♯ Jermajesty Jackson x OFmodelgf!reader series m.list
“Mmhmm,” you push at his head. “Maj.” you whine, brows furrowed as you pout.
He hums against your clit, eyes low and full of lust as he looks up at you. “Yeah mama?” He mumbles as he runs his hands over your thighs, giving you a soft and reassuring squeeze.
You moan, letting out a weak cry as your eyes roll back, his tongue steady abusing your slit. “You eat me so good..” you whimper, eyes watering from just how good you felt.
He grins against your pussy, giving it a few kisses before he’s looking at you again. “Yeah baby?” The tone is his voice teasing and low.
You nod, completely dazed. “Yeah..”
He just shakes his head with a smile before diving back in, eating you out like never before.
“Oh m’god,” you mewl, whining loudly as you try to turn your body away from the overwhelming sensation. Your thighs fight to close, legs shaking as Jermajesty holds them down.
“M’so close pa,” you moan, nails running over his head as you bite your lip. He groans against your clit, tongue fucking you even slower. “Gimme that shit bae.”
“Hnnh. .should eat me like this for a video—“
Jermajesty smacks his lips, your little comment instantly throwing him off causing him to shoot up. “Man watch out.” he mutters as he walks around the bed, shaking his head.
You gasp at the lost feeling glaring up at him as he licks his lips and wipes his mouth. “Whattt!” You whine.
“Just threw me all the way off talking about a fucking video. Better play with your pussy or sum.”
“You really gon stop cause I said that?!” You question as you sit up. But you notice him ignoring you. “Bae!” You shout and throw your hands up.
“Yep.” He answers simply, sliding your leg over as he sits in the bed next to you, turning the tv back on.
You frown, looking over at him. “You really hate the idea of filming with me that bad!? Okay I won’t say nothing, just come back.” You whine, pulling at his arm.
“Mm-nn,” he shakes his head and grabs his snacks off the nightstand before beginning to eat them.
You whine, honestly only mad because he stopped munching on you.
“Okay I won’t mention it again, can you just—“ he covers your mouth with a hand, shushing you as you lean back against the pillows, pouting.
He brings a chip to your mouth and you eat it, nearly biting his fingers off as you glare at him.
“You such a buzzkill,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest and forcing yourself to watch the movie as he places a kiss to your cheek.
kissmyglxck — don’t copy my work, ask to translate, & if you recreate anything pls tag me <3
— SUMMARY: Michael felt rejected and decided to make you feel the same way. Little did he know, he was making it worse for himself.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, bratty mike, sexual tension, lowkey angst with a hint of smut atp, lots of arguing, whole house petty, michael is genuinely sick and twisted i’m so sorry, fake (?) cheating, both trying to make each other jealous, they say mean things but they love each other guys, humiliation kink, insecurity, use of ma’am, use of traffic light system, handjob, free use kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, no aftercare, this is a long one. not proofread (yet!)
— WC: 8.5k (don’t say damn..)
— A/N: That third photo screams bratty mike and you can’t tell me otherwise idc. Also, I’m sure you can guess who exactly the model is. I refuse to say her full name, but ifykyk.
Yeah, this boy went and lost his damn mind.
Michael had been pushing your buttons that whole day. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy his presence or crave his affection, but seriously?
First, came him interrupting your sleep.
He woke you up at 5:42am on Saturday morning. His curly head was in between your legs and he was eating you like you were his long awaited breakfast. Any other day? Fine. Even exceptional, but you had a long week behind you, and a busy one ahead of you. He knew that. You wanted to sleep, and being awoken only two hours into it was not helping. You firmly, but gently, shoved his head away and gave him a stern “Enough.”
Then, came his sulking.
When you finally woke up at 9:08am, groggy and irritated, you decided to try and wind down by cooking for the two of you. He still hadn’t built up the courage to touch you again. He always came up and gave you soft kisses to your neck while you flipped pancakes. He was in his head though, after laying in your shared bed feeling rejected when you sharply ordered him to leave you alone. All he wanted to do was make his favorite girl feel happy and give you some kind of reward for working so hard this week. He didn’t mean to get so lost in the maze of your core that he’d wake you up.
So, because of his own embarrassment, he’d been sighing dramatically and setting things down on tables and counters just slightly too loud. To anyone else, it’d seem normal, but you knew Michael. He was begging for your attention. After he decided not to accompany you while you cooked like he usually did, though, you weren’t gonna cave in and give it him.
The last straw, though? The phone calls.
Long after eating together in suffocating silence – both of you too stubborn to break it – the two of you drifted off to your separate workspaces in your shared home. You were getting things in order for the upcoming Tuesday. Michael was being awarded the Guinness World Record for the best-selling album of all time for Thriller. That meant you needed to make sure you were caught up with work and that you had time to relax before accompanying your star-studded boyfriend to the highly publicized event.
Michael, on the other hand, was doing a whole bunch of nothing. Not because he didn’t need to, but because he couldn’t. He tried writing, he tried finishing up painted portraits for some of his industry peers, he even popped Peter Pan into the room’s tiny VCR, but even that couldn’t catch his attention.
Surely she’ll say somethin’ to me, right? He thought to himself after the movie was about halfway through.
But, you hadn’t. You didn’t even say anything to him for not joining you in the kitchen; something he stubbornly did just to get you to finally acknowledge him. So, he decided to a phone call. He didn’t have much to talk about, he just wanted to be petty.
“Hey, Q!” he said obnoxiously loud, loud enough for you to hear through your closed office door.
You were elbows deep into your work when you heard your boyfriend’s laughter drift through the vents of your office. You couldn’t tell what exactly what he was talking about, but you were sure it was his producer, Quincy Jones, on the other line. He would be joining the two of you to the ceremony, and he must’ve been ironing out details like you were.
Cute, you thought to yourself.
Then, it got ugly real, real fast. At some point, you finally had to walk down the hallway into his room and ask him to lower his voice.
“I’m makin’ some business calls. Could you just be a bit quieter please?” you’d asked him politely.
“Mmm, she speaks!” he joked, and you heard Quincy laugh over the phone’s receiver as well. Had he told him about your mood today? You shrugged it off as he covered the phone and responded, “Yeah, I’ll tone it down some,” and went back to his conversation like your interruption was as unimportant as an infomercial. The interaction left you a bit unnerved, but you’d check him about it later.
You were only able to make it to your second phone call when you heard the hooting and hollering from his office yet again. You tried to ignore it, you really did, but you were sleep deprived, annoyed, and embarrassed because you knew he’d been talking about you. You mumbled out a quick goodbye to your coworker and slammed your phone down, already halfway through your door. You started storming down the hallway once more.
“I thought I asked you to be quiet,” you said as his door flew open, hands on your hips. Michael ignored you and kept speaking on the phone.
“Yeah, and I was thinkin’ of changin’ some of our plans for that event…No- yeah, Tuesday’s,” he continued on.
“Hello?” you questioned him, waving your hands in his face. He covered the receiver and looked up to you briefly.
“One sec,” he responded shortly.
“Yeah. So, I was thinkin’ we invite Brooke. Yeah, she was my date-” he annoyingly emphasized this, “to the last event as well, before I went public with my girl.”
“Michael, hang up,” you spat out, any patience you had left long gone. He still ignored you.
“Yeah, not sure if she’ll like that. Brooke will be a good time, though. I’ll let her know…Mhm, yeah I’ll call you up later.” He finally hung up that stupid phone.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked you innocently. You were heated.
“Are you actually serious? You can be a lil pissy about me not wanting you to eat me out, that’s fine. I’ll let it slide for the first couple of hours. It’s been damn near twelve, Michael. I have important shit to handle, for you and your important event. I asked you politely to be quiet and I even let it slide when you continued not to be.” You stared at him wildly, gasping for air after saying everything in one breath.
“I’m off the phone now. You can continue,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and he started dialing another number.
“Not even an apology? Yeah, forget it. I’ll sleep in my office tonight, too,” you said in a fit of anger as you stormed back to your workspace.
Who the hell did this boy think he was? You spent at least 10 minutes pacing back and forth enough to wear a hole into your carpet. You couldn’t even concentrate on your work anymore, unspoken words settled on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell him to grow up, to kiss you, to fuck himself.
Without thinking, your legs started down that short but treacherous path of your hallway. You were about to knock when you realized he’d actually gotten quiet this time. Curious, you touched your hand to the doorknob before freezing. You heard him giggling at some feminine voice coming in through his phone.
“Yeah, and if anything, we can just say that you’re my date. Y’know, to soften the blow. ‘M sure she’ll be fine with-” You flew into the room once more, seething.
“Oh, so you’re fine with pretending to date another girl? All over some head, Michael? You done lost your damn mind. Hang up, now. Or I will.”
“Wai-” he started.
You yanked the phone from his grip by its cord and hung up his call.
“You gon’ explain yourself?” you asked him impatiently.
“You’re bein’ mean, Brooke’s a safe date. Nothin’ to it,” he said, too nonchalantly.
“I’m being mea- Michael. Do you know how fucking exhausted I am? I’m sitting here wrapping shit up for you, to show up for you, for an award you’re winning, and you can’t keep your needy ass hands off of me to sleep for more than two fucking hours. I’ve been patient and calm with you and you decided to start acting like a fucking neglected puppy by pouting and being annoyingly loud and calling up a random ass model to be your ‘backup date.’ What the fuck is your goal, here? Because I can promise you I wasn’t you to touch me even less than I did earlier,” you ranted.
“She’s not a random model, she’s my close friend,” he responded calmly.
You just about lost it.
“That’s all you fuckin’ took from that? You know what? She so close to you, gon’ head and have her come along! Let her take all the important pictures with you too! And leave me the fuck alone for the night.”
The rest of the night, neither of you spoke to each other, save for him coming into your office quietly to say goodnight and check to see if you were actually set on sleeping on the sofa in there. You were. He gave you a kiss to your forehead as you pretended to be asleep, and softly closed its door.
The next day was super tense. You accompanied him to his childhood home in Encino for a get together his family was having. The two of you tried to appear as though everything was fine, holding onto each other, choosing the other as your teammate for board games, and even sharing the core of washing dishes. At one point, though, La Toya, his older sister, pulled you to the side and questioned you.
“Why are the two of you actin’ so weird? Y’all have your first fight?” she asked in soft voice.
“We’re fine, Toya. He’s still just nervous with me around the family, I guess,” you lied. You’d been together for over three years by now, so the fib made no sense, but she believed you anyway.
The night at home was spent identically to the previous one. Your back was in pain from sleeping on the small office couch, though, so you slept in bed this time.
“I love you,” he whispered as you settled into bed next to him.
“I love you too,” you responded hastily.
“Can we cuddle?” he asked hesitantly.
“Do you think you deserve a cuddle?” you asked him back. He sat in silence as you got your answer and drifted off to sleep.
Monday morning rolled along, and you were sick of the tension. After you finished showering and getting dressed for work, you headed to the kitchen to make Michael and yourself some breakfast as an olive branch. You expected to see him lazing in his favorite chair at the kitchen island, reading the paper. What you weren’t expecting was the handwritten note sitting in his place.
At a fitting with Q. See you when you’re home. — Applehead
Your stomach sunk and you decided to miss the most important meal of the day.
Michael knew he was wrong. He knew he was wrong to be loud when you were working. He knew he was wrong to offer another girl to be his date while his girl was standing right front of him. He knew it was wrong to write a note and not end it with an I love you. But, he couldn’t stop something deep in him for loving the tension this was creating, and for that, he knew he was even more wrong.
His fitting went by in what seemed like a blur, due to his brain being preoccupied. He would start feeling guilty for his then immediately get butterflies in his stomach the thought you open up and angry with him. Every officer ring he heard in dressing room would send some into knots, hoping it was you, but it wasn’t, and then he’d be ashamed again.
Brooke, his model friend, had turned up near the end for her own dress fitting for tomorrow night, and her presence distracted him just enough to appear normal again. They chatted about nonsense, and he stayed outside her door until she finished her fitting, offering to grab lunch with her at yours and his favorite lunch spot near home afterwards.
What a stupid idea.
You’d gotten off of work early because your duties at work weren’t needed. Your employees picked up extra work to keep ahead while you were taking time off for your boyfriend, and although you were grateful, you were upset because you had next to nothing to do. You stayed longer than you should’ve, and once you realized you were just wasting time, you headed out and decided to comfort yourself with lunch from your favorite place.
As soon as you walked into the restaurant, though, your heart flipped. Because standing in line in front of you was one of Michael’s security guards, ordering two meals. One of them was your boyfriend’s usual, and the other was unknown.
“Hi, Maurice! Is he here?” you asked him almost cheerily, he referring to Michael. You figured it was for Michael and Bill, and considered riding home with them and having Maurice take your car for you so you could catch up with Michael.
“Yep, he’s in the car out back. I can place your order too, if you’d like?” he offered politely.
“Yes, thank you! I’ll take my usual as well. Can you drive my car home for me, too?” you asked him, handing him your keys.
“No worries, hun. I’ll see you later.”
You snuck around the building and walked over to the car’s usual hiding place with an extra bounce in your step. You were ready to put the petty distance behind you and cuddle with your boyfriend again.
You opened the door without warning, and were met with a sourness so potent, you nearly hurled over and puked. She was there. And your boyfriend was sitting a little too close to her looking a little too comfortable.
“The fuck?” was all you could say.
“H-hi, baby. She’s just-”
“Brooke. Maurice will be here in a few minutes with my car. Tell him I said he could drive you home. Have a lovely day,” you interrupted him calmly. There was a pause. You raised your brow ever so slightly, and she exited this car with a quick apology. You slid in and took her place–your place– next to him, without a word.
“It’s not what you think. She just had her fitting after mine a-and I offered her lunch-”
“At our favorite spot,” you interrupted again, still too calmly.
“…Yes, but it’s just cuz I was cravin’ it-”
“And you didn’t leave a message to let me know she’d be with you. Nor did you think to let me know you were getting it so you could get some for me for later. Interesting.”
You could hear him stop breathing.
“And what was the fitting for, Michael? So she could be your date for tomorrow?”
“Wait. No, no you said-”
“You’re clueless. Bill, drive us home, please,” you asked evenly as you rolled the SUV’s partition halfway down. The fact that it was even up in the first place…You didn’t want to get into this in front of Bill, the situation already leaving you embarrassed. Fuck the food.
Unfortunately for Michael, your demeanor only egged him on. Because, yes. He knew that taking Brooke to your place wasn’t okay, and he knew offering her a ride home in his private car was disrespectful. He hadn’t expected you to be there, but that made it worse. You were so close to snapping, and he was so close to begging for it.
The car hadn’t even been fully brought to a stop before you were opening the door and yelling out a quick, “Thanks, Bill!” You intentionally let the door close in Michael’s face.
Michael couldn’t fight the shit-eating smirk that plastered across his face as he bid Bill a goodbye, the older man looking at him in pure confusion.
When he slowly slugged through the front door and walked the timid path to the dining room, savoring the tension, his breath was nearly taken away at the sight of you. You were fuming, your posture was unforgiving, hands clasped on the table like you were preparing to reprimand him, and you were beautiful.
“Sit down.”
His feet reacted before his mind could, and he sat in the chair directly across from you, waiting.
“Do you think this is a game to me?” you asked him in a tone so cool, his bones chilled.
“I’m not playin’ any game. I just thought it would be alright with you.”
Lie.
“Why would I be okay with knowing you’re still gettin’ her fitted for dresses and takin’ her to our favorite spot. Or with seein’ her in our car?”
“She’s my friend. I didn’t wanna uninvite her last minute.”
Lie.
“But you can invite her last minute? M’kay. And what exactly is she gonna be there for? To make me look like some side piece? To stroke your ego?”
To make you jealous, he wanted to say.
“To keep up appearances. She’s always been my date to these sorta things. I don’t wanna discard her,” he responded instead.
“You’re okay with discarding me in the process though? Do you see how fucked up that is? I’m your girlfriend. Or is this your way of getting rid of me?” you asked him, your anger cracking through your calm facade.
“She’s still coming. The press is expecting her. They’re expecting both of you. Q’s gonna be with us too, so it’ll look like a group thing,” he tried to amend.
“Then I guess I’ll be Q’s date, and you can prance around with the pretty white model all night,” you added with a shrug, pushing your chair out and walking away.
“You’re being a little excessive, don’t you think?” he asked with panic laced into each word. He hadn’t expected you to turn it onto him, and you could tell. If he’d be petty, so would you.
“I’m just doing what you’re doing. I’ll be in my office on the phone planning my date with Quincy. Make sure to give us some privacy,” you said with a wink.
He was livid.
If there was anything about Michael that he kept pretty well hidden, it was his jealousy. He was insecure, especially with all the eyes on him constantly, so jealousy was a given. He was constantly comparing himself to the greatest of the greats, trying his hardest to live up to or even surpass them. He had self-esteem issues that stemmed from his first moment of sentience. But this? You proudly announcing that you were going to take his producer, someone he considered a close friend as your date to his event? It wrecked him. And maybe he deserved it, but that didn’t mean he was taking this lying down.
So, he decided to take it up a notch.
The day of the event was hectic. The two of you had taken your flight from LA to New York ona red eye and were completely exhausted. You had only two hours to check in to your hotel and get some sleep before tending to your busy schedules . You were expected to meet at his stylists’ studio to get your hair and makeup done before they put you into your outfits for the evening.
Immediately upon arrival, Brooke was sitting in a chair getting her hair primped and curled, much to your own annoyance.
“Hey, you two! Me being Michael’s date won’t be awkward, right? He told me you were okay with it, but I promise I can back out if it makes things weird,” she asked with an anticipation that read that she wanted you to say it was all good.
“Well, he said I was okay with it!” you replied, trying to conceal the sarcasm. “Besides, I’m Quincy’s date tonight. It’s all good.”
She beamed a little too excitedly for your liking.
You didn’t really have the time nor energy to pay her mind, so you tried to allow the chaos of the dressing room to consume your attention. You tried.
Michael, on the other hand, took it upon himself to make you as jealous as he felt. He spent the entire time allowing the model to occupy his personal space. He laughed loudly at jokes that weren’t funny at all, brushed invisible hair out of her eyes, and drank iced coffee from her straw. He didn’t even like coffee. Yet, you still wouldn’t pay him any mind.
You were too busy actually reveling in seeing the bustling inner workings of the entertainment industry. You were successful, sure, but you would never in a million years get to this status on your own. You managed to even start enjoying yourself when Quincy came along and started giving you advice on show business. At one point, he took you to the side to give you a deeper talk not meant for all those ears.
“I understand he can be a lil’…stubborn. But you have to understand, he don’t know how to handle bein’ the most famous person in the world at only 25 years old. And imagine trying to navigate your first real relationship through it all. Now, I’m not sayin’ what he’s doin’ is okay, but give him some grace,” Quincy lectured.
“Q, I am. But it’s like he’s testin’ me. Like he’s testin’ my love, our relationship. He’s doin’ all this affectionate shi- stuff with her like i’m not sitting right there, I don’t understand why.” You almost sounded defeated.
“Listen, he’s used to everyone listenin’ to what he says. He’s around yes men more than he’s ever been around people who will tell it to him straight. You’re the one true person who doesn’t tiptoe around what you need to say to him. And he’s obviously sensitive. He didn’t tell me much, he really only wrote things out on notes for some lyrics, but being told no by you confused him. He was grateful for it, but a part of him felt rejected.” He sighed, realizing the conversation went a little too deep for the time.
“But that’s a conversation the two of you need to have. Now, I’m entertainin’ y’all’s game tonight, but don’t bring me in the middle of this type of stuff no more. Or Brooke. I’ma get on him about that too.”
You embraced his larger torso, your posture filled with gratitude for the words he offered you. The two of you returned to the busier area hand in hand, and you gave him a peck to his glistening forehead as you made your way to the snack table. You felt a few sets of eyes on you.
Michael and the model had seen the whole thing. His mood visibly shifted from playful, to full on anger, to unreadable within seconds. Those were his lips.
In that moment, he fought with himself to not use the ones attached to his own face disrespectfully as well.
Maybe she’d finally put me in my place, a voice in the very back of his mind croaked into his cranium.
The energy inside the black SUV the 7 of you — Michael, Quincy, Brooke, 3 security guards, and yourself — rode together was noticeably stiff.
Quincy and the model kept up most of the conversation, trying to get you and Michael to chime in here and there. You felt guilty for how awkward the two of you were making things seem, so you tried ribbing with your boyfriend. He basically iced you out.
The flashes upon arrival were enough to allow yourself to tune out the noise in your head. Your small group was ushered in quickly, accompanied by your security, and the secret backstage pathway gave you something to focus on.
Michael gave a heartfelt and beautiful speech to commemorate his record win, and he actually saved a piece in it to honor you. Your entirely being visibly relaxed and filled with unadulterated adoration.
As he finished up his message, he called for Quincy to join him on the stage as well. You gave Q a hug and tried to kiss him on the cheek— the quick and awkward action ended in the peck landing in between his jaw and neck— and applauded cheerfully. As Quincy hugged Michael, you could see his face flash with a fleeting expression of discomfort that he quickly covered up.
When you all converged backstage, floating on the high of seeing a loved one be honored with such a notable prize, the room buzzed with a glittery noise of excited chatter. You kept trying to break away from conversations so that you could be by your boyfriend’s side, but he was engrossed in conversations left and right.
People were asking you about why he’d brought Brooke as his date if you were there, why her outfit matched his more than your own did, why you were letting him take photos with her kissing him. The last question snapped you out of your dissociation, as you followed the questioner’s eyes and saw the scene a few feet away from you.
He was gripping her by the waist and kissing her a little too closely to her jaw, throwing you a smirk as he caught your eyes. You swore you turned physically green with jealousy.
There was something you used to do whenever Michael would cross lines early on in your relationship. He was new to dating seriously, and you were new to being taken seriously, so you had to explain to him what was or wasn’t right to do in them, especially since he was used to taking whatever affection came his way as a star.
After one of his more particularly excessive displays of insecurity and jealousy, you came up with a method to keep Michael and yourself…grounded. You’d hold fingers up on your hand— or hands—, depending on how many seconds of leeway you were giving him before your mood soured, and you would put one down every second, essentially counting down how much time he had left.
In the beginning, you’d give him ten, allowing him time to get used to the action. Your default after the familiarity was five. You hadn’t needed to go lower than that, ever. He’d usually get the hint at the mets sight of your hand raised.
Right now, discreetly to everyone else’s eyes, but very visibly to his, you raised three fingers. He smirked and hugged her closer to him. You put one down. He briefly parted from your gaze as your second finger went down, to make eye contact with a camera. He faced you again, pointed to his cheek, and she gave him a kiss there. You put your last finger down, and watched with burning fury as he laughed heartily.
You politely trudged through the group of onlookers and perched your lips to Michael’s ear.
“It’s time to go.” The decisiveness in your low whisper sent a shiver down his spine that he covered up with a fake cough.
“All right, guys! Thank you again so much for being apart of my success, but I must leave now. I have a long flight ahead of me tomorrow!” he announced with enthusiasm. True enthusiasm. And with a lie — your flight wasn’t until Thursday.
He gave out hugs and handshakes, told Brooke to hold onto Quincy’s arm, and the four of you, protected by security, left the venue. You rode in separate vehicles this time; you with Michael, Brooke with two security guards, and Q with his own personal driver.
You said not a word to Michael as your vehicle trekked through large crowds and traffic. His arm was caged between one of your hands with a tight grip, and he shifted uncomfortable in his seat 22 times thoughout the ride.
