael was still running on the high of everything that had happened—the party, the music, the congratulations that seemed to come from every direction, Lena dancing against him with that little smile she got whenever she knew he was staring. 

Even now, standing in the dark hallway outside his apartment, he could still remember the smooth warmth of her bare back beneath his palm and the tiny gold M resting between her shoulder blades.

The blackout had swallowed most of the building, leaving the halls eerily quiet except for footsteps and the occasional distant voice coming from somewhere below. Bill was considerably less charmed by the whole thing than either of them seemed to be. 

The moment they got inside, he walked through the apartment with the seriousness of a man checking a crime scene, looking through the rooms and making sure the windows and locks were secure.

Michael leaned against the wall beside Lena, his hand resting loosely at her waist while they waited.

Eventually Bill returned from the hallway closet with several flashlights he apparently had in the apartment that Michael was unaware about. He handed one to each of them before fixing them both with a stern look.

“Now, stay put,” Bill instructed, pointing toward the door with his flashlight as though either of them had suggested another seventeen-flight excursion. “Don’t open this door for anybody, and if something happens, you call me.”

“We will,” Lena promised, giving him an affectionate smile despite his expression.

Michael nodded beside her. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Bill looked between them once more, apparently deciding that was as much reassurance as he was going to get, before stepping into the hallway.

Michael immediately locked the door behind him.

For a moment, silence settled over the apartment. It was nice in a way, just the two of them in the silence, the darkness after a night of bright lights and noise. The low hum of the night outside infiltrated the apartment in a low rumble, the usual bright lights of the city’s landscape dark. 

He wouldn’t waste this night, he’d use it to his absolute advantage, turning to Lena he kissed her forehead and said, “Stay in here for a little bit.”

Lena, head swimming with the night's activities, the way his hands felt against her all night, his lips on her skin just now,  watched him back toward the hallway and called out, “Michael?”

“Yeah baby?” 

“I love you.” 

His smile softened, “I’m crazy about you girl.” 

She smiled at his familiar phrase, the words settling deep inside her heart.

Tonight was special for so many reasons—her gift to him, his gift to her. Lena glanced down at the ring he had given her earlier in the evening, smiling as she remembered the quiet moment before everything else began. Before the champagne toasts and congratulations, before they spent half the night wrapped around each other on the dance floor, before the heated make out session in the back of the limousine....

As soon as the limo pulled off, Michael was on top of her kissing her like a man possessed. His hands roamed under her dress, long fingers tempting to rip her panties off, out of the unholy union of lust and love currently coursing through him. His fingers trailed their way up to her breasts, playing with her nipples as his tongue deepened its voyage into her mouth. 

Every moan that escaped him found its home in her throat and she welcomed it, echoing it with her own. If it wasn’t for the length of the journey to the venue, he would have taken her right there she was certain of it by the hard length of him pressing on her stomach and she would have gladly taken everything he gave her. 

God, she wanted to feel him, she wanted to feel that first slide in, his cool inside her warm wetness, welcoming him to go as deep as he wanted and then some. She wanted her leg on his shoulder, his lips on her neck as his hips, his glorious dancer hips, pressed him to the depths of her bringing her to orgasm as she recited his name, softly at first, climbing to a loud echo as he met her peak after peak. 

For now, in this limo, in this too short span of time, she understood his fingers, the fingers that have been inside her on almost a daily basis since she moved in with him. The very same fingers that have always brought her to orgasm, the way he would stick them inside her mouth when he wanted to see her suck her essence off them, his naivety fading away with each sexual encounter they had, that it was the best they could do to soothe the beast that lay dormant inside both of them for so long. 

And boy, did he love fingering her. The way his elongated fingers found their way to that place that made her gasps turn to whines, shrieks when he quickens his pace, needing to see her crumble under him, those fingers needed to be studied. 

He was an absolute enigma, innocent to the public but in private he wanted Lena on his lips in any way, shape or form. 

And in the back of that limo, on the way to the release party for his album, the first album of his adulthood, he wanted nothing more than to be buried in his girlfriend, fingers or otherwise.

The chain she gifted him gifted him earlier brushed her nose as he moved deeper, her legs wrapped around his waist as he brought her to orgasm.

Lena shivered as she remembered the limo ride earlier, touching the back of her neck as the memories flooded her. She wanted him badly and no blackout was going to stop them from finally experiencing one another. 