As the two of you made your way to your room— walking through the vacant hotel that his team made sure would be completely unoccupied for your stay— you could hear nothing but the aggressive clunk of your chunky heels against the pristine marble floor.
You entered your suite first, already having your keycard prepared for entry, and sat down on one of the lounge chairs. Michael approached you hesitantly, but still very much excited.
“Explain yourself.”
Your voice was so direct, it even scared you a bit.
“I have nothin’ to explain. Why’d you wanna go?” he asked, feigning confusion.
“I’m not asking. Explain yourself,” you repeated. Your patience was wearing thin, and your body was already getting hot. You decided to remove your shoes, jewelry, and dress, ignoring the way Michael’s eyes shamelessly trailed over the way your tight boyshorts and camisole hugged your body.
“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone.” He invaded your personal space, and the scent of his cologne made you dizzy.
“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to like that? And who the hell do you think you are? Kissin’ up on some girl for photos when I’m right there, neglected. Ignoring me when I give you my warning count. What, you don’t respect me no more?” you spewed at him, pushing your pointed, manicured finger into his chest with every word.
“She’s not some girl,” he replied with defiance laced into his tone.
You wanted him out.
“Oh, I forgot! Your date. Your real girlfriend. Go head ‘n call her up then! Go stay with her at her hotel! I’m done with the fucking games. Was this your goal? You wanted me to snap? Well, there you go. I’m DONE.” you yelled in a fit of anger.
“Me? You kissed Quincy! Multiple times! You were holdin’ his hand and you kissed him on the neck in front of everyone!” he yelled back.
“First of all, you were the one acting like a damn crybaby all weekend. You started the bullshit with the loud phone calls and asking a supermodel to be your date instead of me! Then you took her to our lunch place! On top of that, you had the girl nearly in your lap in our car, without even knowing I’d see, and then you continued to bring her as a date! I was giving Q a platonic kiss on the cheek, as I’d do to anyone I see as super close to me. And the ‘neck kiss’ was a fuckin’ accident! We moved too quick, and I missed his cheek! But thanks for letting me know you considered the ones you gave Brooke as more than platonic,” you said as you got more up in his face.
“Don’t start shit and not know how to finish it, Michael. It’s pathetic.”
He looked at you in a mix of bewilderment and lust. Pathetic, he echoed in his mind and clasped his hands in front of his groin very conspicuously.
“This is fuckin’ turnin’ you on? Seriously? ‘N you have nothin’ to say? I’m hurt and you’re tryna cover up a boner. Wow.” You pushed past him and picked your belongings off the floor.
His eyes followed your body as you retreated from him, and he licked his lips at the sight of you bent over.
Facing him once more, you crossed your arms against your chest, and his gaze eyed the way your breasts visibly at the contact.
“Go.” He blinked at you, his brain seemingly unable to comprehend the command.
“Michael. Leave. Now. Go be with your dream girl,” you said as you grabbed onto his slender arm, needing him to your suite’s door.
His feet followed yours until his brain caught up, and then he planted them harshly onto the floor. You yanked and he didn’t budge.
“No.” His voice came out with such intensity, you nearly doubled over.
“I’m not asking you. Get the fuck out, Michael. I don’t want you near me right now.” You were shoving him out now, having dropped his arm and stomping behind him before you could stop yourself. “You don’t respect me.” Push. “You don’t take me seriously.” Push. “You probably fucking hate me.” Push.
Michael started to feel guilty. Had he really made you feel like that? He just wanted to work you up a bit, but this wasn’t what he meant.
“No, what?” His voice shook with regret.
You stopped and leaned your forehead against his back, taking in a huge breath.
“Then fucking explain yourself!” you demanded, lifting your head up to look at him as he turned around to face you.
“I don’t- I…” He took a deep breath. “Everyone looks to me for answers. They see me as a leader, as their authority, as a deity of sorts. As flattering as it is, I don’t want that! I want to be led sometimes. I want someone to take control of me. ‘N I love when you do! But I want more. I’m selfish. I’m greedy. I want to push your buttons and test your control with me. I dream about you making me do things for your pleasure. I crave for you to put me in my place and make me beg for you because I want to feel like I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”
He grabbed onto your hands in an act of surrender and continued.
“Everything I did was wrong, I know that. That was the point. I felt rejected that mornin’ because you told me to stop. Then I wanted to make you feel bad because I felt bad. And I kept goin’ because-” He audibly gulped. “B-because…” He let go of your hands and slid them down your bare thighs, cupping the backs of them as he drooped down to his knees. His fingers left goosebumps on your legs in their wake.
“Punish me. Please. I deserve it. ‘N I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I do respect you, and I do take you seriously.” He pressed a kiss to your left knee. “‘N I could never, ever hate you. You mean more to me than anything, by light years.” He was looking up at you from his position at your feet, eyes full of sorrow, sensuality, and pure love. You finally spoke.
“Get up.”
“N-no. Please, I don’t wanna go. *mwah*” He started kissing any skin he could reach; the tops of your feet, your shins, your thighs.
“I’m sorry. I don’t love her. I don’t love anyone that way but you!”
“I said get up.” Your voice was still surprisingly even, considering how many emotions were flooding through you in the moment.
“Baby-” You grabbed him by his sequined collar and yanked him with more strength than you meant to.
“Don’t make me say it again,” you nearly whispered.
He was on his feet in an instant, his head nearly colliding with yours at the swift movement. You let go of his collar and walked over to your suitcase, searching for something. You found the item and walked over to him with a leather belt in your hands.
Setting it down on the trunk at the end of one of the two beds in the room, you climbed onto the furniture, feeling the mattress sink beneath you. Your legs dangled over the side of the bed and you kicked them back and forth menacingly.
“You’re sorry? Show me, then. ‘Cause I don’t see it. All I see in front of me is a boy so selfish that he’d rather be a brat and hurt his own girlfriend’s feelings than say he wanted to be used.” Your tone was harsh, but you didn’t care. He wanted a punishment? He was getting it your way.
“Yes, I’m a selfish brat. H-how should I apologize? What do you want me to do?” he asked cautiously, eyeing the belt in front of you.
“Figure it out.” Your voice came out flat.
His face contorted into one of panic and need. He didn’t know what to do, but he needed this. He needed you. For the second time that night, he sunk to his knees, but this time, he started crawling towards you like a dehydrated man in the desert seeking water.
The absolute hunger in his eyes very slightly chipped at your resolve. You’d never felt more wanted in your life, and it was just by the unfiltered look in his eyes, which never left yours.
You could see him plan out his next move before he acted. He removed his shoes, socks, and stood up and took off his jeans, looking at you silently for permission before he even unzipped them. He then removed the sequined coat, and he was left in a plain t-shirt and boxers.
He met you back on his knees, and resumed kissing you from the feet up, like before. Every peck that met your hot skin was followed by an, “I’m sorry” or, “You’re perfect” or, “I adore you.”
His actions quickly became frantic. You weren’t responding at all, and he was getting nervous.
“Am I doing good?” he asked, basically begging you to say yes.
“Eh,” was your quick witted response. You were riding the high of the once cocky superstar now begging you to take control of him and accept his apology for being bad.
“‘M sorry. Please, can you spread your legs a bit? Wanna show you…”
You obliged, secretly craving for some sort of relief. You were pent up.
“Thank you.” He continued kissing up and between your thighs, licking them and whimpering like a wounded animal. He was getting closer and closer to your now pulsing heat, and an idea you had earlier sprinted to the direction of your mind as soon as his tongue darted to your clothed core.
“No. Take off your boxers ‘n get on the bed.”
Dazed, he followed your command and stripped himself of his undergarments, feeling slightly embarrassed by how visibly hard he was now.
“Get close to the top of it, take off your shirt, and put your arms up.”
He looked at you shocked, hesitating.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” you challenged with a raise of your brow.
“No, ma’am. ‘M sorry,” was his response as he obliged.
“That’s what I thought.”
You retrieved the belt from the trunk and slapped it intimidatingly against your palm as you paced in front of the bed. Michael’s arms were suspended above him on a myriad of pillows.
With steps as light as a ballerina’s, you walked up to the side of the bed he was on and leaned over his slender frame.
“Do you wanna touch me?” you asked lightly, a coyness drizzling from the question.
“Yes, of course. Th-that’s all I wanna do right now,” he responded immediately, like he wanted to give you the right answer. He did. You straddled his torso, making sure not to let your lower body touch his burning one at all, and began wrapping the belt around his wrists.
“Good. You can’t.” The disappointment that flooded his face was only more encouragement for you. You were on a power trip now.
“Please? Pretty please, I’ll do anythin’,” he pleaded.
“I know you will. You’re gonna do everything I say, understand? Then I’ll decide if you even deserve to touch me,” you quipped, tilting his face up to meet your eyes with your index finger. He was pouting.
“Okay.” His eyes trailed straight down to the inside of your tank top, and his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.
“You look very pretty, by the way. Love this top on you,” he complimented in the most seductive tone you’d ever heard him use. You ignored how his voice made your heart skip two beats and mumbled out a “Hmm, thank you.”
You took your manicured nails and scratched down his chest just enough to welt them temporarily.
“A-ahh!” he yelped in pain— you felt his dick twitch —and pleasure.
“Aww, what’s the matter baby?” you fake coddled him.
“That…it hurt,” Michael responded in a way that sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact.
“But you liked it though.” You looked at him pretending to be dumbfounded.
“Yes,” he breathed out, as if you’d asked him a question.
Leaning towards his face, you tilted your head in a way that signaled you were going to kiss him. He tilted his own head and closed his eyes in anticipation, only to be met with a sharp nibble to his neck.
“P-please!” He had no idea what he was pleading for.
His wavering tone concerned you just a bit.
“What’s your color?” you asked him seriously.
“Green. Bright green. Really, really green..” He was having the time of his life, believe it or not.
“‘Kay. Lemme know if it’s too much. I care about you, even when I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” you reassured him.
Placing your hand on his neck, you began administering bites to his collarbones, feeling egged on every time he cried out.
“Mmm. I-i’m sorry. Please, I need you,” he began chanting over and over. You ignored him each time.
You noticed his eyes close in pleasure, and that just simply would not do for you. You choked him hard.
“Pay attention to me. I never gave you permission to look away,” you nearly yelled at him. You loosened your grip when his eyes started to unfocus.
Fighting down a fit of coughs, he apologized with a strained and weak, “I’m sorry, angel.”
As you started crawling down his body, you felt something wet and hard graze your ass cheek, and Michael genuinely screeched.
“Ahhh! M-my god…” Michael whined desperately.
You reached down and grabbed his neglected dick, and wiped the precum from the slit on his tip, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting it.
“Mmm, is that for me?” you teased.
“Y-es. All for you.” He was visibly trying his hardest to obey you and wait for your commands, but at the feeling of your warm finger in his flesh, and the sight of you tasting him just because you could, he wanted nothing more than for you to fuck him into oblivion.
“It better be.” You reached down to his erect shaft and gripped him very slightly, your palm almost ghosting over it. You decided on a tortuously slow stroke, from balls to tip, as you looked him deep in the eyes.
“Aww, you look so needy, baby. You want me to move faster, huh? Stroke you harder? Bet you can’t even form a coherent thought. Poor thing,” you said condescendingly.
“‘M not needy, a-and I can think- ahh,” he protested.
“Yes you are. Look how hard you’re trying to not move into my hand. I’m barely even touching you, baby. Why you sweatin’?”
You knew he pretended to hate it, but he grew attached to how it sounded coming from you in particular.
You groped harder and stroked just a bit faster.
“Unless you don’t like this? Which is it?” you demanded. You loved playing this mind game.
“U-um. I do li- ah!- like it..” he whined.
Stroking even faster, you demanded once again,
“So you’re needy. Say it.”
“I’m needy!” he wailed when you slowed down for his delayed response.
You squeezed his dick harshly.
“And don’t you fucking lie about it again,” you ordered.
You wanted to do more, you really did, but the sight of him completely naked and surrendered to your will while he looked at you as if your existence was the answer to his life… You needed him, bad. But he still hadn’t earned your forgiveness.
Letting go of his leaking boner and straddling his thigh, you quietly pleaded with yourself to not give off just how horny you were, as well.
“Sit up and watch me,” you instructed, grateful that your tone didn’t expose the desire growing between your legs.
He immediately obliged, and whined as soon as you began grinding.
“Y-yes, please use me. Oh, God!” he cried out, breathless. “You’re so pretty, oh my- I love you.”
“F-fuck, baby. You like when I use you this much, hmm? You look so good like this.” You could feel his thigh flex and its tendon hit your clit in just the right way. “A-aah! Fuuuuuck. Y-you’re so pathetic, just laying under me fully naked w-while I have clothes on. Just watching me and not even being able to t-touch me.”
“Yes. I’m so pathetic,” he mewled.
You gripped onto his neck to steady yourself better and rode his thigh faster and harder, the pent-up tension making your orgasm approach faster than you were ready for.
“And you’re f-fucking clueless. Can’t see when a supermodel is so openly hitting on you in front of your own girlfriend.” You choked him briefly at the memory.
“S-so clueless. Just stupid. I only exist for…I only exist for your pleasure.” He’s always wanted to say that, but feared it would’ve been too much of a turn off. You seemed to enjoy it though, since you started humping his leg so hard that he was sure you’d be bruised.
“The fuck you do,” was the last coherent thing you said for the next few moments.
You mumbled something that didn’t make sense, and crushed your lips to his. He nearly cried at the contact.
Your moans were spilling into his mouth much faster now, his sign that you were going to come undone on his thigh…after using him. He could cum with you at the thought.
“F-me…have to…” tumbled from your mouth. You were losing yourself.
“Baby? What do you need from me? I’ll do anything for you,” he responded, concerned.
“Wanna fuck, Mikey. F-fuck.” You showed yourself to a stop. Your thighs were trembling while you balanced yourself on the mattress on your knees as you took your top and boyshorts off.
“‘M so wet. Need you so bad,” you whined. You missed him. You wasted no time stalking him and sinking down into his shaft. He stretched you wide, even more so since it’d been a bit since you were intimate.
“Ohmygod ohmygod plea- Want you closer please!” Michael nearly sobbed. You laid flat against his chest, your breasts swished between your bodies.
“P-put your arms around me. Hug me close,” you instructed. The gangly man lowered his arms, still bound by the wrists, and squeezed you close like you were a piece of coal that could turn into a diamond. You guys would share skin in this moment, if you could. You looked up at him, your anger long subsided.
“I love you so much,” you declared passionately. He looked like he was going to cry.
“I love you, too. Can I please kiss you?” he inquired. You puckered your lips and he met them with fervor.
You began riding his dick at a controlled pace. Every grind brought him straight to your g-spot from this angle, and you wanted to last long enough to let him cum with you. You weren’t going to let him cum if he didn’t in time with you, but you wanted to forgive him.
Getting lost in the pleasure of the kiss and the friction to your cervix, he began meeting your grinds with gentle thrusts. Michael picked up the aggression once you’d dropped your head back onto his chest and ground him harder than before, a pool of drool sliding toward his nipple.
The room sounded like a porn studio. It was a mess of slapping skin and moans and cries out to higher powers. The bed was creaking beneath you so loudly, you both internally feared that it break. If the hotel was occupied by anybody one floor above or below you, they’d have heard it all.
“Michael. God. You’re s-so deep. Could ride your perfect dick forever… And you moan like a- song. Your voice is so pretty. You’re so pretty…” you cooed. You could feel that ball of tension build up inside of you again, and every push to your g-spot felt like it would be the one to unravel it.
“You’re pretty. Mmm, if you keep t-talking like that I’m gonna cum, angel,” he warned.
“I want you to, baby. You did so good for me. So good. F-fuck. I…My god, I can feel you everywhere. Wanna feel you cum in me. I’m yours, claim me. Please, I need it.” You’ve never said please like that to him a day in your life, but you were desperate. You wanted the proof of your mutual connection and relationship in any part of your body it could reach.
“I’ll give it to you. Gon-na cum inside because you’re mine. Please, cum with- ahh! I’m gonna…” he rambled.
Your hand was sandwiched between your bodies as you rubbed your clit and rocked your hips into his, chasing your high. Your vision was getting spotty, and you could hear his heart pounding hard enough to break his ribs through his chest. He was fully fucking up into you from below, but you didn’t even have half a mind to stop him.
“Baby, please…” he whined. The sheer yearning in his voice completely undid you. Squeezing his torso with all of your strength, you ground your clit against his pelvis and let his dick slide in and out of you as your orgasm suffocated you. You moaned and drooled and cried all over Michael’s chest, and you felt a warm, sticky substance paint the inside of your walls just moments after. He screamed out your name like it was a magical spell.
You maneuvered his sex out of you, and both of you watched as your shared cum mingled onto the hotel blanket below you. He bit his lip.
You were holding onto each other for dear life. The orgasms meant much more than just getting one off, they were shared apologies and washed away regrets. It took a moment for you to realize he was sniffling, too.
“I love you. I adore and cherish you. I’ll never do that again. You mean more than everything to me. Nothin’ I did was warranted, and I know now to be less selfish,” he apologized, his voice hoarse.
“I forgive you. I apologize for my part as well. Thank you for…taking all of that. Even though I was goin’ easy, still.”
“That was you goin’ easy? I’m terrified for your enemies,” he joked.
“Oh, yes. My cold shoulder is very threatening,” you ribbed. “Oh! Lift your arms up, baby. Lemme untie you.” You’d completely forgotten about his restraint. “And you didn’t complain once. Good job.”
“Thank you…” he replied shyly as you freed his wrists. “Honestly? I thought you were gonna hit me with it- the belt. That would be very…Can we try that one time?” he questioned.
Your body reacted almost immediately to the idea.
“Michael, don’t tempt me. I’ll make you go for a round two right now.”
“You can make me do whatever you want…You own me,” he challenged.
You never backed down from a challenge. Regaining your strength, you prepared yourselves to explore each others’ limits for the second time that night.
The harsh words, petty actions, and hurt feelings from the past weekend were all amended. You were each others’ only and true loves, just fighting to stay together in a world that was actively trying to turn everyone against him and tear you down. But, Michael never wanted anything more but for his entire being to be consumed by you.
To think this all started because Michael wanted to eat you like the last supper.
— SUMMARY: Michael’s sleeping over at your house for the first time without your family there. You decide to play a game and give him a taste of your favorite lipgloss.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, fluff, dual loss of virginity, face-fucking, oral, fingering, protected sex, dry humping, premature ejaculation, scent kink (?), reader is a tease, reader is experienced, use of daddy to tease, manipulation (sorta), michael is lowkey a himbo LMAO, dirty talk, pleasure dom reader. jermaine feature.
— WC: 7.7k (let’s all act surprised).
— A/N: Loosely based on this request. Let’s pretend the strawberry shirt he has on in the photo is a pj shirt. Please leave feedback in the comments and don’t forget to like and reblog!
Michael was absolutely buzzing with excitement today. This evening, he’d be sleeping over at his girlfriend’s house for the very first time. The best part? The two of you would be completely alone.
He honestly didn’t know why he was so excited about the alone aspect of it all, though. It’s not like he was brave enough to do anything more than hold your hand.
The two of you had fooled around before, you mostly taking charge, but his brain got so fuzzy around you. Any sense of self or right and wrong would go out the window as soon as he smelled your honey glaze scented lipgloss.
He’d spent the day driving around and shopping with his brother Jermaine, making sure to pick up things you’d mentioned liking the last time the two of you browsed through retail catalogues. The fuzzy white comforter you imagined sprawled at the end of your bed, the cute pajama set he couldn’t wait to see you in, and the stunning golden charm bracelet from your favorite jewelry store, were all carefully strewn across Jermaine’s backseat, a cute enveloped note written to accompany them sitting on top of the pile.
“Mike, this girl’s got you whipped! You droppin’ 3 thousand on a lil’ bracelet?” Jermaine asked with an incredulous laugh after the two settled into his car, driving along the Santa Monica Pier.
“Maine, she’s not just some girl. She’s the love of my life,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Besides, 3 thousand is nothin’. I’d hang the moon and stars for her,” Michael responded earnestly. He’d do a lot for you for no reward at all; just the thought that it was something that convenienced you even a fraction was enough.
“See, this exactly what I mean. Doin’ all that for her and you haven’t even laid down with the girl yet.” The older brother laughed at Michael’s ‘yes man’ attitude toward you, finding the idea of his superstar brother being a total worm for you hilarious.
“We’ve done plenty!” he defended, not enjoying the idea of his older brother seeing him as less experienced for what he’d allowed himself to explore regarding his sex life.
“Like what?” Jermaine questioned, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.
“It doesn’t matter! And I don’t see relationships as transactional anyway. The fact that she even likes me is enough.”
A beat of silence settled over the car as Jermaine drove away from the boardwalk, pulling up the car’s hood as they approached a crowd of teenaged girls dancing to one of their older songs, not wanting to be recognized.
When they finally hit the freeway, Michael spoke.
“What do you do?”
“Whatchu mean?” Jermaine pressed.
“Like, how do you…start? Making love, I mean.” Michael cleared his throat.
“We’ve done stuff before, I wasn’t lyin’ about that. But we haven’t gone all the way. She makes me too nervous, ‘n I’m scared of…I don’t want it to end so fast,” he rambled on, realizing Jermaine wasn’t going to interrupt him and was actually giving this some thought.
“You gotta just let it happen, man. I mean, I usually lay the girl down ‘n start kissin’ up on her, but I don’t see you bein’ the type to…” he trailed off in thought. “Just build up tension. Start givin’ her the eyes, ya know? She’ll get the hint.”
“The eyes? Maine, I can barely get close to her in the moment without goin’ dumb.” Michael wiped his hand across his face, trying to cool himself down before he started blushing.
“Here, how’s this?” Jermaine exited the freeway and began demonstrating what he meant at the red light.
“Take your hand, place it on her shoulder like this, look her up ‘n down from her lips to her eyes, and give her a lil’ smirk. She’ll know.” He accelerated on the gas pedal as the light turned green.
“O-okay. Yeah that seems easy enough,” Michael responded shyly.
“Don’t bring this up to anyone else, Maine. I’ll kill you,” he added, realizing how vulnerable he’d gotten. He’d never hear the end of it from Marlon if this got out.
At exactly half past 5, Michael was ringing at your doorbell, your gifts and his belongings in tow. He told Bill he was spending two nights at your place, reminding him not to be seen by your neighbors during his patrols, and basically flew to your doorstep.
You opened it almost immediately, seeming just about as excited as he was, and plastered your lips onto his in an intimate kiss- too intimate for your front door.
“Hi, my pretty boy. Let’s get you inside, yeah?” you greeted him, noticing the way he flustered up at the nickname.
“Yeah…” he said with a ditzy grin across his face.
“O-oh! I got you these gifts!” he announced with pride. He was carrying them and all of his belongings for the sleepover in one hand, determined to not let you help him carry anything.
You pushed the door wide for him to come in, knowing better than to offer to help him. He seemed to be moving without thinking, just taking steps by pure instinct. As he neared the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms, you could see the defeat dawn across his face.
“C’mon, baby. Lemme at least just carry one bag. I’m a big girl.” You took his duffel bag, presumably with his belongings, and led the way, not giving him a second to stop you.
He sighed dramatically and trailed up the steps behind you, his fingers that were straining under the heavier duffel bag feeling relief from the absence of its weight.
As you pushed into your bedroom, the scent of fresh linen and cinnamon wafted into his nostrils, a sudden comfort settling into his bones at the now familiar scent. You shrugged your robe off your shoulders, and Michael realized you were already in your pajamas. He took his duffel bag from your hands, sat down his belongings, and handed you your first gift.
“I’m realizin’ it’s probably too late for this now, but here! I have a feeling you’ll love ‘em.” He was practically vibrating in anticipation.
“I can’t believe you brought me gifts, Mikey. You’re so thoughtful.” You gave him a quick peck and opened the gift box. Inside sat the pj set you fawned over with Michael 2 weeks ago at your kitchen table. It was a red and white gingham two piece set with strawberry pockets on the butt of the mini shorts. The top was a lace-trimmed camisole that stopped just above your hipbone and was see through around the flowy skirt of it. And it was perfect.
“Oh, Michael! I’m putting this on immediately, are you kidding? This is perfect! Thank you so much.” You grabbed him with both hands by the face and littered his burning cheeks in kisses.
“It was nothin’. Here, open the others!” He was eating up your reactions. You jumped up and down at the blanket and tried to pick him up and spin him once you saw the bracelet.
“Hey, let go!” he’d declared in protest with a surprised chuckle at your strength.
“Put it on me, baby,” you told him, breathless, as you let go of his torso.
With a shy smile, he followed your demand mindlessly.
“Do you like it?” he asked, knowing you did. He just wanted to hear you say it.
“I adore it. The first charm I’m gonna buy will be a little ‘M’ just for you. Wouldn’t that be so cute?” you asked him, twisting your wrist around in the warm lighting of your bedroom.
“You’d do that?” he asked you, genuinely surprised by the act of possession.
“Of course! I’d tattoo your name across my chest,” you responded with a quick kiss to his lips as you made your way to your restroom with your new pajama set in hand.
The idea of you tattooing his name on you filled him with a sickening amount of pride.
You stepped back into the room almost as quickly as you left it, and you looked unreal. The cups in the top held your breasts up in just the right way, and the sheer, flowy bottom of it put your torso on full display for him. The shorts were no better. You gave him a twirl, and when his eyes met your backside, he nearly fell at your feet. Your strawberry-adorned ass was sitting prettily in the fabric, the bottom of your soft cheeks on full display for his greedy eyes. You turned back around and sauntered over to him.
“You look perfect,” he complimented you with a dumb smile.
“Hmm, do I?” you teased him as you unzipped his jacket for him.
“Yes, perfect…” he said, losing his train of thought as his eyes fell to the barely-there neckline of your top. He absentmindedly let you pull the jacket off, completely distracted by the view in front of him.
“Get comfortable, baby. I’m gonna go get us popcorn and oj. Then I’ll pick a movie. How’s that sound?” you asked him, knowing he was barely even paying attention.
“Hmm? Yeah, sounds great…” he responded, not able to find more words.
“Michael. Shower. Now.” You turned on your heel and walked with an extra bounce in your step, purposely doing so to make your ass move a bit more as you stepped. He drank it all up and unpacked his stuff in a daze.
He realized he forgot to bring his own body soap, and reveled in the idea of using yours. He couldn’t wait to smell like his girl. It was all he thought about during the 15-minute shower as he lathered up, scrubbed his body, and rinsed off. He brought his own lotion and toothpaste, disgruntled by the idea that he had no excuse to use yours. After he finished moisturizing, he left the room with a small smile, and placed his clothes into your hamper.
He saw you sitting comfortably on the soft carpet at the foot of your bed, your robe on your shoulders and a deck of cards sat in front of you alongside your snacks. You’d brought 2 big slices of homemade pizza, a bottle of tobasco, wet wipes for your hands, and two water bottles, alongside the share-size bowl of popcorn and two glasses of orange juice you’d mentioned. Bambi was in your VCR displaying the main menu, waiting to be played.
He approached you quietly while holding his breath, his mind going crazy at the sight of your legs crossed in front of you. They were making him nervous. He loved your legs.
You looked up at him and a cocky smile spread across your lips.
“You found a matchin’ shirt, huh?” you pressed your index finger to his torso as he sank down next to you, finding the idea of him searching for something to go with your sleep set cute.
“Oh…Yeah, is the matchin’ too much? I just wanted to…” he trailed off, unable to find any excuse that didn’t expose his intentions.
“I love it, baby. We look cute together.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on his jaw. A shiver ran down his spine.
“Eat. I just got this out of the oven, so it should still be hot.” You picked up his plate of pizza and handed it to him, watching with a devious glint in your eye as he obeyed your command. He said a quick prayer, blew the slice, and took a hearty bite while looking deep into your eyes.
“Thank you so much. It’s really good,” he said earnestly, covering his food-filled mouth as he spoke.
“Thank you. Now eat up. I’m gonna start the movie and we can play cards while we watch, when we’re done with the pizza.”
You did just as you said and so did he, eagerly at that. You’d think he didn’t have a brain for his own with the way he just did whatever you told him to. He was wrapped tightly around your pinky finger, just how you liked him.
After you beat him for the fourth time at Go Fish, the movie long having ended, you had him help you bring down your empty dishes and soiled wet wipes downstairs to clean and get rid of.
“I have a game I wanna play,” you stated casually as you handed him the soapy pizza pan you just washed. He rinsed and dried it immediately.
“What is it?” he asked with a little too much enthusiasm. He would do anything if it meant being in your presence.
“It’s…not really an official game. Just somethin’ I sorta made up. You’re gonna like it though.” You said the last sentence as an order, not an assumption. His stomach turned with excitement at the sternness in your voice. “Finish rinsing and drying these and I’ll go brush my teeth ‘n set it up for us. You also brush your teeth when you’re done.”
You left him to the task and hurried up the stairs. You were much more excited than you were letting on tonight. You’d went on a little shopping trip yourself, earlier, spending spent the day at different makeup and department stores meticulously picking out an assortment of flavored lipglosses and chapsticks. You wanted to try them all on and have Michael guess what each flavor was after kissing you. The thought came to you after a particularly vivid dream of him begging you to wear your honey glaze scented gloss while you fucked. You decided you wanted him to be like that after any scent he ever smelled from there on out.
After brushing your teeth, you took off your robe and then laid all of the lip products evenly on your fluffy carpet, and placed your black eye mask beside them, waiting patiently for your boyfriend to leap up the stairs.
As he made it inside your room from your bathroom, having entered it from the hallway, he took in your position and the random scene in front of you, lifting an eyebrow.
“What kinda game is this?” he asked, sounding almost frightened.
“It’s a chapstick challenge. I put on a layer of one of the glosses or lip balms, and you guess the flavors by french kissing me,” you responded with a dazzling smile.
“K-kiss…Okay.” He was already losing it by the mere idea of the game. “And I wear the blindfold?” he inquired.
“Yep. No peeking, understand?” you said, faux seriousness laced into your voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, only half jokingly with the honorific, with his left hand to his temple in a fake salute.
You placed the blindfold over his thick afro, leaving it up just above the eyes, before giving him a kiss. You pulled away and bit your lip at the dazed look on Michael’s face.
You got up- slightly bouncing your ass again- to turn on the record player sitting on your bedside dresser, and adjusted the volume to a comfortable background hum, setting the ambience.
You plopped back down in front of him, and he looked at you hungrily, licking his lips and trying to ignore the lust growing in his abdomen.
“Can I know the flavors, please? Or am I going into this blind?” he inquired.
“We’ll do 7. They’re pretty easy to guess, so I’m making you go in blind. You’re fine with that though, aren’t you baby? You’ll be the best guesser ‘cuz you’re just so smart, right?” you cooed at him, knowing the way you spoke to him would get him to move a mountain for you if you told him to.
“Y-yeah I’m…It’ll be easy.” Bingo.
You pulled the mask over his eyes and opened the first chapstick, the pop of the lid unsealing catching his surprise since his non visual senses were heightened. Cherry. Easy. You applied a generous layer and rubbed your lips together as you inched toward his face.
You pressed your lips to his harshly and he got to work immediately. His tongue explored your lips much longer than it should’ve. This was one of the easiest flavors to guess, by far. He was being greedy. You pulled away with a pop, smirking at his neediness.
“Ch-cherry?” he asked, like it wasn’t obvious.
“You sure you don’t wanna search some more? That was one of the easiest. You could’ve been more sly about it,” you said teasingly.
“‘M s-sorry. I just love your lips…” he trailed off, embarrassed.
“I’m just teasin’. Of course it was cherry. One point to you! Good job, Mikey.” His lip twitched at the praise.
Peach was next. It wasn’t too hard, but the scent threw off the flavor; it smelled like mango. That was the exact reason you chose it. The ambiguity left room for more.
You repeated your earlier ministrations of application, and kissed him again, this time scooting a little closer to his body. You even cupped his jaw with your hand, eliciting such a soft whine, you were almost convinced you misheard it.
The kiss was longer this time, but purposely. You even took the opportunity to pull at his hair the tiniest bit, smiling against his lips as he made a surprised sound at the back of his throat. He pulled away this time, out of breath.
“That one stumped me. It smells way different than it tastes. I’m gonna guess somethin’ fruity…Peach?” he guessed.
“You got it!” you responded, genuinely surprised. “That one was one of the hardest ones. Didn’t it smell like mango?”
“Yes, that’s what that smell was! It confused me bad.” He chuckled softly, as he reached his hand out toward you, searching for your waist. You reached out to his hand and guided it to where he wanted it, biting your lip at the contact.
This flavor was watermelon. You applied the sticky balm to your lips and smacked them loudly, warning him of your impact this time. He met your lips with ease and immediately got to sucking and licking. His free hand cupped the back of your neck and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips and into your mouth. He moaned when your wet muscle met his, then pulled back, chest heaving.
“Just been waitin’ to do that. I know it was watermelon,” he announced proudly.
“Someone’s gettin’ a lil antsy, huh?” you responded, trying to conceal your bated breath. His lips faltered at the teasing, trying and failing to find an excuse.
“It’s okay, baby. I like when you get desperate.” He bit his lip and covered his face with his hands.
You reached for the next lip balm, this one being cinnamon flavored. He loved cinnamon, which was the reason you bought it. You lathered it on and pulled his hands away from his cheeks, meeting his lips once more. You decided to turn it up a notch by placing his hands right under your breasts and sliding a hand onto his chest, feeling his heart hammering pathetically under your touch, and throwing one of your legs over his. He gasped slightly and pulled you closer, his fingers holding you with a firm grip.
You led the kiss this time, almost forgetting you were playing a ‘game.’ You bit his lip and sucked his tongue just enough to make him squirm, and pulled away.
“What flavor?” you asked him smugly, staring at the slight sheen of lipgloss scattered about his chin and mouth. He didn’t respond, mouth still slightly hanging open with a dazed grin.
“What’s the matter? Cat gotcha tongue?” you continued teasing.
“No, I…You make me forget things,” he admitted sheepishly.
Scratching his neck while keeping one of his hands on your body, he continued.
“Well, I definitely know that was cinnamon. That’s my guess.”
“I knew you’d get that one. I thought of you specifically when I bought it,” you admitted. You poked his nose and absentmindedly applied the next gloss. It was one you already owned and the two of you absolutely adored. Honey glaze.
You smacked your lips one more, letting yourself taste the flavor as you did so, and settled yourself fully on top of his lap now. You felt how hard he was and ground against him languidly once. He whimpered at the contact immediately.
“Aww, my baby’s getting this turned on just from kissing? What am I gonna do with you?” you cooed at him, your breath fanning over his lips. His dick jumped immediately.
“Oh. You’re wearing my favorite…honey glaze.” His knowledge surprised you.
“You peeked, didn’t you?” you questioned him suspiciously.
“N-no! I just…I love the smell of this one. I can recognize it anywhere. Please kiss me,” he whined.
You leaned in at the kiss turned sloppy immediately.
He gripped your waist hungrily with both of his hands, and rocked up into your crotch desperately. You moaned against his tongue as he licked your mouth inside and out, drool sliding down your cheek.
The both of you got incredibly lost in the moment, allowing your need for each other to bubble up sporadically. You ground harshly against his erection and sucked his neck, leaving a bruise in its wake. He moaned once really loudly, and his hips jerked against yours. Then, his hands flew from your waist and ripped the blindfold off of his face.
“‘M sorry. I need to use the restroom,” he quickly mumbled out. He gently slid from underneath you, then made a beeline for your bathroom door.
“Mich-” you called after him breathlessly as the door shut.
“Damnit,” he mumbled as he pulled down his pants. His cum sat proudly against the fabric of his boxers, much to his annoyance. He grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned his crotch wildly, the cold wetness making him shiver. He couldn’t believe he let himself go like that. Sliding his underwear off, he internally cursed himself for being so embarrassing. He washed his hands and entered the room again, his head hanging low and his underwear balled into his fist. He put it inside your hamper and then sat on the edge of your bed without a word, avoiding your gaze.
You knew exactly what happened, and it made you cocky.
“Mikey, baby. I know you came your pants,” you announced crudely. You sat down next to him with a wicked smile tugging at your lips.
“It’s embarrassing. We didn’t even do anything…” He sniffed in shame.
“Baby, it’s flattering. I’m glad to know that you get that horny for me,” you replied. You gripped his jaw, forcing him to look you in the eye.
“It’s not…Well, yes. I do get…aroused by you. But it’s your lipgloss. The smell…It makes my brain numb,” he admitted.
You removed your hand and bent over right in front of him to pick up the honey glaze scented gloss from the carpet, purposely nudging your butt against his knee as you reached down. You turned back around and waved it in his face tauntingly.
“This lipgloss? My favorite one?” You opened it and applied another layer. Setting it down on the bed, you placed your hands on either side of his legs and inched toward his face.
“The smell turns you on?” you ask, letting the scent waft around his personal space. He whimpered loudly.
“Yes,” he spat out, shoving down a heavy gulp. He could already feel himself getting hard again, and his eyes trailed down your torso, straight to the curve of your breasts, which were more visible due to you being bent over.
“You checkin’ me out?” you asked him mockingly.
His eyes snapped to your face as if he got caught doing something wrong. You sat back down next to him and stared at his bottom lip, which was being cradled between his teeth.
The way you were looking at him, like you were a predator hunting its prey, made Michael’s heart hammer so loudly against his chest that he swore you could hear it.
Then, a voice echoed in his head.
Start givin’ her the eyes…Take your hand, place it on her shoulder…look her up ‘n down…
He followed each direction as it played in his mind, his sudden confidence faltering your own in its track. Then, he gave you the sexiest smirk you’d ever seen.
…Give her a lil’ smirk. She’ll know.
“Do you wanna fuck me?” you asked him straightforwardly. He flinched a bit at how direct your words were.
“Yes,” he sighed. “B-but only if you wanna! I don’t…It has to be your choice.” What he really wanted to say was that he wanted you to use his body like he only existed for your pleasure.
“Then fuck me, Michael. Rip my clothes off and plow me into my sheets.” You slid your thumb across his bottom lip and tugged it down. He stared at you like a deer in headlights.
“You gonna touch me, or what?” you asked, cocking your head to the side in fake confusion. You knew your words were scrambling his brain, and you loved it.
“Y- sorry. Um.” He fumbled with his hands, not knowing where to touch you or place them. He felt like an idiot. You’ve engaged in sexual acts before, but he felt out of his league now, the looming state of his virginity making everything much more serious.
“Go get a condom from my dresser. Top drawer,” you ordered him. He obeyed and picked a small foil wrapper from the unopened Trojan box. He secretly thanked God at the sight, realizing you hadn’t recently been using them with anyone else, although he already knew that.
He held the foreign object in his hand and stood between your parted legs.
“C’mere,” you said before pulling him down by his neck and making out with him like you hadn’t been allowed to for a century.
He cautiously explored your body with his large hands, continuing certain gropes and squeezes when you gave him louder whines.
His body was now hovering yours, propped up by his forearms, and you could feel his heavy dick slap against your crotch through his pants as he went to kiss tenderly on your neck.
“I’m not wearing any underwear either. Wanna feel how wet I am for you?” you asked him lewdly.
“Please,” he begged, letting you take his hand and place it square on top of your clothed pussy.
He could feel you pounding beneath his palm, and he felt that familiar slimy substance connecting his hand to your core. He rubbed two of his fingers into you a bit, collecting some of your arousal. Detaching his mouth from your neck, he looked down at you with a dazed expression. With his free hand, he gently gripped your face, making you look at him.
Without a word, he removed his hand from your sex and sniffed his fingers greedily. He bucked his hips into yours, and shoved those fingers into his mouth with a loud groan.
You were in awe.
“I had no idea you were this filthy. Thought you were a good boy, but I guess you’re way dirtier than I thought,” you told him with surprise etched into every word. Your statement only made him needier. He shoved his fingers farther into his mouth and pulled them out, searching for your cunt again.
“Please, let me take these off. Wanna feel you,” he begged, a mixture of drool and your arousal collecting at the corner of his parted lips.
“Go ahead baby. Show me how much you want me.”
With a whimper, he crawled down your body and landed on his knees with effortless agility. He hooked his fingers into the top of your pajama shorts and froze.
“I-i’m a virgin,” he stated, voice barely above a whisper.
“Michael, I know. We’ve talked about this plenty of times,” you responded patiently. You knew he was nervous, but you also knew he wanted this.
“I know, it’s just that…I’m not gonna know how to do everything. I don’t wanna embarrass myself,” he replied meekly.
“Baby…I know you think I’m some sex god, but I’m still a virgin too.” You sat up and looked down at him, forcing him to meet your intense gaze. He looked stunned.
“It’s okay if you’re not. You don’t needa lie to me to make me feel bet-” You interrupted him by clamping your hand over his mouth.
“Michael, I’m not lying. When I told you before we ever did anything sexual that I had experience, that wasn’t a lie either. I’ve just never trusted anyone to go all the way. But I trust you and I want this with you. Don’t you wanna give it to me?” you asked him with a faux-sad pout.
“Of course! I wanna be your first…I want you to be mine. And my last. I wanna give my soul to you,” he rambled, inching your shorts down your thighs as he leaned in closer.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me..” he spoke quietly, mostly to himself, drifting off once he unclothed your lower body. He threw the damp shorts onto the floor and looked up at you with so much gratitude that it made your heart swell.
“Taste me,” you said, as you watched him lick his lips like he was starving.
He placed your thighs atop his shoulder and delved in, immediately grinding against nothing at the scent of your pussy.
“Mmm, th-that’s right. Just how I taught you before,” you spoke to him. He was circling your clit with his tongue with expert precision; just enough to feel like you were floating, but not enough to feel like you were grinding against a rock. Then he did something else you taught him, but with his own twist. He scratched up and down your thighs, the familiar sensation making you feel like music. But then, he slid his tongue down to your entrance and stuck it in, your arousal pooling around it in the act.
“F-fuck. Where’d you learn how to do that? Been seein’ someone else?” you inquired, only half joking. He pulled out and looked up at you with an earnest fire in his eyes.
“Never.” Then, he continued his actions, fucking his tongue into you as far as both of your anatomies would allow.
You pushed his head into you, grinding down with need. His afro acted as a protection against your brutal shove. He slid his tongue back out and worked your clit again, feeling confidence settle into his demeanor. So much confidence, he took two fingers, collected your arousal into them, and slid them into you. You cursed loudly.
“O-oh my god…F-Yeah! Curl them like that,” you mewled, your brain not knowing how to compute your pleasure into words. You’d only felt your own fingers inside there, once or twice, and you didn’t enjoy it. Your fingers couldn’t reach as far as his currently were, though.
You fell back against the bed as you felt your orgasm sprinting toward you faster than you anticipated, gripping onto your sheets and locking your ankles around Michael’s neck in an attempt to hold on.
“M-mikey, ah. Stop. Stop, stop, stop,” you breathed out to him, feeling the knot in your stomach almost unravel. He immediately withdrew his mouth and fingers, you arousal leaving a string of connection to his chin as he did so.
“Did it start to hurt? Sorry, I just thought you were gonna have an or-”
“I was gonna have an orgasm. I just don’t want to yet. I wanna suck that pretty dick of yours first. You’re gonna let me, right?” you asked him, not really leaving space to take no for an answer.
Michael never let you suck him off, to your own disappointment. He’s eaten you out so many times that you’d run out of positions for it, he’s let you grind against his dick with clothes, he’s even let you jerk him off, but he’s never let you get on your knees and put your mouth on it. His exact words were that it was ‘degrading and useless.’ He didn’t wanna hurt you. But you wanted to see him let go. You wanted the proof of your lewd acts with him physically etched into bruises to the back of your throat.
“Baby, I can’t let you do th-” You clamped your hand against his mouth once more.
“You’re gonna let me suck you off. Right?” you asked, slowly moving your hand away from his mouth.
“Ok-kay,” he responded with resignation in his voice.
He stood up and you slid his bottoms off, licking your lips at the sight of him. He was holding out on you because god was it pretty. And big. You thought he was just being a modest gentlemen when he told you he didn’t want to hurt you, but it was more than just that. He was really long, and he knew it.
“So you knew how big your dick was huh? That’s why you never let me do this. Betchu imagine me sucking that pretty thing off all the time.” You reached for it greedily and spit onto his tip, watching it slide down the base slowly.
“Stop- d-don’t talk about it like that..” he said weakly.
“Oh but you like it, though. I could practically feel you getting harder, baby. No need to be shy about it,” you egged him on. Before he could protest any longer, you wrapped your hand around his base and began tugging upward. You reached for your lipgloss with your free hand and applied a thick layer to your swollen lips. You blew a taunting kiss at him. He was visibly holding back his moans, much to your disapproval.
“Nuh-uh, let me hear those pretty moans. Sing for me, Michael,” you directed. He obeyed, and not even on purpose. The way you were touching and talking to him made him forget who he was.
“Feels s- you feel so good. I love you..” he blabbered.
“I love you too, baby.” You leaned forward and gave his shaft an open-mouthed kiss, maintaing eye contact with him. His whole body went rigid in shock as he saw the sticky mark your lip product left in its wake.
“Oh, god,” he groaned, jerking his hips up into your hand. You started twisting it whenever you got closer to his tip.
Without warning, you took it into your mouth, eyes focused on his, and sunk down on it. His eyes rolled back and his hands flew to the back of your head, holding it for composure. You began slowly moving up and down, flattening your tongue and sucking him like he was the best popsicle you’d ever tasted.
“Pl-ease, I don’t wanna cum yet. Plea-, please, please,” he begged on and on, turning please into a chant.
You hummed around his length, ignoring him, and continued to work. Tears stinged at your eyes, and drool dribbled out of your mouth. The sinful sight of you made him do something he swore he wouldn’t do. He rocked into your mouth roughly, just once, but it was enough to make you falter and gag against him. You moaned lustfully and your eyes lolled to the back of their sockets. He removed his hands from your head and scooted back from your mouth with a pop.
“‘M so sorry! I should’ve contained myself better. I know better. Did it hurt? If course it hurt, you’re crying and you gagged. Oh, God I’m so sorry prett-” You gripped onto his dick harshly, cutting him off.
“Michael, I want you to do that. I love it. Fuck my mouth, angel face. I can take it,” you reassured him with a devilish grin.
“N-no, I shouldn’t’ve let you touch me like that. You’re too precious…I can’t hurt you agai-”
“Michael. For the love of God, shut the hell up. I want you to hurt me and bruise me and make me cry. Is that not okay? Am I too dirty for you?” you asked him, feigning hurt. You secretly enjoyed tricking him into getting what you wanted because he somehow always gave it to you, and this time was gonna be no different.