Michael had been planning this part for days, months really. 

He moved around the room carefully, lighting the candles he had placed earlier until their small flames pushed back the darkness. Warm amber light spread across the bedroom, flickering against the walls and catching on the red rose petals he scattered over the cool sheets.

He paused afterward, looking around.

Maybe too many petals.

No.

It was romantic. At least he hoped it was romantic.

He reached beneath the nightstand for the battery-powered radio and turned the dial slowly, passing through static before eventually finding a station playing quiet storm music perfect for the mood he wanted.

Standing in the middle of the room, however, he suddenly felt the first real stab of nerves he had experienced all evening.

This was different from dancing with her, feeling her body under clothing as the rhythm carried them across the floor.

Different from kissing her, his hands tangled in her hair, soft plump lips sucking on his bottom lip, driving him wild.

Different from every quiet night they had spent tangled together on the couch, the bed, the balcony, the shower or half asleep beside one another. 

Tonight carried an understanding neither of them had needed to say very many times. It was felt in the way they handled each other on their nights alone, in the way he held her as she exploded on his hands or mouth, the way he gripped her hair as her mouth brought him to climax. 

He took a long breath before heading back toward the living room, hoping she hadn’t fallen asleep or that they had to evacuate the building or some other way to prevent him from feeling all of her tonight.

When he rounded the corner, he stopped.

There Lena stood beside the window with her back turned toward him, staring out over a Manhattan gone strangely dark. Without its usual wash of lights, the city looked softer from above, scattered buildings glowing here and there from candles and emergency lamps in the windows.

Her heels were gone. The dress still hugged her beautifully, leaving her back almost completely bare except for the delicate gold chain tracing her spine.

And there it was. That little M.

Michael smiled before quietly walking toward her, his fingertips brushed the charm first.

Lena glanced over her shoulder with a sultry smile, “Hi.”

“Hi, baby.”

Michael slipped his arms around her waist from behind and lowered his head onto her shoulder, forced to crouch a little now that she had abandoned her heels. His lips brushed the side of her neck as he held her.

“You tired?” he murmured. “Thirsty? Need a foot massage after all that dancing?”

Lena gave a soft, knowing laugh and turned inside his arms, “No, honey.”

Her arms settled comfortably over his shoulders while Michael’s hands stayed against her waist, “I only need one thing.”

His eyes searched hers, his voice dripping with adoration, “What’s that?”

Lena looked at him for several quiet seconds before answering, “You.”

His gaze shifted at her words, the last bit of earlier concern disappearing at the recognition of her desire. 

“All of you,” she continued softly, brushing her thumb along the back of his neck. “So badly. But only if you’re still ready.”

The tenderness in the question struck him harder than the desire behind it, Michael’s hands tightened gently around her waist.

“Lena, I’ve been ready for a long time,” he told her, the words coming quietly but without hesitation. “It’s always been you, girl.”

Lena moved in to kiss him and Michael met her immediately, one hand moving higher against her back as the kiss deepened. There was still eagerness between them, the same hunger that had been building through stolen kisses and lingering touches for months, but beneath it was something steadier.

They broke apart only long enough for Michael to take her hand.

“Come here.”

Lena followed him down the hallway.

The moment she stepped into the bedroom, she stopped, “Oh, Michael.”

Candlelight filled the room with a low glow. Rose petals were scattered across the bed, and soft music drifted from the radio beside it, just loud enough to fill the silence without overwhelming it.

Lena turned slowly toward him, “You did all this?”

“Well…” His mouth twitched. “I wanted it nice.”

“It’s more than nice baby, it’s beautiful.”

The sincerity in her voice made him look at her again, his dark eyes looking into hers, noting the candle light dancing across her features. It warmed the cinnamon-brown of her skin and caught along the high curve of her cheekbones, drawing his attention to the almond shape of her eyes, the small button of her nose and the fullness of her lips.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, quietly taken by how beautiful she was.

“You’re so beautiful and worth every bit of this and so much more.” 

Smiling, she stepped closer, ran her fingers up his arms before turning her back toward him, lifting her hair away from the top of her dress.

“Help me?”

Michael bit his bottom lip, before trailing his fingers down the attached chain, reaching the M that hung in the air. He bent lower to kiss his way down her back, starting at her neck. 

“You know...this chain has been driving me crazy all night girl.” 