“Not at all! You could never be too dirty for me…You’re perfect. I just don’t wanna degrade you like that. But since it’s what you want, okay. I’ll give you anythin’ you want.” Bingo.
“M’kay, now you gonna fuck my throat like a good boy, right?” you asked him with puppy dog eyes, tears still sitting in your waterline.
“Y-yes,” he responded hesitantly.
“Yes, what?” you asked him, enjoying working him up like this.
“Yes, angel. I-i’m gonna fuck your face…like a good…boy?” he responded, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than he was you.
You gave him a soft hmm and pulled him back towards you, spitting a glob into your hand once more. You jerked him slowly 4 times and then looked him in his face.
“Don’t worry about me, ‘kay? If I want you to stop, I’ll make you stop. But, I trust you,” you said earnestly. “C’mon, stand up and give it to me, baby.”
Then, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out in anticipation. He hesitantly stood up, jerked himself twice, and then pushed into your mouth. Holding the back of your head gently, but firmly, with both of his hands, he set an inexperienced pace with his thrusts. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harshly whenever he would drag his hips back, causing his legs to shake.
“Th-this is so, AH, wrong. You shouldn’t look this pretty like this. With my…thing in your mouth.”
You scrunched your brows into a pout and moaned loudly, forcing him to unconsciously fuck your mouth harder.
“B-baby you can’t do that, ‘m gonna finish if you do.” You continued moaning and sucking loudly, noticing his breaths shorten as his climax neared.
“God, you’re so pretty d-down there. Ngh- wait-” You forced yourself away from his crotch and crawled to the center of your bed, positioning yourself on all fours. You turned around and coaxed him over to you with a teasing finger.
“Baby, I need you. See how wet I am?” You arched your back and swayed your hips side to side, letting the light catch your arousal. “I need you to make me feel better. It’s aching,” you pouted. His feet were moving before his conscious mind could register your words, and he joined you in bed. He picked up the condom he mindlessly dropped earlier and unwrapped it.
“I-i’ll make you feel better,” her says as he pulled the rubber from its foil packet.
You turned around and took the contraceptive from him.
“Let me put it on you, daddy,” you smirked as you said the nickname.
“Don’t call me th-that,” he pouted.
You placed it on his tip with unnecessary friction and rolled it down his shaft, raising your eyebrows and smirking at the pathetic boy in front of you.
“Mmm, but you like it when I tease you with it,” you told him.
“Okay.” He gulped audibly and leaned down to press a hot kiss to your lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Michael. Now fuck me like you need it,” you said as you went back to your position on all fours. You were almost scared that he’d be too big, or that you’d need lube that you didn’t have, but as soon as he pushed his tip in, your pussy sucked him in. It was an unfamiliar feeling, being stretched like this, but your body didn’t register too much pain. You were drenched.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he called out as your sex squelched around him, forcing him in deeper. You moaned out as he stretched and filled you. As soon as he bottomed out, he laid on top of your back, already feeling overwhelmed.
“M-michael! Oh my god, ‘m so wet. Needed your dick inside me so bad, fuck,” you inched forward and slammed back against his length forcefully, arching your back in the process. He sat up immediately and gripped onto your hips.
“The way you talk…” he trailed off as he started thrusting into you slowly.
“You like m-my dirty mouth, baby? Want me to talk to you through it, pretty boy?” you asked him, feeling his tip hit your g-spot with ease.
“Yes, please,” he whined, speeding up slightly in anticipation.
“F-fuck me harder, baby. Feels so good.” You pushed your head into your mattress, arching your back up higher, allowing yourself to take him deeper. He followed your instructions and snapped his hips into you harshly once, gauging your body’s response to the action. You pushed your ass further into his crotch, and he took that as silent permission.
“Mikeyyy. You’re so bad, taking my virginity in my bedroom like this. Mmm-fuck,” you whined, your vision going blurry with tears of pleasure.
“Y-yes, so bad. ‘M so bad,” he repeated, slamming into you faster. Your bed was creaking with his thrusts. He could already feel himself losing it again.
“Mmm, mmm, Mikey p-push my head into the mattress baby. Be rough.”
He obeyed immediately, leaning over and pressing his palm to the side of your head. He took one look at your face and felt his orgasm creeping up. Your mouth was wide open and there was a huge wet spot where your mouth leaked drool onto your sheets.
“You’re so pretty, baby. You look so good like this,” he complimented.
“With you plowin’ me into m-my own sheets? Thank you, baby boy.”
Your tongue licked at his thumb that was near your lips, and you sucked it into your mouth.
“OH! I’m g-onn…I’m cumming. Shit, I’m cumming!” he cried out as his hips stuttered. He buried himself into you deeply and filled the condom with his seed. He collapsed his torso onto your arched back and you bit his thumb. He clutched it after you spat it out of your mouth.
“I didn’t say to stop, did I? I thought you were a gentleman. Make me cum,” you demanded.
“Yes, baby. ‘M sorr-y…” he apologized in between whines of overstimulation.
You reached your hand down to your clit and started playing with it needily, overeager to cum on him. He pounded into you again, his dick half hard, as you started babbling into your bedsheets.
“Mikey, ‘m s-so close. Keep fuckin’ me like that, baby. You’re doin’ so well for me. You’re fillin’ me up so good.” The sound in the room was so unmistakable. The noise of creaky box springs, skin slapping and sticky arousal drowned out the hum of music leaving your record player.
He leaned down and hovered over your ear, whimpering into it. He sounded like an undiscovered instrument. The sound made your pussy squeeze against his shaft, signaling your orgasm.
“Y-yeah be louder. Love your filthy little whimpers, Michael. Gimme more,” you said with the last of your breath. He pounded harder and fully moaned into your ear, causing you to completely come undone.
You reached behind you and dug your nails into his sides as your legs shook and your pussy spasmed around his spent dick, already hardened again. You screamed his name like a prayer and Michael wished that was the only sound his ears would ever be subjected to again.
As you began going limp, Michael slid his arm underneath you, wrapping around your waist, and pulled out of you. He rolled into his side and pulled you on top of his chest, ignoring how hard he was again.
“I’m so glad it was you,” he said after he caught his breath.
“Hmm?” you asked him, looking up to the side of his face.
“My virginity. I’m glad you took it. It feels like you were exactly who I was waitin’ for whenever I would tell my brothers I was waitin’ on the right girl. No, you’re even better,” he said bashfully.
“Well, I’m glad you took mine too. You were absolutely perfect. I’m so glad we get to share this memory with each other. We fit so well together, don’tcha think? Like two halves of a puzzle,” you mused with a faint smile.
“I’d say so,” he said with a gulp loaded with a double meaning.
“Whatcha mean by that, baby?” you questioned him.
“Just…It’s like your body was swallowin’ me whole. It was incredible.” He bit his lips as he looked you in your eyes. You felt a pulsing at your abdomen, finally noticing how hard he was.
“Ohhh, my baby’s ready for round two? You have stamina…Good ta know,” you teased him with a giggle.
“‘M sorry, you just look ‘n sound so pretty when you’re tellin’ me what to do…”
“It’s okay, baby. Here. Let’s go take a quick shower, yeah? Then we can sixty-nine,” you said as you sat up on your knees. You gave him a wink. He gulped both audibly and visibly.
“Oh, yes please. I’d love that,” he responded with unconcealed enthusiasm. You pulled him behind you and led him toward the restroom, the excitement of round two noticeable in your light steps. You discarded your shirt and pulled Michael’s over his head for him.
“Take off that condom, baby. I’m gonna wash you up.”
He threw the soiled condom into your tiny tin trash can, and trailed after you like a puppy.
You turned on your shower and faced him, your tits on full display to him now. He swallowed loudly and gave a kiss to each of your nipples, surprising you in the act.
“I love you,” he whispered, and then leaned in to give you an intense kiss. His tongue slotted between your lips before you pulled away.
“Uh-uh. Don’t start something you can’t finish in here, needy boy. I’ll make it worth the wait.”
You stepped into the shower, him immediately after you, and the two of you let a comfortable silence settle in the air, washing yourselves and then each other’s backs.
With the two forgotten lip balm flavors lying lazily on the floor, the promise of your newly broadened sexual history etched into the empty house with a faint trace of a sweet scent. The scent of honey glaze.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MICHAEL JACKSON x fem!reader
synopsisৎ michaels 'odd' obsession with you, his muse, is hidden between the pages of his sketchbook.
porn w/ plot smut 18+ dry-humping inexperienced michael/reader switch!michael size-kink (if you squint) friends with benefits MDNI.
You were always considered an outlier in the earth’s hypothesis. Something to be dealt with rather than accepted.
You weren’t entirely ‘weird’, but being even slightly outlandish in a family that was all business, networking events, and societies twice your age made you stick out like a sore thumb.
You studied your parents' business partners, trying to understand the scripts they’d write and relay just to sell or be sold something. And when your mind refused to make sense of it, you decided you were okay with always being a step behind.
You were accepting the fact that your unwillingness to alter your oddities would leave you lonely–until him.
The evening you met Michael was clear. Its dim calm blanketed Encino in the type of silence only night could infect busy neighbourhoods with.
You’d been lost in your novel for hours on end, the book in your clammy palms consuming your attention whole, when a sound managed a miracle and drew you from your thoughts.
Leaking in through your unlatched bedroom window was the even steps of a four-legged animal. You were quick to disregard your story and made for the noise, sticking a head out into the night. Below you, lit by the flickering streetlights, was the silhouette of a boy.
In his right hand was the leash attached to what you eventually identified as a snowy-white alpaca.
You couldn’t believe it. Wonder finally spread through you and the ecstasy of it was glorious.
You raced downstairs and out your front-door ‘till you stood face-to-face with the boy and his companion.
You asked his name. He asked yours.
And when you asked of the alpaca's, your hand rubbing at the sensitive spot between his eyes, he was bemused when the beast lowered its head and heaved its way into your chest.
Louie collided with you and you wobbled, grin drawn eye-to-eye as you found your footing. The animal sniffed your oaky perfume and nestled his snout between your torso.
Michael felt he had no other choice than to ask for your company—'Louie says he’s lonely', the boy joked, gently tugging on Louie's bit 'till his snout was 'nodding' in agreement.
When you laughed, Michael swore the stars did too.
And when the boy with the alpaca turned up again the next night, you were quick to be by his side.
This habit soon evolved from strictly late-night walks to being granted access to his home-phone.
Often, if Michael was too preoccupied to visit, you’d simply wait for the chime of your landline. You’d wrap the chord around your finger and fidget as the world around you collapsed.
Warming to one-another came instinctually. It was as though your gut knew you were to be each other’s bandages, the thing to mend the wounds of your shared unconventional lives.
Conversation flowed, late nights sailed by, and when the time for sleep rolled around, putting a dampener in your babbling proved impossible.
Months came and left in short intervals as your friendship flowered. You began to understand Michael, and he developed his own deep-seated need to understand you.
To Michael, your entire existence became light itself. You came into his world like a new star in the night sky—bigger, better, brighter than the sun. Michael was your earth. He turned because you were his reason for a new day.
You became something he was convinced God endowed to him. A muse wrapped in odd socks and delicate eyes.
His muse.
You were in the studio when he needed inspiration. You were thigh-to-thigh with him when a movie resonated around Hayvenhurst's living-room late at night. You were by his side when his father found fault in his talents and were there to hold him if tears lurked in his doe-like brown eyes.
Your trust was carved into marble and cradled in silk only months after your first meeting.
With two existences that now move as one, you’re both encased by an unbroken ease of your own making. It’s a foundations built on questions, on answers, and was only finalised when you knew most things about Michael, and he you.
So, the discovery of his aptitude for art had been uncovered long ago—Michael has a fist-full of talent in nearly every hobby he toys with.
But what is new, unseen until now, are his recent drawings.
They were once stagnant in his A3 sketchbook. Today, they bare themselves to you.
Some are rendered; some just jottings of things you fight to find reason in. Though what grasps your attention is the lone illustration on the next page.
Eyes. Wide and glistening, filled with a life you would only ever distinguish in Michael’s—or your own.
“What d’you think?” His voice is a petal against a pond.
You can feel Michael eyeing you, trying to get a gauge of the thoughts running laps in that beautiful mind of yours. Your mute as your fingers delicately flip to the next page.
This one is a collage—outlines of collarbone, the back of a head of hair, a figure beside an assortment of animals homed in Hayvenhurst.
It’s one vast visual sonnet. And it is all you.
Your hair. Your collar. Your figure and feet and hands and limbs.
“Mike, this is…” You swallow your glee and feel it ripen into something sin-like when it reaches your belly. “These are amazing.”
“You really think so?”
You nod, turning to the next page only to find it bare.
“Your so talented, I almost think it’s unfair.” You flash him a smirk before he’s huffing out a timid grin, watching the floor when embarrassment turns his cheeks scarlet.
“That's only' cus’ you’re the subject.” There it is—those conflicting words that battle his body-language. He’s curled in on himself; knees tucked into his chest like he’s shielding his heart. Yet he succeeds in making yours stutter.
You give him a light nudge that has his limbs unfolding onto the floor before he’s returning that same shove. You tumble theatrically, meeting his delighted expression with a scandalized one.
“Oh, that’s it..” You tuck the sketchbook safely beneath his bed.
“Girl, you started it!” The words are torn apart by his giggles.
You lunge at Michael who’s already prepared for the fingers that jab at his ribs.
This breed of touch is habitual between you both. It’s easy to get lost in, normal to forget whose limbs belong to who as they twist and tangle. It’s almost like the parts of you he’d first touched had already been fashioned to his flesh.
Finally, the battle to uncover the ticklish spot that has him squirming to escape is triumphant.
You get Michael on his back as your knees flank his thin waist. The boy wriggles and writhes, but when his hips meet flush with yours, his entire body stiffens.
You feel something unfamiliar, something alien, perked between his thighs. An inaudible gasp is plucked from your lungs.
Your face doesn’t drop—glee is still sketched into every wrinkle—but now, with something solid lodged between his jeans and your skirt, every muscle coils beneath your skin.
The silence is paralysing.
Michael looks up at you with vast unblinking eyes, his chest rising and falling no longer in the cadence of laughter, but in something you’d both only ever seen fragments of in movies.
Lust.
The feel of lust is unfamiliar, consuming, and the throbbing it's buried between your thighs is almost unbearable.
It sneaks between the fissures of your bodies and has the boy beneath you falling into an unrelenting thirst. It’s like he hasn’t drunk in weeks—like you’re the first and last body of water he’ll ever see.
It drapes around you and pulls tighter than Michael’s boa-constrictor around a neck—and somehow, feels more threatening.
As you search your reflection in the boys auburn eyes, you wonder whether he feels that pull too.
You test your theory and shift ever so slightly. Not enough to stir up the dust on the carpet, just enough to have Michael shuddering beneath you.
The view leaves your vision hazed around the edges.
You do it again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.
Michael mewls.
Immediately, his scarlet cheeks find shelter beneath his hands. Even though his shame is practically palpable between the cracks in his fingers, his once level legs rise from the floor and bow at the knee.
He’s urging your hips forward.
Your eyes slam shut at the sensation of the new angle, stomach dipping when he rolls once and, somehow, seamlessly inserts himself between you.
“Michael…”
Heaven cannot compare to the way his name descends from your tongue. It’s a hymn, something to be reminisced—something to be kept hallowed.
Finally, the boy’s hands expire from his face.
Embarrassment around you feels… wrong. Like shoving a puzzle piece into an unfitting form and expecting the picture to be whole.
His digits venture across his collar bones, his stomach, ‘till they reach the place where your thighs are bound around his waist.
You tear your eyes from the sight of enormous hands swallowing your skin and soak in the person below you in his entirety.
The dark curls caught in the sheen layer of sweat coating his forehead, the unblinking dark masses that are his swollen iris’s—the need to alleviate that incessant stabbing in your stomach becomes fatal.
You move against him in one concentrated, brutal thrust.
Michael tosses his head back and bites into his bottom lip, a whine pelting past his throat.
“What’s happening...?” You’ve barely moved yet your lungs already fight for air.
“Ion’ know…" A buffer, like he's noticed the cliff your both about to fall from, then;
"Do it ‘gain, please.” He jumps.
You circle yourself on him this time, testing the delicious current that burrows between your ribs.
Your name falls from his lips like he’s calling out to a deity rather than a woman. But when Michael’s eyes blink open, that line becomes one big blur.
With you on top of him, hair framing your jaw and lengthy lashes fluttering each time his dick quivers against you, you're becoming the only thing he believes in.
The thing growing under Michael’s slacks is so stifled, so tender, so full that he finds it impossible to halt his body's instinct to hump up and into yours.
The movement has you sinking forward as hands grasp at his flannel for balance.
“Feel s’ warm inside...” Michael gasps.
The first few times you meet his bulge it almost burns, pumping molten lava into the fabric of your panties. His dick swells beneath you and offers only a sample of what it’d feel like buried inside, polluting that space with a venomous hunger.
“T-think I need more, please...” Michael’s pleads to you through the slits in his eyes as your messy pace gradually builds on the already pulsating glides of his hips.
With each unrestrained jut, the longing which settles into Michael’s glossy skin shoves his usual bashfulness aside. It makes space for the petty need that only ever rises when he’s alone and thrusting into his pillow.
But your body is mountains away from his poor, overworked pillow.
He can feel your puffy clit through his jeans. Has the privilege of watching your features bend to the will of satisfaction. Listens to your mewling when each ridge of his dick entertains that honeyed spot concealed by a solitary piece of fabric.
This outshines any sexually fuelled scenario his lurid mind can conjure.
“D'you feel that heat too? It feel good?” Michael’s winded as each hasty grind breeds broken mewls.
“Yeah, r-real good.” You yelp when he revises the angle of his hips and punches up into you.
In this moment, Michael’s convinced that anything you feel, he feels two times over. The sentiment is silly—he’s not even sure he believes it—but when his eyes train to the stain tinting his slacks, how can he not?
“Is that…” His words wane before he can finish.
The direction of his eyes leads you to where you're divided by only a few layers of fabric.
Your pussy’s weeping against his jeans.
“That’s me, Mikey.” You hum at the way his eyes cement themselves to the stain every time it bares itself from beneath your skirt.
“Didn’t know g-girls could get so wet. Lookit’, jus’ there. Your leakin’ all ova’me—God!” Michael’s fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as his eyes drown beneath a watery gaze. You can’t tell whether he wants to pray or devour you whole.
You’d let him do both.
After two more merciless strokes, Michael’s palms find the confidence to uncover the flesh of your ass obscured beneath your skirt. He raises the fabric with one bulky hand and kneads your supple cheek with the other, until;
His hands still. Something’s wrong.
You watch his gaze grow bothered as the root of his troubles dawns on you—the fabric of your skirt is disrupting his view between your legs.
He gathers the front of the material, mumbles, “Hol’ this.”, before passing it to you. “Lean back, please. Use my knee.”
You follow his instructions blindly, fabric in hand as you swing an arm behind you and feel for his leg.
“Yeah, yeah, jus’ like that...” If Michael is anything, it’s a perfectionist. This is a man who knows what he wants and one that’ll do whatever to get it.
Right now, he wants the uninterrupted image of the expanse of your stomach and front-row seats to the arch in your spine when you seize his thigh for stability.
“Feel–agh! Feel s’ good.” You throw your head back as you work yourself on him, dick twitching when he eyes the tears of sweat dribbling down your clavicles.
“Don’t stop, please. K-keep movin’ on me like that.” He needs this moment to be infinite.
Your knee slips and loses its friction to the floor for just a second. The mistake has your swollen clit colliding with the cool silver of his zipper.
Another moan rips from your pretty pink lips.
“Oh God...!” Michael curses through bared teeth, “Sound so pretty… s’ pretty.” He’s all inexplicit obscenities braided into praises and pleads that sound like poetry.
“Wan’ try this…” Another slur of words you don’t quite catch, but feel when the hand on your ass begins its course over your sea of ribs to the swell of your breasts.
His palm wanders in efforts at finding your nipple above your clothes, but your fervour gets the better of you.
You snatch his hand into your own–able to hold only a few of his fingers due to their sheer size–and steer it to the hem of your top. You introduce the skin of your unadorned chest to his balmy palm.
“T-thank you.” Michael keeps you rocking on his bulge with one hand as the other examines the unmapped land.
It takes only a second for his thumb to discover the swell at the centre of your boob. His finger is tender against the bud, circling only once before studying your body's response.
His touch runs through you like an electric pulse, chest to core, igniting every nerve on the way.
“Do that again.” You whine through the stutter of your hips.
“Tha’ was good? Really? I did it right?” Michael purrs when you eagerly nod.
You shiver as the pad of his thumb teases your nipple again, circles it, tugs. Each swipe shapes another pulse that’s followed by an overpowering ache amid your thighs.
Your end is threatening you like a waterfall to river rapids. And by the blissed-out expression staining the boy below, you realise his too is an impending danger.
Suddenly, your world flies forward.
Michaels managed to heave you toward him by the hand hidden in your shirt.
For a few instants, you swear he’s about to kiss you.
His eyes are unmoving from your parted lips, like he’s been waiting all this time to taste them, so close that when your foreheads touch you can smell the mint gum he’d rid of earlier haunting his frenzied breath.
Yet your lips remain untouched.
They merely linger inches away from each other, wavering with the rhythm of your bodies.
This is just how you two are. The act of sharing breath, uncaring of where yours starts and his ends, carries a weight beyond that of lips locking.
“C-can’t hol’ it much longer if you keep–ngh–goin’, right there…” He exhales his words into your mouth.
“You’re goin’ to ruin your pants, Michael.”
The boy can almost—almost—feel a giggle rise in his chest. Only you’d be darling enough to have concern for something so inane.
“You already dirtied ‘em.” He returns, a flicker of a smile carving his lips as though cognizance fights for a space at the fore-front of his mind.
But when you grind on him just right and leave yourself to your pleasure, his tongue goes slack in his mouth.
“You’re the best fren’ for lettin’ me do this...” It’s that familiar silken tone he wears when he speaks to you like you're something he can break. “This is wha’ we should do, right? Help each other—God!—out.”
“Mhhm…Best, best frie-” You don’t know when it rose—or how long it’d been there—but you feel complete for a few moments, as though your bodies soaking in the sunrise of your relief. No muscle is spared as your body fizzles into the forefront of your orgasm.
“Y-you cummin’?” When your reply is a hefty head plummeting to the crook of his neck, shadowed by the quake in your clenched thighs, he figures your answer.
Your climax hits you like a freight-train. It robs you of your vision and stifles everything but the rise and fall of two synchronised sets of lungs.
“Your cummin’ on me, shit…”
Tears shadow your waterline when his bulge presses against your gushing clit, bodies so near that your certain Michael’s ribs are woven into yours. Yet the persistent pad of his thumb at your nipple has your spine curling and stuffing any stray gaps.
You strangle your sobs against Michael’s collar as your hips convulse with the swell of your release. While it wanes, leaving you only with ruined panties and locked-up limbs, you note the weightlessness in the hollow of your abdomen—the source of your orgasm.
“Wan’ keep goin'. Can I, please..?”
You try to find the strength to not only say yes to Michael’s plea, but to beg him to use your body ‘till the only thing you feel is him planting his seed between your legs.
Yet you're a drooling, sensitive mess against him. You settle on a nod.
The boy below revives your pace with his hands entombed into the plush of your thighs, your wilted body the only aid for his throbbing dick. “Thank you, pretty. Oh god, I-I’m s’ close!”