His lips found her shoulder, then trailed down to where his initial met her skin, bringing his lips to press it there. 

She smiled at his touch and words, “I was hoping you’d like it.’ 

Michael chuckled against her back, his fingers trailing up her thighs, squeezing the flesh, hearing her moans at his actions egging him to continue. 

His kisses started becoming harder, leaving tiny red marks across her back, as his fingers undid the clasp holding her dress together. As it pooled at her feet, he continued kissing downward, leaving wet kisses and light bites across her back and sides. 

God he wanted to consume her whole. 

Lena’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips felt amazing on her skin, he was marking her as his and she loved every bit of it. When he reached her ass, his hands squeezed the fat, squishing it in his hands, kissing and biting at the curve of where it met her hip.

Michael rose up and turned Lena around in his arms before crashing his lips onto his, his tongue dancing the familiar tango with hers as his large hands gripped her ass greedily. 

They pulled apart and he pressed his forehead onto hers, smiling at her smile that turned into a soft laugh before she took her turn at undressing him.

Lena began undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, leaving the chain around his neck untouched. Her fingers moved to his pants, making quick work of the button and zipper before pushing them off his lean frame.

Michael watched her fingers work, his nervousness temporarily forgotten beneath the intimacy of something as simple as her undressing him. When his shirt and pants joined her dress on the floor, they stood close enough that their foreheads nearly touched. 

Neither rushed, the anticipation between them, the moment itself felt slower than he had imagined, even amongst the lust in the air it was still wrapped in sweetness. 

Michael drew her into another kiss, and Lena smiled against his mouth as they gradually made their way toward the bed. He sat first and she followed him down, laughter escaping between kisses as his hands found her hips again.

She looked down at Michael, her eyes shimmering with a profound, unconditional love, though the dark pupils were blown wide with a hunger she could no longer hide.

He crept his hand to her center, surprised how soaked she was as he rubbed two of his digits along her dripping lips. 

“How long have you been like this?” he murmured before inserting one causing her to gasp. 

“All night?’

He sucked in a breath, the confession making him harden, “Lena, baby don’t say that.” 

She smiled as he kept his motions going, using a little more force as he moved his long digits deeper into her. 

He knew how to make her gasp, which spot made her wetter and which motion made her utter his name. Swiftly, his motions brought her to her first orgasm of the evening, her gasping for his name as if it was the only name she knew, her fingernails dug into his forearms as he pressed that soggy spot harder, making her soak his fingers.

Her panties ruined, she slid them off while their lips found each other again, all gasping moans and clumsy tongues as she came down from the high of his touch. She removed the last barrier between them, his briefs, sliding them and started to stroke him using the precum leaking out at the tip as lubricate.

“Oh baby, that feels.” he gasped as she kept her pace slow and steady, her grip tightening when she reached the base and her thumb swirling over the head when she reached the top. 

“Baby, baby, baby, I want to…God, I want to be inside you so badly.” he moaned as she stroked him, her thumb tracing the prominent vein on the side of his dick. 

“Good cause I want you too, baby.” 

Groaning, he rolled over and placed himself between her legs, kissing her as she kept her hand wrapped around him bringing him closer to her core.

Slowly he moved towards the place he needed to feel the most, the place he desired to be nestled in, when it hit him, how important this moment was. 

Fuck

Lena looked at him, her eyes low and mirroring his feelings, a marriage of love and lust ready to intertwine them. Her lips were parted, her breathing broken, anticipating the moment of when he filled her to the hilt.

He inched forward more, his mushroom tip touching the drenchedness and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not that he didn’t want to, he more than wanted to. He just didn’t want to mess up, he didn’t want her to not feel good because of him. 

Lena noticed his hesitation, “Michael baby, what’s wrong?”

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, “I just don't want to mess this up.” 

“You won’t, baby just try to relax and be in the moment.” her nails met his cheek, trailed across his lips, pushing in his bottom lip a bit causing his eyes to open. 

Lena saw his face, she saw the flash of worry, the need, the lust. 

“Baby sit up for a moment.” 

Michael shifted from hovering above her to sitting back on his knees. Gently, Lena pressed his shoulder, inviting him to lay on his back while she sat on on his thighs.

“Baby look at me,” she gently grabbed his chin, looking into his eyes, “Are you 100% sure you want to do this tonight.” 

Michael sat up to be face to face with her, kissing her lips gently. 

“Lena, I truly want to experience this with you tonight. I want to really feel you, to hear how you sound when I’m in you, I want this so badly, I just don’t want to mess this up, I know what to do in a sense but I just….” he trailed off looking away. 

Lena shifted underneath before cupping his face with her hands. 

“Baby, we love each other, we care about each other and we want each other in this way. I know I have, ever since we first kissed. I’ve only had very very pleasurable experiences with you. I don’t doubt this will be our best one yet.” 

“That’s a lot of pressure on little ole me.” 

“You’re a lot of man. Ain’t much little on you.” Lena said with a lustful smile eyeing him up and down. 

Michael gave a bashful smile, covering his face before leaning in for a kiss that turned into a deep one. 

“Now lay down. Let me try something” Lena said, pushing him down gently. 

His head hit the sheets and she reached in between them to stroke his hard length, causing light moans to escape his lips. 

“Lena, oh Lena, baby, baby, that feels so good.” he moaned as she kept up her pace, before shifting her body up more and hovering his dick, teasing the head with her wet lips. 

“Michael, you’re sure right?”

“Lena, please, please, please, please. I need to feel you more. Please baby, please don’t make me wait anymore.” 

Biting her lip, Lena finally lowered herself onto him a little, his thick head stretching her slightly before meeting his shaft halfway, taking a deep breath at how good it all felt. 

For a few moments she stayed like that, relishing in the full feeling that was already hitting her core, creating a fresh wave of wetness to ooze out. She made little circles with her hips, still not fully lowering herself onto him. 

Michael's hands remained on her hips, gently squeezing the soft flesh there, his strength threatening to accidentally leave bruises there. 

Her wetness was already threatening to break him, the little movements she made not helping keep him steady, but he still wanted more.

“More please baby, please, you feel so good right now but i need more.” he whined trying to resist thrusting from below. 

Her body felt electric as she lowered herself all the way down, slowly her head fell back at the completeness that washed over her, the delicious stretch of him deep in her, making her gasp. 

It was better than she pictured, she knew he was blessed but God was he blessed.

Slowly she started rolling her hips on him, his hips almost instinctively matching her rhythm as he thrusted upward.

This was the feeling he’d been chasing, the moment, the way she moved against him, the moans from her lips meeting his own in perfect harmony. 

She felt better than he imagined. Softer, slipperier, warmer, tighter, she felt like everything to him and it was driving him wild, in the best of ways.

His moans grew louder as her hips moved in time with the music playing in the background, her nails touching the skin underneath the pendant she gave him. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Lena moaned, her voice a velvet caress. Leaning forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, the tips of her nipples grazing his skin, she captured his lips in a slow, tasting kiss.

She sat back up and began to pick up the pace, her hips lifting and dropping in a steady, grinding motion. The soft wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting filled the quiet room, a primal beat that drove Michael’s heart faster. He could feel every ridge of him sliding against her pulsing walls, the heat of her tightness enveloping him like the best warm embrace.

“Lena… oh god, Lena,” he whimpered, his head tossing back into the sheets. He felt small beneath her, not in stature, but in his complete submission to the pleasure she was gifting him. He was a passenger in his own body, riding the waves of sensation she created with each switch of her hips.

“Don’t stop baby, oh my baby. Don’t stop baby.” He recited, almost melodically, as if it was a ritual he had to sing to keep her moving. 

Lena watched him, her heart swelling at the sight of his undone expression. She loved how he looked utterly and completely wrecked by her, his eyes half-closed and glazed with ecstasy, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. 

She rode him into a whimpering state, he grabbed at her waist, thighs, ass, anything he could dig his fingers into. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Just feel it… just feel me,” she moaned, her breath hot against his ear.

The tension in Michael’s muscles reached a breaking point. The need to be closer, to feel the full weight of her and the depth of their connection, became an ache he could no longer ignore. He didn't want to just receive; he wanted to give back the pleasure she was showering upon him.

“Lena… please,” he groaned, his voice dropping an octave, thick with need. “I need to be, I need to…” 

Her hips kept the pace as he struggled to say the words, instead he gripped her waist, sat up and met her lips, surprising her with a hungry kiss. 

As he sucked her bottom lip, bringing another moan out of her he groaned, “My turn baby.” 

He used his hands to keep her legs wrapped around his waist as he moved her head to hit the pillow, remaining inside her.