You ache—God, do you ache—but the filth fleeing Michael’s mouth only feeds the muscles that are jelly beneath your flesh. You fill your lungs with air and rise from his chest with a determined huff.
The unpolluted need to watch him fall apart blinds your frailty.
“Wan’ you to come in your jeans, Mikey.” Your sentence is one big slur as each syllable clings on to the next. “I wan’ taste it. Are you gonna be a good friend and let me have a taste?”
“’Is all for you. O-only eva’ been for you.” Michael nods through a disgruntled whimper.
“So kind n’ pretty… Smell s’ good, too. A-an’ you feel s’ soft ontop o’ me—s-shit, I’m-” The boy's mindless worshipping is devoured by the sharp teeth of his orgasm.
A gut-wrenching wail leaks from Michael’s wet, flushed lips as brown eyes wane to the back of his head. You watch every moment with broad and enquiring eyes, utterly engrossed in his ecstasy-charged expression—the slack jaw, his brows pinched on his forehead, the doleful, whiny little noises that flee in short bursts.
Even the way his fingers brace against your skin is sure to leave pretty prints on your soft flesh. Five dainty souvenirs of your devoutness to one-another.
Michael’s tempo wanes as he uses your overstimulated clit to wring himself dry in his slacks, dick pulsing with each throb, wracking his body ‘till his convulsing settles into tremors. His seed soaks into the head of his boxers, climax staining his eyes and ears with the echo of its might.
After a few attempts at forcing breath back into your lungs, you both wade in the soothed silence of post-orgasm waters.
Things are still. Things are safe.
Michael’s beneath you and he’s collecting the pieces of himself he lost between your slick, when;
His hands rising, reaching for the dishevelled hair atop your head. He loops an orphaned strand around his finger.
Michael's playing with your hair.
This is something he’d do when he was jaded during a movie and had you near, or on the phone to a producer with you by his side.
It’s a habit he’s built around the idea that your constant presence nearby is normal.
Was this where your shared path of oddity led you? To the point of naming a once indescribable sensation as lust?
Michael’s fiddling halts when he catches your movements in a sharpened gaze. He’s too fucked-out to question why your hands meandering lower, lower, ‘till it reaches the indent of dark skin that melts into his briefs.
Your supple fingers sink beneath the thin layer against his crotch, uncovering the tacky, balmy liquid that can only be one thing—your best-friends come.
Your nails caress his inflamed tip for only a moment, yet the faint connection has Michael sucking in air through his front teeth. His fingers intuitively fly to your wrist and are able to trap it with a single hand.
“You promised I could have a taste.” Your words sound like satin.
Michael nods dumbly, his brain melting in his skull.
Your fingers circle the leftovers of the slick mess he made before carrying it to your mouth, parting when you lap at the evidence of Michael’s orgasm.
“How do I taste?” His voice comes out as a whisper before he licks his lips, biting into the bottom one so hard you’re certain he’s broken skin.
You hum whilst cleaning your finger on your tongue, swallowing his seed. It’s salty, pungent, somewhat saccharine as it oozes down your throat.
“As sweet as you sound.”
A/N I don't exactly like this BUT! im desperate to post for mj so take it. i will start working on ur requests soon! I don't have a schedule as i am employed so stuff will b released as it's ready! thank you so much for the insane support on my first post, ily all𑁤
⊱ thriller!michael x f!reader ◞ small blurb about edging michael and overstimulating him to the point of tears
⊱ smut, sub!michael, dom!reader, hand job, overstimulation, tears, begging, edging
The heavy, velvet curtains of the bedroom are drawn tight, shutting out the rest of the world, leaving only the dim, amber glow of a single bedside lamp.
Michael is completely at your mercy. Stripped of the clothes he worn and the armor of his fame, he is utterly bare beneath you, his long, lean frame trembling against the silk sheets.
You’ve spent the last hour driving him absolutely insane, intentionally pushing him right to the precipice of a peak, only to ruthlessly pull him back.
"Please," Michael chokes out, his voice a strained, breathless rasp. His large, elegant hands are knotted into the mattress, his knuckles white.
His chest heaves, ribs expanding painfully with every ragged breath as you wrap your hand around his length, pumping him in a slow, agonizingly tight rhythm.
"Oh god, please, baby... I can't... I can't hold it anymore."
You don't answer with words. Instead, you lean down, letting your tongue trace the hypersensitive line of his lower stomach before sliding lower.
When you take him into your mouth, swallowing him down deep, Michael’s entire body goes rigid. An incredibly loud, broken sob rips from his throat, his hips jerking helplessly off the bed.
He is so incredibly close, his mind completely short-circuiting from the sheer intensity of it. The natural rhythm that usually rules his body is shattered; he's just a raw, vibrating nerve ending under your control.
Just as his thighs begin to shake violently, signaling he’s about to break, you pull away. You wrap your fingers tight around the very base of him, cutting off his release at the absolute last second.
"No, no, no—please!" Michael wails, the sound completely unraveled and desperate. Tears of pure overstimulation finally spill over his thick eyelashes, tracking wet paths down his flushed cheeks.
He tosses his head back into the pillows, his curls damp and wild, his lips parted as he gasps for air that won't come. "Don't stop, please, I'm begging you, it hurts so good—I need it—"
You look up at him, your thumb sweeping over the wet head of his length, deliberately smearing the slick pre-come, making him whine and twitch beneath your touch.
He is crying openly now, completely overwhelmed by the agonizing friction and the relentless teasing.
He wants to move, wants to thrust into your hand or your mouth to force the climax, but he is too weak, too entirely consumed by the pleasure you're rationing out.
⊱ I love all the request being sent please keep sending more!
ೄ ◞♡ imagine cockwarming bestfriend!michael while he’s terribly attempting to show you what each button on the soundboard does. You wanted to tag along with him today to see how he worked, and as the day settles into a quiet night with only you two left in the studio, you were curious on how the music is even produced.
In the midst of showing you, you wanted a closer look. Next thing you know, he’s hiking your thigh up to get over on his lap.
“And this? What does this button do?” You point to it, acting oblivious on how the clenches of your cunt around his cock is driving him absolutely crazy. He doesn’t give a damn about teaching you anymore, all he wants is to fuck up his hips into your pussy until you’re a whimpering, gasping mess.
“Please,” You hear the softest of a whisper from him, noting the way his fingers have an iron grip around your waist, trying to hold himself back. “I-I need you to move, fuck—“
You stay still on his lap, your weight settled low and warm against him. You hum, feeling every aching twitch of his cock nestled deep inside your heat. “Answer my question first, Mikey.”
His jaw tenses, thighs flexing under yours. You watch how he struggles to find his voice, swallowing hard. “T-That’s the loop button. Whatever sound it is, it plays it continuously as long as you hold down that b-button.”
You grind your hips a little, slow and deliberate, enough to have him lose his breath. Your lips stop next to his ear, voice low and husky. “Good boy.”
That’s what broke him completely, not being able to take it anymore. You were no longer in control like you thought this entire time, hips snapping repeatedly up into you as he held you still by the waist to take every bruising thrust of his cock, turning you into a babbling mess in less than a second.
You should’ve known he never liked when things didn’t go his way.
thoughts of mature!micheal watching you on stage while you perform. 18+ mdni
he’s in awe at the way you effortlessly own the stage, hitting every note and every beat as you lose yourself in the music. captivated by the sensual movements of your hips and legs in your cropped glittery two piece, rhinestones catching the light.
as you grind and twirl your hips, you catch his stare in the front row. your dangly belly piercing twinkling under the stage lights (his weakness). he can’t help but bite his lip as his eyes roam your body hungrily under his signature shades. one of his long slender fingers coming to his mouth attempting to conceal his growing grin at the thought of how that piercing would look under him with the outline of his bulge peeking through your stomach.
he almost swears you give him a wink and a slight smirk before you move to the other side of the stage, continuing to perfectly sing the notes of your new hit single that’s been nominated for numerous awards tonight.
when you finish your set, hip jutted out and sweat cascading down your perfect frame, he mentally makes it his mission to know you by the end of the night, in more ways than one…
a/n: first time writing in yearsss omg but mike brought me out of hibernation. hope you guys like!
your wish is my command ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ hope you enjoy this doll (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
♡₊˚ 🏆・₊✧𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
♡ song of the year wasn't the only thing michael planned on claiming that night.
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ thrad!era ⟡ michael jackson x presenter!fem!reader
FEBRUARY 25, 1986
you stand backstage at the 28th annual grammy awards with the soft hum of the audience drifting through the curtains like a warm tide, the air buzzing with the kind of electricity that only nights like this can hold, and you breathe in slowly as you go over your lines for the third time, whispering them under your breath while your fingers trace the cue cards even though you already know every word by heart, your pulse steady but alert because you want everything to be perfect, not just for the show but because you know he is somewhere out there in the crowd watching you with those dark eyes that always make your stomach flutter, and the thought alone sends a quiet warmth through your chest as you straighten your posture and prepare to step into the lights.
the stage manager gives you a gentle nod and you walk out into the golden glow of the auditorium, the applause rising like a wave that washes over you as you smile at the sea of faces, the cameras, the glittering gowns and tuxedos, the shimmering set pieces that catch the light like jewels, and you let your voice carry with practiced grace as you welcome everyone, your tone warm and confident even though your heart is beating a little faster than usual because you know he is somewhere in the audience listening to every word. "good evening everyone and welcome to the twenty eighth annual grammy awards, we are so excited to celebrate the incredible music and artistry that defined this past year, thank you all for being here tonight."
you hold the microphone with both hands as the applause settles, the lights softening just enough to let you see the first few rows of the audience, and your gaze flickers instinctively toward the spot where you know he is seated, catching only the faint outline of his silhouette, the familiar tilt of his head, the quiet stillness of his posture that always gives him away, and even from this distance you feel the invisible thread between you tighten, a secret connection woven through months of stolen moments and whispered conversations and careful glances that no one else has ever noticed.
you continue with your lines, introducing the first categories of the night, your voice steady and smooth as you guide the audience through the ceremony, and each time you step offstage you feel the adrenaline settle into your bones like a soft hum, the backstage crew moving around you with practiced precision, the sound of applause rising and falling like a heartbeat behind the curtains, and you take a moment to breathe, to center yourself, to remind yourself that you are here to work even though your heart keeps drifting toward him like a compass that cannot help but point north.
when it is time for you to present the next award, you step back into the lights with a smile that feels natural and warm, the audience greeting you with another wave of applause, and you read the nominees with clear, confident rhythm before opening the envelope with a practiced flourish, your voice lifting as you announce the winner, the crowd erupting as the popular male artist makes his way toward the stage with a bright grin and an energy that fills the room, his excitement contagious as he climbs the steps and approaches you with open arms.
you expect a handshake or a quick hug, something simple and professional, but instead he leans in with a warm smile and presses a friendly kiss to your cheek, his hand resting lightly on your arm as he murmurs his thanks for your support on the charity project you worked on together, and you feel your breath catch in surprise as the audience reacts with soft laughter and applause, your cheeks warming as you laugh awkwardly and try to keep your composure, reminding yourself that it is harmless, that it is friendly, that it is nothing more than a gesture of appreciation in front of a room full of people.
you step aside to give him space for his acceptance speech, your smile polite and steady even though your mind is still catching up with the unexpected moment, and as the lights shift to focus on him you let your gaze drift toward the audience again, searching instinctively for the one face that matters most, and when you find him your breath catches because michael isn’t just tense, he’s wound so tightly he looks like he might snap if anyone so much as brushes against him. his jaw isn’t only clenched, it’s locked, the muscle ticking beneath his skin as if he’s fighting every instinct in his body not to get up and drag you off that stage, his eyes don’t just stay on you, they burn into you, dark and sharp and unblinking that sends a shiver down your spine as his fingers curl harder against his knee, knuckles whitening, breath tightening in his chest.
he tries to hide it, he really does, but you know him too well, you know the way his emotions flicker beneath the surface like sparks waiting to catch fire, and you can see the jealousy simmering in the tightness of his shoulders, the way he shifts in his seat as if trying to shake off the image of another man’s lips on your cheek, the way his gaze keeps darting between you and the artist onstage as if replaying the moment over and over in his mind, each repetition tightening something inside him until he looks like he might burst from the pressure alone.
the artist continues his speech, completely unaware of the storm brewing in michael’s chest, thanking his team and the fans and the people who supported the charity project, his voice warm and enthusiastic as the audience applauds again, and you keep your expression calm even though you can practically feel the jealousy radiating off him, thick and hot, filling the space between you even from across the room. it’s in the way he won’t blink, the way his lips press into a thin line, the way his foot taps once, twice, three times before he forces it still. he’s trying to stay composed for the cameras, for the crowd, for the moment, but his eyes give him away completely. they’re dark with something possessive, something wounded, something that says he didn’t expect to see another man’s mouth anywhere near you tonight.
when the segment ends and you walk offstage, your heart is still fluttering from the intensity of his stare, your mind replaying the moment in the same way you know he is, and as you step into the dim backstage hallway you press a hand to your cheek where the kiss landed, not because it meant anything but because you know it meant something to him, and the thought alone makes your chest tighten with a mix of affection and worry as you wait for the next cue, the distant sound of applause echoing through the walls like a reminder that the night is far from over.
you lean against the backstage wall for a moment, letting the cool surface steady you as you go over your next lines, your voice soft as you rehearse under your breath, and even though you are alone for now you can still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin, a silent promise that the night will only grow more intense from here, and you close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the charged air of the grammy awards, knowing that the real storm has only just begun.
you stay backstage for a few minutes after your last presentation, letting the noise of the audience settle into a distant hum as you breathe in the dim hallway, the soft glow of the backstage bulbs warming your skin while you rehearse your next lines under your breath, your voice low and steady as you try to shake off the lingering awkwardness from earlier, your fingers brushing your cheek again even though you keep telling yourself it was nothing, just a friendly gesture, just a moment that should not matter, yet you can still feel the ghost of michael’s stare like a hand closing around your ribs, tightening with every breath you take.
the stage manager calls your name again and you straighten your shoulders, smoothing your gown as you step toward the curtain, your heart beating a little faster because this category is bigger, heavier, more important, and you want to deliver it perfectly, especially knowing he is out there somewhere watching you with that quiet intensity that always makes your pulse skip, and as you step into the lights again the applause rises like a warm tide, the golden glow washing over you as you smile at the audience with practiced grace.
you hold the microphone with both hands, grounding yourself in the familiar weight of it as you begin to speak, your voice steady and warm as you welcome the audience back from the short break, the cameras gliding across the room like silent birds while the crowd settles into their seats, and you let your gaze sweep gently across the front rows, your eyes catching the faint outline of his silhouette again, the soft shimmer of his jacket, the stillness of his posture that tells you he has not relaxed since the moment he saw that kiss.
you inhale slowly, letting the moment settle before you continue, your voice carrying clearly through the auditorium. "it is my honor to present one of the most meaningful categories of the night, a category that celebrates the power of music to move us, to unite us, and to change the world. these are the nominees for song of the year." the screens behind you light up with clips and audio, the audience reacting with soft murmurs and applause as each nominee appears, and you stand poised and elegant, your heart thudding quietly beneath your ribs as you hold the envelope in your hand.
when the final nominee fades and the applause settles, you open the envelope with careful precision, your breath catching for a moment as you read the name printed inside, and you lift your gaze to the audience with a soft smile that feels both warm and electric. "and the grammy for song of the year goes to… we are the world, michael jackson and lionel richie."
the room erupts into applause, cheers rising like a wave that shakes the floor beneath your feet, and you look toward the aisle where he stands, his expression unreadable for a moment as he rises from his seat, but then his eyes lock onto yours and everything inside you stills because he is not looking at the audience, he is not looking at the cameras, he is not even looking at the stage itself, he is looking only at you, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he begins to walk toward you with a new calmness that feels too controlled, too deliberate, like a storm holding itself together by sheer force of will, and beside him lionel richie rises as well, moving with him up the aisle like it’s the most natural thing in the world, smiling at the crowd but clearly aware of where this is going, and as they reach the steps lionel goes first, pulling you into a warm, effortless side hug that makes you laugh softly through the shock of it all, his hand patting your shoulder in genuine pride as he murmurs something you barely catch before he steps back with an approving grin.
you swallow hard as he moves toward you, each step drawing the world in tighter until everything else fades into a soft blur. your fingers clamp around the envelope, the paper bending under the tension, but his eyes stay fixed on yours with a steady focus that makes the crowd feel distant and unimportant. the air seems to shift as he gets closer, warm and dense, settling over your skin like something quietly electric.
when he reaches you, he slips an arm around your waist with a certainty that steals your breath. his touch isn’t forceful, just sure, like he’s anchoring you in place without needing to say a word. he looks down at you with his head tilted slightly to the side, studying you with a softness that makes your chest tighten. his teeth catch lightly on his lower lip, a small, unguarded gesture that gives away how much this moment matters to him. and even through all that tenderness, you can still sense the jealousy flickering in his eyes, a faint shadow beneath the warmth. it is not harsh or angry, just a quiet ache he cannot hide, something that tightens his hold on your waist for a heartbeat. his hand squeezes gently, not enough to hurt, just enough to let you feel the emotion he is trying so hard to keep contained.
then he leans in and kisses you.
not a quick peck, not a shy brush of lips, but a soft, sure, deliberate kiss that melts the entire room into silence for a heartbeat before the audience explodes into gasps and cheers and applause, the sound crashing over you like a tidal wave as your eyes flutter shut for a moment, your heart racing wildly as his lips linger just long enough to make it clear that this is not a mistake, not a slip, not a friendly gesture, but a declaration, a reveal, a claim spoken without words in front of the entire music industry.
when he pulls back, he gives you a small, playful wink that makes your stomach flip, his hand brushing your waist one last time before he turns to accept the award from you, his fingers brushing yours with a warmth as he takes the grammy into his hands, the crowd still roaring with excitement as he steps toward the microphone with that soft, shy smile that always makes people melt.
he waits for the applause to settle, his posture relaxed but his eyes flicking toward you every few seconds with a quiet possessiveness that only you can read, and when he finally speaks his voice is gentle, warm, and full of gratitude. "thank you, thank you so much." he pauses as the applause rises again, his smile widening before he continues. "i want to thank lionel, first of all, for being such an incredible partner in creating this song. he is a true friend and a true artist, and i am so grateful for everything we were able to do together."
he shifts the award in his hands, his voice softening with sincerity. "i want to thank every artist who came together for this project, everyone who gave their time and their hearts to something bigger than all of us. this song was made with love, with hope, and with the belief that we can make the world a better place when we stand together."
the audience applauds again, "and of course, i want to thank the fans, because none of this would be possible without your love and your support. you inspire me every single day, and i am so grateful for you."
he pauses, his smile turning a little mischievous, his eyes sliding toward you again with a glimmer that makes your breath catch. "and, um… i guess i should also say…" he lifts the grammy slightly, his tone light but unmistakably pointed. "some people should be a little more careful about kissing another man's lady."
the audience bursts into laughter, cheers rising as people clap and whistle, the cameras catching your face as your cheeks burn with embarrassment and surprise, your hand lifting instinctively to cover your mouth as you try not to laugh, and michael just smiles, that soft, cheeky smile that tells you he knows exactly what he is doing, exactly how flustered he is making you, and he is enjoying every second of it.
he finishes with a warm, humble thank you before stepping away from the microphone, and as he walks back toward you he gives you another small wink, his fingers brushing your waist again as he passes, the touch subtle but full of meaning, and you feel your heart flutter helplessly as he heads back down the steps, the audience still buzzing with excitement from the unexpected reveal.
you stand there for a moment, trying to steady your breathing as the cameras cut away and the stage manager ushers you offstage, your mind spinning, your cheeks still warm, your heart pounding with a mix of shock and affection and something deeper, something that feels like it has been waiting to surface for a long time, and as you step into the dim backstage hallway again you know he will find you soon, and you know the conversation waiting between you will be one you will never forget.
the hallway feels calmer than the stage, dimmer and softer, the noise of the grammy crowd fading into a distant echo as you step into the quiet. you’re still warm from the lights, still breathless from everything that happened, your mind replaying the moment he kissed you in front of everyone like a scene you can’t quite believe is real. you press your hand lightly to your lips, trying to steady yourself, when you hear him behind you, his footsteps slow and sure, carrying that familiar mix of confidence and emotion that always gives him away.
when you turn, he’s already watching you, his grammy tucked under one arm, his shoulders relaxed but his eyes still burning with that jealousy he hasn’t shaken off yet. he walks toward you with a softness that contradicts the storm you know is still swirling inside him, and when he reaches you he stops close enough that you can feel the warmth of him settle around you like a blanket. his voice is gentle when he speaks, even though his eyes are still sharp with emotion. "you okay baby?" he asks quietly, his hand brushing your arm in a way that makes your breath catch. "i didn’t mean to overwhelm you out there."
you nod, though your heart is still racing, and he studies your face for a moment, searching for any sign of discomfort. when he finds none, his expression shifts, softening into something warm but edged with that quiet, simmering jealousy he’s trying so hard to keep under control. "i just… i couldn’t sit there and watch that," he murmurs, "him kissin' you like that. i know it was friendly, i know it didn’t mean anything, but it still…" he trails off, shaking his head slightly, his jaw tightening for a moment before he exhales slowly. "it still bothered me."
you whisper his name softly, and he gives a small smile, one that’s both apologetic and a little proud, like he knows he’s being ridiculous but he also knows he’d do it all again. "i’m not gonna pretend i wasn’t jealous," he says, his voice low and honest. "i was. i still am." he leans in a little, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "but i’m glad everyone knows now. i’m glad they know who my woman is... the woman i get to love."
your cheeks warm instantly, and he notices, his smile turning a little smug but still gentle, still full of affection. "guess i made the night a little more interesting." he adds, his tone playful but certain. lifting the grammy slightly, his eyes glimmering with pride.
you roll your eyes at him, but you’re smiling, and he sees it, his expression softening again as he cups your jaw with one hand, his thumb brushing your skin with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. "you did amazing tonight," he whispers. "i’m so proud of you."
you tell him you’re proud of him too, and his smile grows, warm and bright, the kind of smile that lights up his whole face. he glances down at the grammy in his hand, then back at you, and the warmth in his eyes deepens. "i got my award," he says softly. "and i got you. that’s all i wanted tonight."
he leans in closer, his voice dropping into something playful, something that makes your stomach twist. "c’mon," he murmurs, kissing your temple. "let’s go home so i can show you how jealous i was."
your eyes widen and you slap his chest lightly, your voice a shocked whisper. "michael!" he laughs softly, the sound warm and sweet, his shoulders shaking just a little as he catches your hand gently, his fingers curling around yours with an ease that makes your heart flutter.
"i’m teasing," he says, though the sparkle in his eyes tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. "but i do wanna get you out of here."
you’re still flustered, still warm, but you’re smiling, and he sees it, his own smile stretching wider as he gives your hand a gentle tug. he leads you down the hallway toward the exit, his grammy tucked under his arm, his fingers laced with yours like he’s never letting go. when he pushes open the door to the cool night air, the limo waiting just outside, he glances back at you with a look so full of pride and happiness it makes your chest swell.
he’s got his grammy.
he’s got his girl.
and he looks like he’s floating.
you squeeze his hand, your smile soft and full, and he squeezes back, his voice low and warm as he whispers, "let’s go home."
hey dolls 🌸 just wanted to say sorry if my recent fics haven't been my best. i've been dealing with some personal stuff lately and it's been making it really hard to find motivation to write, and i've also recently started therapy, so i've been trying to focus on myself a little more. i know i probably shouldn't be sharing this, and this is honestly a little embarrassing to admit lol, but i don't have friends to talk to about this stuff, and you guys honestly feel like friends to me, so i wanted to be honest about why some of my writing might feel a little shit. i also feel really guilty about the requests that have been sitting in my inbox for months now, and i'm genuinely so sorry to everyone who's been waiting. thank you for still reading my stuff and supporting me, it genuinely means so much. i still really wanna write and make things you guys enjoy, even when i'm struggling. requests are still open btw !! feel free to send them in <3 i love you all !!
maestro!mj x fem!reader 🕯️ fic based on michael jackson’s music video/short film “ghosts”
6k words ⏾ — porn with actual plot , smut so 18+ obvi , normal/canon angst , lowk nonconsensual voyeurism but then it is... trust the process PLS , mutual masturbation , fingering , oral (f receiving) , subbish mike in some parts , michael cumming untouched , ghost sex? 𓉸
you’re the daughter of the grumpy rude old mayor trying to kick out the mysterious yet whimsical host of the creepy mansion in “normal people valley” you really resent your father for many reasons but this was your final straw. why was he so obsessed with the man at the edge of town? you’ve heard stories from the neighbors kids that all he does is tell them funny stories with spooky twists… so if he isn’t doing any serious harm why want to push him away? well when your father decides to round up all the other concerned parents of the neighborhood to pay the mystery man a visit you decide to see what all the fuss is about…
a/n— fem!reader is like 23-25 just graduated idk whatever u freaks wanna imagine but SHES AN ADULT (im 20 mind u)annnd if im correct mj is in his mid thirties so— i’ll have another a/n at the end of the fic. i recommend maybe watching the short film before reading for some context and bc it’s so funny and so so good!! i also took some inspo from the film “edward scissorhands” anyways enjoy! it’s been almost a year since I’ve written and finished a fic so bare w me future me: BARELY proofread so—🦇
Living in “Normal People Valley” has always been very boring and ordinary. Life here has always made you feel like an extra in an old black and white film.
It’s just been you and your father ever since mom left him 7 years ago. They had a little age gap and your mother just couldn't handle his judgemental and rude outlook on the world. So she waited until you were an adult to leave the house. She said “go to school, become something better than us and the people of this town, and then you can come move to the city with me if you’d like.”
You were always the closest to her, especially being the only child in the house and your father being at work from 9-5. Then mom would work nights at the hospital an hour away to save up money to eventually leave the toxic household.
At first it hurt but then you put yourself in her shoes and understood everything. You definitely felt her when she left because your father started having these angry outbursts and took it out on you. He wouldn’t hit you or anything ever but he would drink and lash out and say mean things. You don’t blame her for leaving at all.
Going to college three days a week was your solace and going to the library to study, reading books involving your major and even reading simple little fairytales. That was the real escape you had. With your parents never really being on the same page throughout your adolescence you yearned for a proper fairytale ending for yourself.
Yes, those stories evolved as you grew older and older but the ending remained the same. All you wanted was for someone to sweep you off your feet, love and cherish you, and take you away from this stupid little town.
You have fooled around with some boys in the past but they never gave you that feeling the princesses talked about in books or how your besties would talk to you about the guys they just met while talking to you on the phone.
Today was a self-care day. You studied at a cafe, thrifted some new henleys and jeans for the fall season and some new books and old films. You got off the bus fifteen minutes ago and were a couple houses down from your own, it's 4:45 so your dad should be on his way home soon but as you walk more you notice his car is in the driveway already. “Weird…” You think to yourself.
You take your keys out and unlock the door, drop your bags down and take your shoes off while locking the door. “Dad? I'm home, you got off early?” There’s shuffling coming from the kitchen so you walk over.
He was standing over the island and vigorously carving a big wooden stake.
“Dad what the fuck?!” You run towards him while waving your arms around trying to get him out of the little trance he was in. “HELLLLOOOOOOO!”
He cursed under his breath and looked up at you, his beady eyes widening. “I was in the middle of somethin’ sweetheart,” his words slurring slightly.
You’re standing in front of him in absolute disbelief. “Are ya starring in a play or something? Why is there a huge wooden stake in the kitchen?! D-Did you even leave the house today?!”
As you’re rambling on with more questions your father is washing wood dust off his hands by the sink. “Sit down, we need to have a talk,” completely ignoring any questions you’ve asked him. You sit down in one of the dining room chairs with a huff.
“What is it this time dad?,” you say with a sigh. You kept thinking to yourself, “Oh he’s gonna blame you for something that happened during his campaign” or something along the lines of “I told ya, ya can’t call ya mom anymore.” Blah blah blah. That’s all it is these days. He sounded like a broken record.
Your dad sat down across from you with a tired sigh. “I needa ask ya somethin’ and ya need to tell the truth, ya hear?” You nodded slowly while giving a side eye.
“What do ya know about the guy who lives in the big spooky house at the edge of town?” He said with the most serious expression. You leaned back and gave it some thought. While buying groceries you’ve heard some of the moms saying their children have been playing near the huge home but nothing about the man who owns it…
Since you graduated you started baking again, before college it was one of your favorite hobbies. Now since you’re home more, you bake a new recipe at least once a week you’ve been going door-door delivering sweets. Some of the kids tell you about the scary stories they tell when they play near the house at the edge of town but again never about the mystery man… Now you’re cursing yourself for being too lazy and not hand delivering cookies to the estate yourself. You could get some real answers to your own questions.
All in all though, you never really minded the creepy house. It was a wreck ever since you’ve lived here but it got fixed up by the time you were in your junior year of college. You admired the gothic architecture from afar, always too busy and very shy to go up close and examine it. It also felt very intrusive, like that’s someone’s home ya know?
“I haven’t heard anything about the man… why?” You lean forward. He looks around as if someone else could be listening but it’s just the two of you…
“He’s makin a bad impression on the youngins so… me and some othas are gonna march up there and make him leave.” He said again, with a straight face. You couldn’t help but scoff. God, he was so hyperfixated on mom leaving, so he took it out on you, started drinking, did some overtime at work, and now he’s obsessed with some guy that lives secluded from everybody else. Mind you, no one’s seen him except for the kids (maybe).
“Dad thats fuckin ridiculous are you serious?” you said while standing up. “Do you hear how crazy you sound? And who else is going to ‘march’ on over to someone’s house UNINVITED?” You continued to angrily ramble on while he pretended to listen.
He stood up as well now and looked at me. “Kelly, Susie, Norman, Randall, Billy, Veronica and all their kids are comin and some others. We’re gonna meet up in townsquare in two days at 8 p.m. ya can come with us if ya care about the well bein of your home.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.
“Why are you gettin the children involved dad? This man hasn't done anythin wrong…” You started pacing back and forth.
He leaned against the counter and sighed. “Ya just know when someone is gonna messup and the mothers are sayin their children won’t stop talkin’ about this guy, he calls himself the maestro. That just sounds like a freak that needs to be stopped. So be there or don’t I don’t care. Imma order takeout for dinner.” Then he just walked away without another word.
You put your head in your hands and just sighed. What is happening? It feels like today was the most you heard of this man and now everyone wants to interrupt his peace for… no reason whatsoever.
It’s been hours since that conversation, you ate dinner, took a nice long shower, read some of your book and now you’re laid back in bed staring up at the ceiling. You couldn’t shake this odd feeling since that discussion with your father. The maestro… I wonder if the man really calls himself that or maybe if it's just to entertain the kids? You hope so. It was at that moment you realized you’re becoming just as obsessed as these other losers. But it isn't in the weird and borderline prejudiced way they are. It’s more of a fascination, you don’t even know what he looks like but you didn’t care you felt this invisible pull towards the direction of the house.
Sighing you turned over on your left side and finally closed your eyes and decided you would be joining those dimwitted fools on their soul quest in two days time.
𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇
The day is winding down. You just had dinner with a friend who’s been out of town and now you’re sitting at your vanity in your candlelit room. You don’t know why you’re stressing so much over what you want to wear to… potentially break into someone’s house. To be honest this all seems like bluff from your father you do not think he actually has it in him but also you don't really know now.
Anyways you stand up now to look at the options you’ve laid out on your bed to wear out. You laugh to yourself because this feels like you’re planning an outfit for a date.
Your eyes keep drifting to a top you recently purchased two days ago at a salvation army almost an hour away from town. That’s where all the good clothes are around here. “Fuck it…” you curse to yourself, if you’re going to potentially get arrested tonight with all the beige moms in your town you might as well look good.
This top you’re choosing is a black satin material with a deep purple lace trim with other little lace details and two thin straps to tie around the back. You decided to wear jeans and boots because the fall chill is stronger at night. You’re so nervous but you can’t let anyone, especially your father know that.
The clock in your room reads 7:50 p.m. so you try to shake off as many nerves as you can and finally go downstairs.
You and your father walk silently side by side together to town square. You can already hear the chatter of the concerned community of everyone before you approach them. Rolling your eyes you decide not to interact or talk with any of them. Again you’re intrigued by the mystery man and his manor out of genuine interest not because you think he’s disgusting and weird.
The walk to the mansion was about ten minutes from town square. Your father led the group while you stayed in the middle, hanging and talking to the children because it seems only they have a true common sense of things. Some of the adults carried the homemade stakes, torches, and flashlights. You roll your eyes when one of the younger men asks if you want a torch, like what is this? It's 1996. Why are we traveling to a house with torches and stakes?
The old dark mansion finally comes into view. You’ve never been so up close to it, only seeing glimpses from afar where it just looks like a really tall cardboard cutout. From here you can actually smell the wood the home was built from and maybe the scent of candles.
As the group approaches the gate two of the kids speak up, “Why don’t we just leave him alone?” and “He hasn’t hurt anybody, can we just go?” You look at the two boys with sympathy as the sibling of one of the kids starts to bicker.
“He’s a weirdo, there’s no place in this town for weirdos.” Your dad whispers gruffly under his breath as if he had years of trauma caused by this one man he’s never even met face to face. You scoff for what feels like the one thousandth time tonight. Surely there’s a record for that.
Right when you were about to knock some sense into him to turn around, the gate creaks open by itself. It must’ve been the wind… right?
Everybody gasps quietly and Noman says “t-that’s aint a good sound…” Dad ignores him and starts walking onto the estate. As we walked to the front door those doors opened on their own as well which was odd but nobody was commenting on it.
The double doors had stained glass windows with a beautiful cobweb design, you imagined what it would look like during the daytime with the sun out and rays of light pouring onto the dark brown wooden floor.
The doors closing behind us took you out of your trance as we all looked around to see if someone closed them but… no one was there. One of the neighbors tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. Suddenly there were multiple cracks of thunder and gushes of wind coming at us from every direction though all the doors and windows were shut.
After that died down your father walked forward slowly with a straight face, he didn't seem moved or scared at all with what just happened. We all hesitantly and slowly followed him down the hallway, boxes were stacked on one another with dust and spiderwebs decorating them.
The open doors we were walking towards to continue our trespassing journey closed on their own so we opted to go to the other open doors to our left.
These doors opened for us and were guarded by two statues of knights with armor. The doors revealed a beautiful ballroom with black and white checkered floors, the white detailing was being illuminated by the moonlight shining through the tall windows, along with at least four chandeliers and there was a big fireplace warming the area as we stepped inside.
The ballroom was pretty much the size of one football field. It was one of the most majestic sights your eyes have ever seen.
Before we could even reach the middle of the vast room some double doors to our right had opened and a crow flew down from our left and into the very dark entrance that was just revealed to us.
Whispers from everyone and more cracks of thunder were all that could be heard. Your father started walking towards the doors slowly. The tail end of a black cloak could be seen blending in with the shadows of the dark space. We all watched in shock, mothers were holding their children, and grown men cowered in fear. Your father remained emotionless and you couldn’t move your palm from your mouth.
With a crack of thunder and lightning the shadowed space was lit up for a split second and a tall figure, in a black cloak and what seemed to be a skull face, was revealed. Your dad led the group to inch closer and closer. Once we were almost to the entrance he halted everyone and ventured two inches in alone, then BAM a streak of lightning lit up the room and revealed the same figure again. Everyone moved back while gasping and screaming, including your father, as the cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows.
The mysterious figure revealed half of his face and you could see his smooth skin and the doe-like brown eyes you have ever seen. The black eyeliner adorning his waterline and eyelids fit so well it could’ve been natural.
The children sighed in relief which took you out of your trance because some of your questions have been answered: the kids have seen the man who owns the manor.
He removed the skull mask completely, “did I scare ya?” you could finally move your hand away from your face and your jaw dropped just a tiny bit. This was the most beautiful man you have ever seen.
Now, you are definitely deprived of any affection and touch from anyone of romantic or sexual interest. However no sense of depravity on your end can change the fact you needed him. Not even in a sexual way he just had the aura of an angel sky above.
Maybe it’s because the thunder suddenly stopped and the moonlight was casting an ethereal glow on the him. You snapped out of your trance again when the children started saying hello to him and you swear he tilted his head in your direction. Your posture suddenly becoming the straightest it’s ever been.
Then your father just had to speak, “well ya didn’t scare me, maybe ya scared them but ya didn’t scare me,” like oh my god!! nobody cares.
The gorgeous maestro nodded his head toward him and said, “well that’s too bad isn't it?” God, how can he get any more handsome? His perfect face scrunched up in this almost smug expression. You must be ovulating.
“I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.” GULP. He walked to the side and your dad said, “there won’t be a next time.” While mr. good lookin placed the mask down, he smirked and replied with, “Oh Really, no next time huh?” He removed his cloak to reveal a white ruffled poet top that looked like it came from the victorian era.
“We want ya outta town,” your dad hissed out. Well maybe he does but you certainly need him in town. He went on… “We have a nice normal town, normal people, normal kids, and we don' t need freaks like you tellin’ em ghost stories.” While your father said all those nasty things the maestro walked about the ballroom adjusting his sleeves.
You tried to move to the back of the group to avoid being associated with your troll of a father. “So ya don’t believe in ghosts?” The maestro replied with. Some of the kids and adults said “I do!” and you nodded nonchalantly reeaaallll cool.
You coulda sworn he smirked and looked directly at you. Your mind is playing games on you. Susan, one of the mothers, points a finger at him. “You see what you’ve done? Aren’t you ashamed? Young people are impressionable.” You rolled your eyes. AGAIN.
“Show em the neat stuff ya showed us!” One of the kids said, then his little brother slapped him upside the head while his mother did it right back to him. Then there was a strong gust of wind that knocked her upside the head. You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. She’s always had it comin.
Everyone looked around with different expressions on their faces. Scared, confused, shocked and intrigued. You were very intrigued.
“You’re weird, you’re strange, and I don't like you, and you’re scarin’ these kids. Livin up here all alone” Your dad speaks up again unfortunately.
“I’m not alone,” the maestro says while nodding. “And you’re right I do like scarin’ people, yes. But it’s just for fun.” He smiles and for a second it warms your heart.
“Don’t you kids enjoy when I do my little— ya know,” He twirls his hands around in the air. You look to see the children’s reactions and they’re all nodding and whispering “yes.”
Your dad then whispers something you didn’t catch but the maestro did. “Back to the circus you freak,” He opened his mouth just a little and you could see the sadness in his eyes and it broke something within you. You had barely just met the man yet you were filled with so much sympathy for him already.
You pushed through the group to stand directly behind your father, you put a firm hand on his shoulder and told him to back off but he didn't listen and just continued on talking.
“And do yourself a favor… ok? Don’t force us to get rough with you, because we will if we have to.” This made you roll your eyes severely. Why would he even try that? 1. Your father is old as hell 2. He’s been drinking so often that he probably can’t throw a proper punch and 3. Take a look at this group. NO ONE is hurting a fly.
Maybe except you but you’ll be throwin punches at your own flesh and blood.
After your father boldly said that the others in the group collectively started backing away amd saying “pfft nooo we won’t” told ya so.
The maestro finally spoke up again in that soft spoken voice of his. “You’re tryin to scare me aren’t you?” He says while giving your father a sideways glance. Then suddenly he un-scrunches his face and looks at him directly. You straighten your posture.
“I’ll tell ya what, we’ll play a game.” He raises his eyebrows and you raise yours. “Anybody here likes games?” He looks to the group currently cowering away. “HELLLOOOO,” he claps his hands together twice. “Game time!” The kids' expressions all widened at the words “game time.”
You laughed to yourself, this whole situation seems so ridiculous but you haven't had any thoughts on leaving. It’s like something is compelling you to stay.
“The first person that gets scared has to leave,” he points to the double doors behind us. “How about that?” he smiles. One of the mothers jumps and says that she’ll leave no problem.
Your dad says he doesn’t play games with freaks, at this point you block him out. The maestro starts the game off with making silly faces making you and the children laugh gleefully. Your father and some of the other parents thought this was incredibly stupid and that the host was not taking this seriously.
A game that mind you, none of them wanted to play. It’s not supposed to be serious but theyre too dumb to see the point.
After enough rude bickering from both parties the maestro’s tone suddenly gets deeper and more serious, “Is this scary?” He then does something so unexpected and unhuman. He pulls his mouth apart and a huge tongue lols out and then he separates his jaw. It reminded you of one of the scenes from your favorite movie, “Beetlejuice.”
As soon as he did that the entire group gasped and screamed in terror. He then backed up and started snapping his fingers and yelling which caused large gusts of wind to swarm the ballroom and the fire in the hearth roared and grew taller.
“By the way… did I say I was alone?”
Then suddenly something insane happened… many gray figures with ragged clothing appeared out of thin air…
“Ghosts,” you whispered. So much was happening at once, the world around you was spinning, all you could hear were screams, and you had a chill down your spine.
“Meet the family.” The maestro said with a smirk and his arms were wide open.
Sometime after all the ghosts appeared and the wind settled down the maestro and his family started doing this interesting dance and everyone couldn’t stop watching. Whether it be in disgust, shock, or intrigue no one could look away. Including you.
While your gaze was stuck on the maestro dancing so gracefully in front of your eyes you didn’t realize you drifted away from your father, now standing aside the group but not too far.
You felt a light tap on your shoulder. Your breath hitched and you turned oh so slowly, and what you saw surprised you. It was the maestro… but if he was dancing in front of you how was he—
“Shh come with me dear…” and with a quiet snap of his fingers you were both transported to another area of the mansion. You gasped and shook your head.
“What in the— how did you— huh?!” You were an embarrassing mess of confusion. He just stood back and smirked.
“I’m a ghost darling. What you saw down there is another version of me, if you were to touch it, it would disappear into thin air. The one standing before you is the real solid version. My name is Michael by the way.”
He extended his arm to shake your hand. His hands were silky smooth. You told him your name.
“So you’re… dead?” You hesitantly asked Michael. He sighs but his smirk never wavers as he looks you up and down.
“Yes I am technically not alive anymore. I died more than one hundred years ago however I have unfinished business here in the mortal world. I still have yet to know what that business is. Which is why I try to befriend as many children as I can to make them laugh and really lust for life.” He said all of this with a smile on his face and you couldn’t help but smile softly too.
“Would you like a house tour m’lady?’ You didn’t think your smile could get any bigger, you bit your lip and nodded. “I’d love nothing more Michael.”
As Michael gently took your hand in his he dragged you down the candle lit hallway showing you each room. He had a room for almost everything. He had a room for trinkets, instruments, two separate dining rooms, a drawing room, a room with all of his cute exotic pets, and a library the size of two football fields.
He even told you how he died. Michael used to be in the theatre when he was younger, then as he got older he started writing and directing plays and musicals.
So one night while rehearsing a number for his upcoming musical there was a chandelier that had been put in the studio just a week prior, some of the light bulbs must’ve been screwed on incorrectly and while he was walking under it, multiple had popped off and his hair and majority of his scalp got burned off.
Unfortunately during the era this happened they couldn’t treat Michael properly for his injury so he survived for as long as could he before he unfortunately died in his sleep.
You guys paused the tour in the library. He told you to pick all the books that caught your eye. “Really?” he nodded and waved his hand. The library had the warmest lighting due to the generous amount of candles lit.
While you picked through the endless bookshelves your mind was occupied with so many thoughts. Not about how the man in the room is technically dead but… how the entire time he walked you through his gorgeous home you guys had this remarkable spark. You clung onto every word he said to you, he would never break eye contact with you, and he looked at you as if you hung the moon and the stars.
You shake your head and decide you should actually read the backs of the books you're choosing because this can be the only chance in a lifetime. However as you bend down to look at the books on the lower shelves you feel a presence behind you.
It’s him of course. The man who’s been plaguing your mind for days. “Find anything to your liking?” You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod. “Good, let's head to my study.”
He reaches for your free hand and helps you up from your crouched position. You blindly follow him out of the room with a dopey smile on your face. As he walked in front you could smell his cologne wafting at you or does he just naturally smell that good? Do ghosts have pheromones?
As you got lost in your thoughts you both halted in front of another pair of double doors. You thanked him as he held one of the doors open for you. This room was just as magnificent as the others. There was a small fireplace which made the space very warm and welcoming, an old-school record player was spinning some beautiful instrumental tunes, and when you turn around you see Michael leaning against the huge desk that adorns the middle of the study.
“So how are you liking my humble abode so far?” He asked you with a warm smile on his face. You sat down in the nearest chair facing Michael. “I love it! Gosh it’s so so beautiful I’ve always admired it from afar and that was just from the outside… I wanted to apologize again for the uh intrusion. My father and his crazy mind, I already told you about my mother and what that did to him but even I, as his daughter, can’t seem to forgive him for his actions…”
You bowed your head in shame. You had ranted to Michael as soon as the tour started, wanting to reassure him you had no part in this idiocy of trying to kick out an innocent man from town you, had only come out of pure curiosity. He had hushed you quickly and reassured you that he understood completely.
He moved one step forward to stand directly in front of you now. “You don’t need to say sorry to me again, do you understand me, love?” Michael used two of his fingers and brought them under your chin to gently guide your head upright again. “Ah, there’s those eyes,” he smirked at you and pinched your skin softly. “I like lookin in em’”
Is he actually flirting with you? How late is it right now? You must be hallucinating, that's gotta be it. You’re the daughter of the asshole mayor, your father, of this stupid little town that hates Michael and Michael is flirting with you.
You blush and almost turn away but you feel his fingers tighten slightly on your chin. “Michael…” He tilted his head with that teasing smirk and a twinkle in his eyes. “Yes?,” as if he didn’t know.
“I— I dunno this just doesn’t seem real to me there’s no way you… you,” before you can even finish your thought he moves away from you. Sitting in the chair next to yours.
“Dove, I have a confession.” This raises your eyebrows. Since you’ve met him tonight he's confessed plenty of things so what's so different this time? “... Okay what is it Michael?” You try to say without stuttering.
“Well the thing is… I’ve been watching you for a long time now. I know that sounds weird I know but the children were talkin’ bout how the sweet girl who bakes them desserts lived with the mean old mayor so I turned invisible and… observed you.” He went quiet while just staring at you with his big brown almost black eyes. He blushed but kept talking.
“It started with a pure and innocent fascination. I just wanted to know what you looked like, sounded like, what your room looked liked and how you baked, and what all your favorite things are. I thought we’d have a lot in common with ya know lovin the kids and wanting to make them happy,” he smiled and you did too but then his smile kinda dropped. “Then… the fascination wasn’t so pure… I— started just hanging out with you in your room… without you knowing obviously again just curious. I’d listen to you gossip to your friends and I’ve watched you try on new clothes a-and I've watched… you.”