With a fluid, sudden grace, he hovered over her, his arms bracing his weight on either side of her head burying himself to the hilt.

Lena let out a sharp, high-pitched cry, feeling of him filling her completely, driven by his own strength this time. Her nails found their home on his arm, lightly digging into muscles there as his chain dangled in front of her face while his hips started to move deeply and slowly.

A deep, guttural sound of satisfaction came out of him as he pulled back and then back into her weeping core.  He looked down at her, his eyes now burning with a focused intensity. 

He was still gentle, still the man who worshipped her, but the his previous submissive haze had evolved into a protective, passionate drive. His thrusts were deliberate and powerful, not rushing but savoring the feeling, the way her inner walls fluttered and clung to him. 

Each time he bottomed out, he felt the soft press of her cervix, a contact that sent sparks flying through his entire nervous system as she cried for him to to continue. 

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough. He leaned down, kissing the hollow of her throat, his chain running against her collarbone, his breath hitching as she arched her back, her nails digging into his shoulders.

The rhythm intensified, the romantic tenderness blending with a raw, carnal urgency. Michael’s movements became more rhythmic, more insistent, his hips slamming against hers with a wet, rhythmic thud.

He watched her face—the way her lips parted, the way her eyes rolled back—and it fueled him. He left marks on her neck, her chest, any exposed skin he could find, cementing how much she was his, how much he needed her, how much he wanted her to stay his. He needed to mark her, to leave his essence deep inside her, to seal this first experience with a permanent memory of their love.

Lena was in ecstasy, the way he moved his hips deep inside her was enough to bring her to tears immediately, her eyes closed, her throat burning and dry from reciting his name, the love she had for him, for how deep he was, how she didn’t want this to end. 

His chain kept hovering over her nose, each thrust lightly brushing it. She reached her head up to kiss it as he kept his pace. He saw her action and groaned at the vision of her kissing the M as he moved deeper into her.

His hips snapped and the head of his dick brushed at that spot, the one that made her see stars and constellations and new orbits the first night they kissed, except this time it was all of him bringing that delicious feeling to her again.

His moans harmonized with hers beautifully, hearing her desperation broke the last of his restraint, he needed to go quicker. 

He drove into her with everything he had, his movements becoming a blur of motion, heat and speed. The friction of him against her clit, combined with the deep, pounding pressure in her core, pushed Lena over the edge and he gladly followed her.

She screamed his name, her body convulsing in a violent, beautiful orgasm. Her gushy walls clamped around him in powerful, rhythmic waves, squeezing him with an intensity that nearly brought him to his knees.

“Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael.” she chanted as her orgasm washed over her in a force that made her see a black and red as her eyes squeezed tightly. 

The feeling of her climaxing around him was the final trigger. Michael let out a loud, unrestrained roar, his body stiffening as he delivered several deep, hard thrusts. He felt the build up of their love meet its peak, his warm seed pumping deep into her with a few shallow thrusts.

As the waves of pleasure slowly receded, Michael didn't pull away. He collapsed gently onto her, mindful of his weight, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. 

They laid there in the room, candles considerably lower as the heat of the flame danced on the wick, the radio still softly playing in the background, the cool night breeze coming in through the window.

Shifting his body, he fell next to Lena, kissing her forehead before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing a towel he set aside earlier. After gingerly cleaning her, he brought her on top of his body once again, this time tenderly stroking her curls as she laid on his chest. 

“That was….so perfect.” she sighed as his hands found their home at her back once again, tracing her spine. 

"It really was, I did okay?" he asked with some concern, yes he felt her come but he still needed to know if his performance was good.

Lena played with his chain, looking up at him with a smile,  “You did perfectly, baby,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “Absolutely perfect.”

Michael sighed, a sound of pure contentment, knowing that in her arms, he had finally found where he belonged.

Taglist!!

@fluffybunbunxo @mrskdobrien @kietourhrt @saturnzbars  @badnanaa @liyahs-lnterlude @trizixi1 @chocotragedy @gogoyubari888 @hernamewaswinnie @plan3tch1ld @1andonlytashae @matisse556 @bewilderedhush

[gogoyubari888]

This was so freaking romantic and intimate and just hit me all in the feels.

You are so good at setting the scene and conveying just how passionate Mike is. Omg he don’t play about Lena.