You gasped. He doesn’t mean—
“Yes I do mean that. I- I am ashamed I’m a disgusting man, a pervert, but I couldn’t stop you- you just looked so beautiful— heavenly and I’m sorry… you can leave if you want. I won’t be mad, I just couldn’t keep talking with you and not tell you.”
Michael, the maestro the fucking ghost. Has seen you masturbate. Great, that's wonderful even. You felt a little violated but only for a split second, because the other part of you… some sick sick part of you really liked the fact that he watched you.
Before coming to the manor and even meeting Michael for some reason you always had this feeling you’d be attached to him in some way. Maybe you felt his presence all this time. So you rose up from the chair.
“Hey…” You softly graze his shoulder making him turn towards you. One of his large hands his covering half of his face. “It’s okay, I-I’ll forgive you under one condition…” He removed his hand and looked into your eyes with hope. You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders and sat him back down onto the chair.
Then you sat up on the huge desk behind you and spread your legs.
“You watch me again… while I can see you.” You’re both blushing profusely.
“I- you can’t be serious,” he stutters and you smirk. “Oh but I am. You weren’t afraid to watch me while I was touching myself all alone in bed, but now I want you to watch me again, now. Take it or leave it Michael.”
It was so amusing to watch how shy he got. He was so charismatic while entertaining the others downstairs and talking to you so confidently while giving you the house tour. But now he’s reduced to a little mess and you hope to see more of that real soon… if he agrees to this proposition of course.
You were about to apologize and jump out of the window before you heard it. A tiny sound that came from under Michael’s palm, a whimper. At first you thought you brought him to tears but you examined him further—
His face was a cute shade of pink and some sweat dribbled down his temple and dripped down his wickedly sharp jaw.
“Aw what was that Michael? Hm? You want it that bad huh?” Truly you don’t know where this boldness came from. You aren’t a virgin but you definitely don't have enough under you belt to be acting this way. You guess Michael brings it out of you.
He nodded and removed his hand, his lip looked swollen from him biting it. “Mhm please I—
I need it. I wanna see ya so bad in the light.” He rambled on. While he was preoccupied you slowly started undressing yourself.
By the time Michael was finished he looked back to you and sucked in a breath. You were only in your bra and panties now. The warm candle light accentuating all your features and making your skin look like it was glowing. Michael never became harder so fast in his mortal or ghost life.
“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out and you giggled. He eagerly stood in between your legs and right when he was about to touch your thighs you stopped him. Your sock clad foot on the center of his chest.
“Hmm I said watch remember? Or did you forget already?” You said in a teasing tone with no real bite to it.
He whimpered oh so deliciously again and sat his ass down. You smiled and stifled a giggle. Suddenly you grow a little nervous. You didn’t think any of this though you just thought with your pussy. Which is embarrassingly wet.
So instead of risking this becoming awkward you didn’t speak and just started sensually stroking your sides and right above the waistband of your panties. Thank god they’re not an ugly pair, just a simple black pair with a lace trim.
You used one of your hands to slowly rub yourself through the damp material, biting your lip. Michael mirroring your expression.
Whimpering you finally moved your panties to the side and you're met with crazy amounts of slick practically pouring out of your hole. You can hear Michael groaning in his palm and the sound of him wrestling his belt with the other hand.
You’ve never been this far gone while masturbating alone, only doing it when you can’t sleep or you’re ovulating. Your middle and pointer finger curling into your pussy making you almost howl as you arch off the desk.
Michael has always been a very very patient man but right now he was about to lose it.
“D-Darling please please let me touch you— let me make you feel good baby I-I need it I need to please—” He rambled but he didn’t miss your little nod as you pulled your fingers out. Michael moved at the speed of light, pushing you up further on the desk so he can sit on top of it with you. He knelt beside you he took your two slicked fingers with his left hand and brought them up to his plump lips and sucked. He moaned borderline pornographically while sucking your cream off your fingers he took his right hand and immediately picked up where you left off and shoved two long fingers into you without warning.
“Oh Michael— fuck! D-Don’t stop please,” you moaned and begged for him. “Mmm you taste better than I imagined honey,” Michael cooed in your ear as he took his other hand and massaged one of your tits.
His fingers reached spots you could never hit no matter how much you tried. You arched up so much you thought you were gonna fly off the fucking desk.
“Mmm baby m’so close—” Apparently that admission made Michael stop immediately. You would kill him right now if he weren’t already dead. Before you were about to curse him out for eternity he kissed you. You melted into the kiss and moaned as he sucked on your tongue softly.
“Honey I really need ya to come in my mouth, is that alright?” You never nodded so fast. Michael then ripped your panties off your body but you couldn’t care less at the damage that’s been done, just needing his mouth on you.
Michael melted between your legs, wasting absolutely zero time before burying his face into your cunt. He ate you out with sudden, sloppy confidence sucking your clit, dragging his tongue through your folds, and fucking you with his tongue until your legs were shaking violently. He worshiped you completely, swallowing every noise and whine you made like he was starving.
Your thighs locked around his head, pressing his face deeper into your folds as you practically rode his face. You were already so close to an orgasm before. He sucked your clit hard, tongue working frantically while you came undone, your head knocking gently against the desk. Michael groaned against you, the vibration pushing you through your orgasm as you clutched at his hair, chanting his name over and over again.
He continued and overstimulated him until you tugged on his hair hard, he finally pulled away. After Michael kissed all on your thighs and left some hickies there and on your stomach he finally laid back on the desk next to you panting.
“Wow, I think I’d be the first woman to ever say she came from a ghost.” You said still slightly out of breath. You can’t believe this just happened and to think that was only from his hands and mouth alone. Your pussy got wetter just thinking about what his dick would feel like—
You look Michael up and down and when you expect to see a bulge in his pants you see a big dark stain on the front of his trousers. Before you can utter a teasing comment his way he grips your thigh and says— “Not a word. I’ve been deprived of this for quite some time so give me a minute and I’ll be hard for you in no time. I suggest you rest while you can because I won’t get tired out very easily.”
Gulp.
a/n: YAYYA YOU READ MY FIRST COMPLETED FIC SINCE LAST YEAR ILY... speaking of I'd like to apologize if you've been following me for a long time or you've asked to be tagged in an upcoming project/fic and I edged you every single time bc im a lazy pos IM SO SORRY DONT HATE MEEEE IM JUST A GIRL IN COLLEGE. but i truly love each and every single one of you and i hope to write more this summer and just more in general i just need to stop putting higher expectations on myself.
—sweetgirl out
also no pressure tags at all I just think we’re all homies here and if u never want me to tag u again lmk 🏷️ @inbred-eater 🕯️ @prettyangeliczz
Michael with ex spouse reader who got married to him really early, maybe around his off the wall era, and because they were so young they didn't work out but remained friends and obviously still liked each other and have a ton of tension throughout the years before finally getting remarried in his bad era
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Baby be mine
Pairing: Michael x reader
Content: In which after your first failed relationship, you and Michael decide it time to try again.
1978, a year before Michael released Off the Wall.
You remembered that time so clearly. A time when the two of you were filled with so much love for each other that you really thought you would be together until the end of time, but what no one tells you about getting married so young is that you don't truly know what you want. Sure, sometimes you do, but most times you think you do, but in all actuality, you don't.
You met Michael when you were younger, and to say the least, the two of you were inseparable, and when you became teens, it only got worse from there. You'd stay up late at night listening to him talk about all the things he had planned for his solo career, all while you let your fingers run through his 'fro. You'd even stay up all night while he constantly jotted down ideas, asking you what you thought of them, not knowing—well, pretending not to notice that they pertained to you.
Everyone knew it; they could see it in the way you two glanced at each other when you thought no one was looking, or when Michael would get protective over you because his brothers wouldn't stop messing with you, until he finally asked to be your boyfriend.
The dating phase felt like a never-ending honeymoon, yet neither of you wanted to make the first move, too scared to mess something up.
Fast forward to after Off the Wall was released. Of course, you were proud of everything he achieved with just his first solo album, and you were happy to be there by his side as he rose to fame, not only as the boy who sang "ABC" or "I Want You Back," but as Michael Jackson. But there was still something missing; maybe it was the fact that it felt like you rarely saw him anymore, yet you lived in the same house, slept in the same bed, but it was something else. It wasn't like fame changed him at all; he still littered your face with kisses before he headed off to the studio, and he most definitely was still the animal-loving boy you fell in love with.
You just felt left behind.
"Michael, we need to talk." It was a nice morning; the sun was out, the sound of the neighborhood kids already filtering out into the street, filling your ears. The light from the shut curtains shone through the gap.
"What's wrong?" The smile on his face immediately dropped, noticing how serious you looked.
You weren't sure how to break it to him, break the fact that maybe, just maybe, instead of lovers, it would be better to keep your relationship the way it was: just good friends.
"I don't think this is working," you started, your voice shaking as you watched his face go through at least ten different emotions.
"Hold on, baby, what do you mean?" His heart was racing, his hands shaking as he stood up from his chair, nearly knocking it over. His hands found their way to your own, holding them tightly against his sweaty palms.
You couldn't speak, too busy focusing on trying to formulate a sentence that could make this conversation easier on both of you.
"Talk to me, mama."
“I think we should separate.”
Five words.
Five words that completely snapped you back to reality.
No one's there to tell you what to do when you divorce your best friend, especially when you still love him. No one explains how to act when you're still close and at every barbecue interacting with his family like nothing happened, and no one had the heart to bring it up, but they could tell that there was some hidden tension, the way he touched your back when he talked, just out of pure habit, or the way you’d still stay up through the night going through the long lists of demos.
“Do you think we’d, y’know,” there was a pause before he spoke, spinning in his chair as if the thought alone was eating at him.
“Be able to try again?” He stopped spinning his chair, now facing you as he spoke.
Was that even a valid question after you spent the past few years with him like nothing happened? Lying by his bed after the Pepsi incident, refusing to leave his side even for a moment, hell, even sleeping there regardless of the nurses trying to kick you out long after visiting hours had ended.
Could he really be asking that after even his family thought it was a perfect match?
You were younger then, stupider, and unsure of how a relationship worked and how you needed to work together in order to make it work, even if you felt unseen, because when you really want something, you'll do your best to make it work no matter what.
The room was quiet; the only sounds were the light hum of the AC cooling the room down, yet it never really seemed to be completely cooled.
“Of course I do.” You looked at your hands, carefully picking out the words you wanted to use.
“I just think that back then, we were too young to understand what being in a relationship really meant.” You laughed, not a laugh as if something was funny, but as if you were laughing at the stupidity of the situation.
“And we're older now, but man, you still look just as sexy.” You giggled, watching as he put his hand over his face. Even after all these years, he was still so shy.
“C’mon, you can’t say things like that.”
“Oh? And why not? Do you not like honesty?”
“It’s just... you make me nervous, I don't know.” Your eyes searched his features, completely relaxed, like he was just hoping that you would have this reaction, like after years of not being officially together, it finally felt official.
“Still?”
“Yeah.” The room fell into another comfortable silence; it wasn't awkward, just simply enjoying each other's presence.
NEED YOU TONIGHT ╱ JUL 21, 1978
254 west 54th street ࣪࿐making out with 𝒑𝒓𝒆-𝒐𝒕𝒘!𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝓳𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒐𝒏 at 𝓈tudio 54. mikey is a virgin, hesitant to give it up
word count: 4.2k
──── notes: childhoodbsf!popstar!reader ╱ see 𝒂𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐. suggestive content w/o smut ⋆ messy kisses ⋆ religious context & references ⋆ allusion to religious guilt
For three months now, you had been dating your best friend. Michael first confessed his love for you on a warm April night by the fountain at Hayvenhurst, and it had taken you a few days to collect yourself at the surprise of the revelation, before realising that beneath the guard you’d had up to conceal your deeper emotions, you too felt the same way. Then, the three months that followed had been a whirlwind—the two of you had fallen hopelessly in love with each other, and it felt strange that it had taken so long to discover how deeply your feelings ran, but all the same it made sense given how avoidant you’d been to any real display of love that truly cherished you. Being in an industry so complete with falsehoods and malicious intent, especially when it came to men, led you down the wrong path romantically, many a time. Michael had waited, as patiently as he could, for the time that he would feel comfortable enough to reveal how much he loved you, how he was completely head over heels for you and had been since you were ten years old and had sung in the recording booth beside him for the first time.
He had never once expected that you’d tell him you felt the same way, and in fact those first few days after the confession, he’d been so certain that you were going to run from him, the friendship ruined now that he’d forced romance between it. But those days were only difficult and isolated for one reason—being that you had to sit with yourself for that period in order to thoroughly digest your reaction to what he had told you. Then once you’d understood—truly understood that his love wasn’t at all unrequited—you rushed to your best friend with open arms.
It took almost an entire month to get used to the change in your dynamic, where for a while every time you kissed it would turn into fits of shy giggles, and where each time Michael held your hand in public you nudged him like a child, bashful because you’d never been touched so gently before. His brothers constantly teased, even more than usual, which had been bothersome enough already. Years they had spent placing bets on how long it would take for the two of you to just admit your feelings and get together, while you both swore up and down that it would never happen, grimacing at the thought of being with each other in that way.
But they never listened to your protests, because the opposing argument was obvious. You had been so close over the years—cuddling like little kittens, sleeping in the same bed, playfighting on the couch, always being each other’s date to the movies—that in many ways you’d essentially already existed as lovers, just without the kisses and the handholding. And the sex. Of course.
But as for that last aspect of a relationship—the biggest of all—you were still without. Three months in, and you hadn’t done anything sexual with Michael past the extremely passionate makeouts he loved to indulge in with you, which did include desperate moans and dry humping, so he was kidding himself if he thought he wasn’t ready to have sex. Your boyfriend was a virgin, you knew that, but you could tell he had quite a high sex drive, one that he continually aimed to repress. One time, he almost came in his pants while with his tongue down your throat, your hips writhing over his, humming in his mouth; and he had to immediately rush off to the bathroom before a mess was made. You wouldn’t have minded of course, but Michael was incredibly shy about those sorts of things.
The reason he was still a virgin at nineteen wasn’t because he didn’t want sex, or didn’t feel himself ready. Rather, the influence was at the hands of his mother, whereby while every single one of his brothers had lost their virginity quite early on, Michael suffered the most with religious guilt, eagerly submitting to the so-called virtuous rules that ensured he never lost sight of his inhibitions. But in all the admission to such religious morality, he hadn’t thought to question why these rules were so set in stone. Why couldn’t he make love to the girl he’d known for eight entire years, the girl he’d spent the majority of his adolescence with, who meant more to him than anybody else? Sleeping around was a bad idea—casual sex only got a man into trouble, but making sweet love to the girl he had for so long yearned over and now had the precious privilege of calling his own? There wasn’t a thing wrong with that. You just needed to succeed in convincing him.
Before now, Michael hadn’t dated a girl who he could actually envision himself marrying, and of course he didn’t want to scare you away with any allusion toward matrimony, but in his quietest moments he often pictured how ethereal you’d look in your dainty white dress, walking down the aisle to meet his waiting smile at the altar. He always shook his head of the thoughts—much too excessive and far-reaching given the short amount of time you’d been together—but Michael never did anything half-heartedly. Whatever and whomever he loved, he did so with every fibre of his being.
You’d slept with a handful of men before (and Michael didn’t judge you for that—in life he judged only himself), but none of them you ached for more than Michael. Since you’d started dating, it felt like you’d opened your eyes for the first time, as if you had been reborn.
Your best friend was breathtakingly beautiful. You’d told him how handsome he was in the past, long before you’d confronted your romantic feelings, when his father would make abusive comments about his nose or his acne as a teen. But those were more objective comments, factual statements that even a straight man would have to admit the truth of. Now however, you viewed him in a light as though interpreting an angel’s presence. Michael was insanely gorgeous, and your heart skipped a beat sometimes when you laid in his arms, staring into his pretty eyes—so deeply without you even noticing, until he’d suddenly pull away shyly and you’d have to drag him back, pleading with him to just let you admire him properly for once. He’d gladly gaze into your eyes until the world ended, but with that came you gazing back into his, and he disliked such intimate attention. You were determined to make him operate otherwise.
As you fell deeper and deeper in love, you could not stop kissing each other. This early stage of your relationship took the fated honeymoon phase to a whole other level, where of course most couples were attached at the hip in the beginning, but since you and Michael had already been so, you were now even more ridiculously clingy with each other. Any opportunity to make out was taken eagerly and breathlessly, and you were seriously starting to concern Michael’s mother by how often she’d walk in on the two of you tongue-kissing in his bed. Katherine loved you—she always had—but she also read a lot about your nightlife activities in the paper, and couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might soon corrupt her son.
Without her even telling you so, you could surmise that those were her thoughts. She was talking to you much less now, and with much less enthusiasm, also seeming a considerable deal stricter where Michael was concerned—despite the fact that he was a grown adult now, and didn’t need his mother instructing him on how to live his life. She always did so gently, as opposed to the relentless abuse from Joseph—who had in fact directed the opposite of his sons, to have as much sex as they wanted with prostitutes and groupies—but all the same, Michael didn’t need any type of governing influence from either parent, gentle or not. The contrast between the two forms of parenting confused his tired mind immensely, so he often succumbed to accepting rules without question, particularly when it came to religion. He would later go on to progress and evolve his mindset as he lived through his twenties, but at this time, as a shy nineteen year old suffering the ramifications of years-long abuse and control, his weary brain didn’t have much choice when it came to making informed decisions himself.
On a hot July night in Midtown Manhattan, deep into an hour-long makeout against a plush, velvet-lined wall in a small corner, you and your boyfriend were both thinking about the exact same thing—although on opposite ends of the thought spectrum. While you couldn’t stop thinking about how much you wished he would take you back to your shared hotel room and have sex with you, Michael couldn’t stop worrying about how much he desperately yearned for a timeline where he could do exactly that.
He was clad in a sleek cream satin shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tucked into high-waisted black flared trousers with a slim belt, while you wore a liquid-gold mini dress with a low open back, paired with platform heels and a dusting of body shimmer over your collarbone. You dazzled under the glittering lights, and Michael couldn’t keep his hands off you, nor could you keep yours off him.
It always surprised you just how comfortable Michael was with kissing in public, because it wasn’t as if you only kissed meekly and modestly. Most of the time your lips were crashing against each other’s fiercely, tongues swirling aside soft whines and hungry groans, while his hands roamed all over your torso, inching very close to your ass, which he did often end up holding while keeping you pressed up against the wall. He never squeezed—he saved that for private moments, but he definitely had no issue with holding what was his in public. And paparazzi did often make their way around the club, so you weren’t safe from being photographed, but in the Studio’s deepest corners, just a few feet away from rockstars and groupies doing hard drugs, you knew those areas were the most appropriate if one wished to be unseen.
You’d had at least five glasses of wine tonight, and that was obvious in the way you often stumbled in Michael’s hold, the platform height of your heels not helping to assist you in any way. Meanwhile, Michael was your exact opposite where drinks were concerned. He'd been consuming glasses of orange juice all night, as was typical, but through a champagne flute—a request he made to the bartender—so that people would assume it contained alcohol. He always went clubbing sober—another consequence of his religious upbringing—and while many people would probably question how on earth it was possible to have an enjoyable night doing so amongst drunkards and cokeheads, you understood perfectly. Having performed since before the age of ten just like Michael, you too were enamoured with the euphoric sensation that came inherently with music and dance, where even though you liked to get drunk, it was never necessary if you were dancing. Studio 54 was a go-to location for you and your boyfriend whenever you were in New York, because there weren’t many other places in which you felt so free.
You'd spent tonight dancing just the two of you and with several other celebrities for two hours straight, you’d miraculously dodged breaking your ankle twice, had quite a disagreeable encounter with Diana while Michael sat awkwardly in the corner, and eventually had made it here, to the area you’d self-designated as the perfect makeout spot. It was three o’clock in the morning, and Michael had you hoisted up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, fingers wreathed through his afro as you whined into his mouth. The other huge benefit of this nightclub was that since there were so many other high-profile celebs around, the two of you could blend into the background as the night went on. In the beginning, there were incessant pictures as usual, and so many people—even the A-listers themselves—wanting to talk to you both, but as the night faded into early morning, you could be sure to get some real alone time, albeit still in a very public location.
You hardly stopped for breath as you kissed, equally with tongue and lips, so wet and messy; not at all what you expected of Michael before you became his. He was the most perfect kisser—you knew of some girls who’d said the same, and in retrospect you realised those anecdotes had actually bothered you at the time, even if you had tried to brush them off. But now that didn’t matter—because you had this heavenly man all to yourself. How on earth was this the same boy you'd spent years watching cartoons with and playing Twister? Indeed, Michael very much was that exact same boy, and you would probably begin tomorrow watching said cartoons.
“Steady, honey,” Michael murmured into your mouth as you almost slipped out of his hold again.
“Baby…” you moaned against his lips, not even sparing a thought about the inappropriately erotic look spread across your face.
Michael’s heart fluttered at the pet name. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the way you sounded when you gasped it while in his arms, or how you whispered it into his hair when he laid on your chest.
You wanted to talk to him, but he still couldn’t stop kissing you. The messy, moistened meeting of your mouths continued, hungry squelches and groans seeming to never cease.
But then Grace Jones was walking past, on her way to the bathroom, and she squinted at the sight of you and Michael bundled up together, having been unaware that you were now more than platonic. Most people did know already, because the press had been obsessed with reporting on your growing relationship over the last couple of months, but it was easy for pop culture news to pass by the busiest celebrities.
“Clearly I’ve skipped a few chapters?” she asked in amusement.
Immediately you both pulled away from each other, laughing in shock as you looked over at Grace.
“Yeah, we’re… uh, together,” you said bashfully. You were never shy, especially not amongst others in the industry of whom you always connected so well with, but you’d found that since you started dating Michael, whenever that topic arose in public—even if ironically you were confident enough with him to publicly maul his mouth like an animal—shyness overcame your speech.
“Finally,” Grace grinned before walking off, and you turned back to Michael, where you both continued to giggle.
He leaned in to resume the kiss, but you pulled back, holding his head in place with a hand on his cheek so that he’d listen to you.
“Mikey, I need you.”
Those flutters attacked inside his chest again, and he smiled wide. “Y’have me, honey.”
“No, I need you, um…” you began, already realising this conversation would probably be futile, like all the others. “The other way.”
He set you down on the floor and held your hips, but while looking awkwardly to the floor, focusing on the shine of his shoes instead.
“Uh.”
You waited patiently, although hating to put him in this position. You just truly couldn’t fathom why two adult humans couldn’t get on with doing something so perfectly natural.
Michael continued, but to no avail for your needs. “Baby, you know we can’t—um.”
You sighed, placing a hand on his forearm, caressing up and down lightly. “Who said we can’t, Michael? We can’t have sex but we can stick our tongues down each other’s throats in public?”
He laughed shyly, looking into your eyes for a moment before averting his gaze again. “Well, I guess we really shouldn’t be doin’ that either.”
“No, but look at us—we’re doin’ it anyway.” You cupped his face with a small smile, and he pulled you swiftly by your hips to meet his torso. You giggled, looking up into his eyes, but then you noticed the flash of a camera in your peripheral and rolled your eyes.
“C’mon baby, take me back to the hotel ‘n lemme have you…” you murmured into his neck as you began to kiss along the length of it, just as wet and heavy as the suction to his lips.
Michael laughed, interlacing his fingers with yours, then using the index and middle finger on his free hand to nudge your face upward by your chin. “We’re not allowed.”
“Says who? The owners of The Plaza?”
“Honey…” Michael squinted, his eager smile betraying him.
“Mikey.” You looked up at him with faux-innocence, batting your lashes. Perhaps Katherine was correct in her assumption—you did want to corrupt him, but at the same time, which authority decided unwed lovemaking equalled corruption?
“Stop teasin’ me, mama.”
“’m not! How dare you say that, Michael Jackson!” you grinned, before nestling your head in his chest. On instinct his arms wrapped securely around you, and you felt his warm kiss on your even warmer forehead.
“We’re in New York,” you pointed out. “Far away from your parents, far away from your brothers. We won’t have Jackie spyin’ on us, or Marlon comin’ in every five minutes pretending he’s looking for somethin’.”
Michael chuckled. “Yeah, we could never do anythin’ like that in my room at home. 's a good thing we’ll be married an’ moved out when it happens.”
You sighed again, frustrated but by no means blaming him. You pulled back from his chest and wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying slightly to the now slower-paced tune.
“Baby. May I repeat: we’re in New York. No one’s gonna know what we get up to.”
But he bit his lip, looking downward again. “God’s gonna know.”
“Michael.”
“What?” he asked shyly, his doe eyes refusing to meet yours for more than a moment.
“God said…” You paused to press a heated kiss to his lips, before continuing. “To love thy neighbour.”
His sweet smile returned, and widened as you now held one of his smooth hands, using your other to tug him closer by his belt loop.
Then you smooched his cheek. “And I’m your neighbour, right?”
Michael laughed, amused by your efforts, but he still felt shy beneath his outward demeanour—that which you knew.
“Listen,” you persisted. “If a God does exist, he clearly invented sex for a reason.”
“Yeah, for marriage and… makin’ babies,” he countered quietly.
“Okay…” You thought of another comeback quickly enough. “Then he wouldn’t have given us all sex drives, made women fertile every single month—like I am right now—”
You cut yourself off with a giggle at the sight of how adorably flushed Michael suddenly became at the mention of ovulation.
“Mikey,” you laughed against his lips as they collided again. “Stop gettin’ all flushed.”
“I can’t help it, honey, when y’ say stuff like that…”
You smiled warmly, still holding his hand. “Y’don’t have to be able to help it when it comes to me, baby, you know that. That’s the whole point.”
Michael didn’t have a clue what to say next. He just stood there, looking at you in the hope that this conversation might change its subject soon, but simultaneously he wanted so badly to just give you what you wanted. It was what he himself craved more than anything, and he hadn’t yet learnt that sexual repression wasn’t healthy. The Bible didn’t care to teach that.
You took a deep inhale, then a slow exhale, deciding what to say next. As a woman, it was disturbing to be pressured into sex—coercion was inexcusable—and you were starting to worry you were unintentionally doing that to your boyfriend now. Of course that wasn’t really the case, and his passion with you had displayed his need enough, but you had to be sure.
“Can we sit down somewhere?” you asked, and he nodded, guiding you to a crescent-shaped burgundy velvet loveseat. The disco reflections flickered across the fabric, and your head was starting to spin.
Michael sat first, then pulled you onto his lap and into his arms, cradling your tipsy body into his warmth. You hummed happily against the crook of his neck, yawning as the alcohol’s earlier energy was now descending into drowsiness.
“Y’wanna go home now, mama?”
“No,” you shook your head. “Soon, yeah, but—just wanted to ask you somethin’ first.”
Naturally, he started to worry, and you could sense it in his slight change of temperament—you always noticed every little switch in him—so you picked up his hand and kissed his palm.
“Nothin’ bad, baby, I promise. I just wanna know, um… do you feel like I’m… pressuring you to have sex?” You spoke the words while resting into his body, not wanting to be face-to-face while asking him such an awkward question.
“What?” Michael replied in confusion, shifting in his seat.
“Like… you obviously don’t want to, and on nights like these I get drunk and start trying to convince you to. If you’re not ready or not in the mood, that’s okay, I just… always assumed the only reason was religion. And even if that is the only reason, I guess I shouldn’t try to drive you away from that.”
Michael took a deep breath, hoping the ground would swallow him up, because he hated that you were worrying about how you’d expressed yourself, and it bothered him that he could never really explain himself properly in serious discussions. He also disliked this topic in particular, but at least it gave him the opportunity to clarify himself. And he was just as glad as you that you could have this conversation without looking directly at each other.
“Oh no, honey, you're not makin' me feel pressured. I promise y’, really,” he reassured. “I wanna make love to y' so badly. I can’t stop kissin’ and touchin’ y’—'m goin’ crazy inside.”
Now you pulled your head out of his neck and finally met his eyes again. Stroking the frizz of his afro, you spoke softly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, I just… I mean, I know how much religion means to your mother but… this industry, it’s not exactly very coherent with being a Jehovah’s Witness.”
“I know,” Michael sighed. He wasn’t naïve, nor was he stupid, and slowly but surely, he was beginning to see your point of view more and more.
“I just really want you, Mikey.” You squeezed his hand. “I know I have you like this, in kisses and cuddles and everything else but… I’d love for us to go further. If you really want that too, then…?”
“I understand, honey,” he said quietly, before kissing your nose, his hand moving to your jaw to caress. “Is it okay if I tell y’ I’ll think about it? Like, really think about it this time. Y’ said a few things that make sense.”
You gave a small smile and a nod, cuddling back into his chest again, nuzzling specifically against the sliver of smooth skin exposed. “I don’t mind how much time it takes you to think about it, baby. Just as long as you’re thinkin’. What I don’t like is when your parents’ views override what you wanna do yourself.”
“I get that. But darlin’,” he pecked your forehead again, “please don’t ever worry that you’re pressurin’ me. The pressure’s not comin’ from you, I promise.”
You sighed again, but in content and relief this time. “I really thought I went a little too far.”
“No, you didn’t. 'm serious,” Michael whispered into your hair. “But even if I did decide tonight that I wanted to, I wouldn’t while you’re all drunk ‘n drowsy like this, mama. Wanna make it special.”
A rush of flutters spread through your body upon hearing him say that, also due to the gentle tone in which the words were spoken. His speech, paired with the warm, protective feel of him had your heart dancing in your chest, because you had never been treated so much like a princess before. The guys of your past would’ve taken you in the bathroom right then and there, without a care for your comfort or ability to give true, reliable consent.
You both kissed some more on the cosy loveseat, between soft murmurs of affection, until Michael noticed your eyes start to droop with sleep, and from then he guided you to stand up with him, holding you carefully against him as you both exited the club. The paparazzi snapped their usual pictures—they were still there waiting at almost 4AM—and the sharp light hit your sensitive, alcohol-infused nervous system, but Michael was there immediately to cover your eyes as you both strode past.
Back in the hotel room, he took your makeup off for you, massaged cocoa butter into your legs, and then you attempted to brush your teeth together like normal people—unable to stop giggling and nudging each other—before you were playfighting under the sheets, the time now almost five in the morning. You’d have a lazy day tomorrow, cuddled as close as can be, and it wouldn’t be too long before Michael had made up his mind. Soon he’d realise what you both needed, and fulfil your proposition.
helloooo i promise at some point i will post a part 2 where you guys have sex for the first time! >u< i just struggle to write smut and prefer writing lil cutie scenes like this
xoxo, 𝓳
──── tag list: @slickdickwitchbitchh @xyahx @nuhveah @darkgreengrl ╱ comment to be added!
OKkk after reading your jaafar fics, I had an idea (in case you need one for future writing) buttttt its jaafar waking up in the morning and seeing the readers tits have slipped out of her tank top while she’s sleeping, so he wakes her up by licking all up on them 😛🥵 leads to sleepy morning sex where jaafar does all the work because his girl is too sleepy and precious and he is a giver at heart hehe ❤️
i hope this is what you wanted (or close to it😭)
── .✦
jaafar loved waking up before you.
he would never admit it out loud, but those quiet moments before you opened your eyes were some of his favourites. the bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow of early morning filtering through the curtains. with the world outside still barely awake, he could simply lie beside you and admire you without having to endure the teasing he'd inevitebly get for it.
today was no different… well, maybe a little.
the strap of your tank top had slipped down your shoulder, the fabric twisted just enough that the curve of one breast peeked above the neckline. his gaze lingered for a moment before lightly biting his bottom lip.
he debated fixing your top and just letting you sleep.
but that thought didn't last very long.
instead, he leaned down slowly, letting his curls brush against your skin as he pressed delicate kisses along your collarbone. he took his time, trailing lower until his mouth hovered just above the exposed swell of your breast.
you definitely didn’t expect to wake up like this.
in fact, your brain hadn't even fully caught up to the conscious world yet.
your eyes fluttered open into a dazed squint, your hand automatically lifting to the back of his head, your fingers tangling into his curls.
feeling you stir, jaafar moved up to crook of your neck and pressed a lingering kiss.
"g’morning, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
you let out a breathy laugh as your fingers scratched against his hair. "'mornin', j."
he smiled as he drifted right back down to your breast, his eyes still on yours. his lips found your nipples, taking the peak into his mouth to suck gently, his tongue swirling in sluggish circles. a shiver ran through you as he nipped softly at your mound, his teeth dragging just enough to leave faint hickeys in his wake.
you let out a soft moan.
jaafar let out a low hum of satisfaction. he shifted closer, moving with a doting patience as he slid around to press his front against your back. guided by his touch, you lifted your top leg and tucked yourself back against his chest.
he reached down, pulling his boxers out of the way before his hand slid between your thighs, nudging your panties to the side. he pressed himself against your core, rubbing the head of his length against you a few times. with a slow push, he guided himself completely inside you.
you let out a gasp, burying the back of your head against his shoulder as he settled in a slow rhythm. you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his size.
"feels s' good," he breathed against your skin, his hips tilting to drive a little deeper. "you take it so well, baby.
the angle was perfect, allowing him to sink deep and rub against all the right spots with every lazy thrust. you bit your bottom lip, trying to ground yourself as a string of moans caught in your throat, but jaafar wasn't having it.
he leaned over your shoulder, his lips pressing hungry kisses along the side of your neck.
"lemme hear you," he rumbled.
as if to coax the sound out of you, his free hand crept down your front. his fingers tangled back into the hem of your top, pushing it up further so he could cup your breasts, his fingers rubbing and pinching lightly at your already aching nipples. the dual sensation had you whining, your head rolling back against his chest as he kept up that relentless pace.
"so beautiful," he whispered. "gimme more of those pretty noises."
his hand dropped lower. his fingers slid down the flat of your stomach, dipping past your panties until they found your clit. he began to rub you so perfectly, his touch matching the deep strokes of his hips.
you whimpered as your hand slipped down to wrap around his wrist.
with the rubbing of his fingers and the stretch of him inside you, it didn't take long at all.
your walls clamped down, your pussy spasming tightly around his length as a cry of his name broke past your lips.
jaafar’s rhythm faltered as he drove into you one last time, bottoming out completely as his own climax hit. he came inside you in pulses as a low groan tore from his throat right against your ear. his eyes shut tight, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his body shuddered against yours.
for a moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of your breathing.
he peppered sweet kisses along your shoulder as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer against him.
"i love you so much," he whispered. "so perfect for me."
you smiled through the lingering haze of your release, turning your head back to find his face.
"i love you too."
jaafar smiled as he leaned in, catching your lips in a soft kiss.
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
i promise i’ll write longer fics once im done w/ my test !!!
pairing: jaafar jackson x actress!reader (i imagine a black reader but feel free to imagine whatever <3)
summary: you attempt to prevent chemistry for the sake of your hiatus, but you fold lowkey instantly. jaafar struggles with keeping his reactions/facial expressions to himself.
wc: 3.9k
one. two (current).
you feel the shift in your brain as the room falls silent.
you're aware of everything surrounding you in an uncharacteristic way. the hum of a water dispenser tucked into the corner of the room. the eyes watching your every move, evaluating, judging. the sounds of pages turning. the brushing of shoulders as the two of you shift closer to the script, your bodies naturally leaning toward one another.
you read simone's first line—something about wedding cake flavors and compromise— and it comes out fine. technically fine. you find the rhythm, deliver it the way you've delivered a thousand lines before. but you're not there. you can feel yourself floating somewhere above your body, watching yourself perform rather than being in it.
it's not nerves— it's something else. something that feels almost protective, almost intentional. almost like self-sabotage. and you weren't stupid; you'd been in enough films and projects to know a bad crew when you met them. you didn't feel that from the many faces in the room. it didn't help that amelie was a younger black woman in an industry full of the exact opposite— it would've been an immediate yes from you in any other circumstance. but deep down you craved your break.
and you knew that showing no chemistry with jaafar was a sure way to keep it.
adding on to the water dispenser and the turning pages, you start to notice the executive who clicks his pen repeatedly. the way the sunlight reflects across the table. the loose thread in the chair that your fingers keep finding.
jaafar responds as theo, his voice affable and easy. you can feel him leaning into the scene in a way you're not quite matching. he's more present and engaged, while you can't even meet his eyes.
you keep them on the script, in fact— tracking the words. when it calls for simone to be frustrated, you add a little edge to your voice. when it calls for simone to speak quietly, you drop your volume and soften your tone. all the right choices, but there's no real heat behind it.
the two of you fall into a back and forth of dialogue. you pretend as if you're speaking to a brick wall, not acknowledging the realness of his presence as a way to stay in your head.
a warmth starts to spread up the back of your neck as jaafar reads his last lines. he tries to catch your eye during a pause, you can feel him looking, but you stay focused on the page. biting your lip, you tap your index and middle finger against your thigh as the scene comes to an end. there's a polite beat of silence before—
"great," amelie says, and you can hear the slight hesitation in her voice. you can't bring yourself to look up from the script. "let's move on to scene forty-two. page fifty-three."
you nod, flipping ahead. your throat feels tight. you know that wasn't your best work. you know you held back. it was of your own volition, but you can't help but feel a little embarrassed. jaafar shifts beside you, adjusting his position to see what scene was up next.
as you turn the final few pages, a small voice in your head is screaming. what the hell were you doing? you could have just done it. the scene was good, the writing was good, jaafar was great—well, as far as you could tell—and you deliberately chose to phone it in. and for what? to protect some imaginary finish line?
and oh god, what would it mean for jaafar if you fucked this up? would his offer be dropped, passed along to a different set of actors?
you take a deep breath, blowing it out as slowly and quietly as possible as you sneak a glance at jaafar. he sits with both elbows on the arm-rest, hands interlocked in front of him. your gaze drifts back up to his face; you're so close to him that you can see the small birthmark above his right eyebrow.
as if he can sense you looking, jaafar's head turns slightly.
your heart absolutely drops, bracing yourself for anger or frustration... though you're only met with a slow, small smile.
you wonder if he knew you'd purposefully given him nothing to work with as you give a hesitant smile in return.
if he did, he wasn't upset about it.
in scene forty-two, simone and theo are in the middle of wedding chaos— dealing with seating charts, floral arrangements, and a timeline that keeps getting more complicated. they're surrounded by the wedding party: bridesmaids and groomsmen who all have strong opinions. this scene is lighter than the first.
"whenever you're ready," amelie says again.
you internally will the self-sabotaging away and start. simone's trying to be diplomatic, trying to navigate too many voices. "okay, so if we put uncle charles at table seven—"
"—he's gonna complain about being too far from the bar." the casting assistant, frank's voice cuts in.
you stop in your tracks, face carefully blank.
frank's voice is deep. unexpectedly deep— and completely deadpan.
"and if we put him at table three," frank continued in his monotone, unnaturally deep baritone. "he's gonna complain about being too close to the cello."
another groomsman, still frank, turns to simone to say, "yeah, uncle charles is going to complain no matter where we put him."
your lips twitch, but you successfully manage your facial expressions as you continue with the scene. jaafar joins in with theo's opinions and you mentally pat yourself on the back for looking at him when the script calls for it; moving with your lines as you grow more comfortable with passing time.
frank shifts in his chair and clears his throat before his voice suddenly pitches up— high and exaggerated. in an emotionless cadence: "girl! at this point we should just put him in the parking lot and call it a damn day."
you try your hardest to hold it in. you really do. but frank delivers the line with the same energy someone would use to read a eulogy. as if that wasn't enough, you peak at jaafar in an attempt to stay in character,
only to find him staring at the wall straight across from him, hand swiping under his nose to hide the beginning of a laugh. he drops his hand and rolls his lips between his teeth, glancing around the room before his eyes land on you. jaafar quickly turns back to the wall as his eyes squint with the effort of holding his laugh back.
but you drop your chin to your chest and the laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. a real one, the kind that makes your shoulders shake and your hand fly up to cover your mouth.
jaafar breaks immediately after. his laugh is quieter, but just as genuine, and when you finally look at him—actually look at him—his eyes are crinkled at the corners and he's shaking his head.
the whole room is laughing now; even the executive cracks a smile. frank just sits there looking mildly annoyed. amelie is the first to reel in her laughter, beaming at the casting assistant across the table, "frank, you're doing amazing, sweetie. let's restart."
you're still giggling, oblivious to jaafar grinning at you from your left, as you try to get back into character. finally looking up, you catch him and attempt to force the smile off of your face as to not laugh again.
"okay," you say, half to yourself, half to him. "okay, i'm good."
"you sure?" jaafar jokes— and there's a playfulness in his voice that wasn't there before. you feel something in your chest loosen. "no," you admit, "but let's try anyway."
the two of you share a final grin before restarting the scene. this time, it's different.
you let yourself lean into the chaos of it. you play simone's exasperation bigger, letting your voice climb in pitch as the wedding party (again, frank) keeps throwing problems at you. jaafar jumps in at the perfect moments and your rhythm clicks into place. you're not floating in your surroundings anymore. you're fully present, actually listening and reacting in real time instead of just waiting for your next line.
when simone gets flustered trying to explain the difference between orchids and gardenias to a groomsman, theo softens his voice and tells her she's doing great. and jaafar delivers it with so much sincerity that you have to fight to not falter and break character. it's not perfect—you stumble over a line transition, and one pause lasts a few seconds too long as you two lose your place in the script— but it works.
the scene ends and amelie looks like she might start clapping. "yes. that's what i'm talking about. okay, one more. let's do scene sixty-seven."
jaafar begins to search for the page in the script, but you know this scene very well.
it's late at night. simone and theo have been working on wedding planning for hours— the venue issues have been settled, the caterer is confirmed, the timeline is printed and laminated. they're sitting on the floor of simone's apartment surrounded by various binders, sticky notes full of half-written thoughts, and half empty coffee cups. they've spent weeks working together nonstop, and somewhere in the chaos of it, something shifted between them. it's the scene where it all comes to the surface.
once again, you start. "i think we actually did it."
"yeah," jaafar's voice drops lower than it's been all morning. "i think we did."
there's a pause written into the script. a beat where they're both sitting there, exhausted and relieved and maybe a little sad that it's almost over. you use it to look down at the page, but you can feel jaafar shift beside you. his arm moves closer and the space between you feels smaller. you're hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from his body.
"your sister's gonna have the perfect wedding," jaafar says.
"because of you," your voice is softer now. "i couldn't have done this without you."
"you could've. you're—" jaafar stops. the script says [he looks at her. really looks at her]. "you're incredible, simone."
you feel the barrier between the two of you dissolve in real time.
the room doesn't disappear all at once. it's gradual, like someone slowly turning down the volume on everything else until all that's left is you and jaafar.
just simone and theo.
you're mirroring each other now— jaafar with his body angled so that his torso faces yours. you sit with your leg pulled under the other, attention fully on him. both of your forearms lay across the wooden table, ten fingers resting on opposite ends of the script, not touching.
you look down, then look up at jaafar through your eyelashes before replying as simone: "don't."
"don't what?"
"don't say things like that."
"why not?"
you break eye contact. the script says [she can't meet his eyes]. you don't look away from the page, but you feel the weight of his attention even without seeing it.
"because in two weeks the wedding will be over, and we'll go back to being... whatever we were before this."
jaafar leans towards you, tilting his head until he's in your line of vision. he waits for you to meet his eyes before continuing, "what if i don't want that?"
his eyes are dark and focused, and so intense that you feel like you've been pinned in place. his jaw is tight and there's a small crease between his eyebrows like he's concentrating. you've never seen him look so serious before.
you watch as his chest fall once. twice.
"this is a bad idea."
"probably," his voice is so low that you almost don't catch it. "but i don't care."
your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. the script calls for simone to protest, to say that he barely knows her. but for a second you forget your line entirely. you're too busy noticing the way his fingers move over the script, pointer finger rubbing against his thumb. the way that now, a muscle in his jaw twitches. he's still leaning in— close enough that you can smell the sandalwood and vanilla on his skin.
you deliver your line and jaafar's response comes without hesitation. he recites back details theo's noticed about her— how she likes her coffee, the way she organizes when she's stressed; he continues to list off her small habits that he's catalogued. jaafar pauses and you watch his throat as he swallows. "i know you, simone."
"what if this ruins everything?"
"what if it doesn't?"
the script says that theo reaches for simone's hand. jaafar doesn't move— actors don't typically follow physical movements in a chemistry read— but his pinky finger shifts on the script. just barely. just enough that it's now touching yours.
your breath catches as jaafar's eyes flicker down to where your hands are almost, but not quite, holding the script together, then back up to your face. the longer you look, the more you start to wonder— were his pupils dilated or was it the lighting making you see things?
"i'm scared," you admit, voice carefully breaking. raw in a way that makes you feel exposed, even as you play a character. "i am too," jaafar replies, "but i'd rather be scared with you than safe without you."
his words hang in the air between you. you hold his gaze, refusing to look away even as jaafar considers you like you're the only person in the room.
"okay."
"okay?" he asks, like he needs confirmation, like he can't quite believe what you're saying.
"okay," you repeat, stronger this time. more certain.
jaafar's eyes drop to your mouth for just a fraction of a second as the script says [THEO's fingers thread through her hair as he draws her toward him. their kiss is soft at first, then deeper]. the look is so brief, you think you may have imagined it.
you don't kiss, but jaafar's pinky finger presses more firmly against yours on the script. neither of you move or look away as the scene ends.
around you, the room is completely silent.
you exhale as you finally break eye contact and risk a glance around for the first time since beginning the scene. the studio executive has leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table, expression genuinely invested. the producers show their intrigue in various ways— a hand pressed to a chest, head held in their hands, focus completely on the two potential leads.
the casting director's smirk has grown even bigger as she leans back in her chair, shaking her pen between two fingers. frank's expression still reads as annoyed, though there's a hint of something underneath that just might be respect.
and amelie...
amelie's bright eyes shift between the two of you— jaw slightly dropped and a hand perched in front; a sorry attempt to hide it.
no one speaks for a few beats, before finally, amelie breaks the silence.
"well," she says quietly, and there's something almost reverent in her voice. "i think we got what we needed."
.✦ ݁˖
the chemistry read ends in a blur.
at some point, corinne and jaafar's agent are called in to talk deadlines and legalities with the producers and executives. amelie crosses over to you and jaafar as you both stand together, but separately.
amelie gives her regards to jaafar first and you wait to their right, pretending to look for something in your bag. you look up as they exchange a quick handshake before jaafar moves to his agent's side. amelie's hand finds your shoulder and squeezes gently.
"thank you," she starts, weight in those two words. "it— that was exactly what i hoped it would be."
your conversation with amelie fades into interactions with the producers, casting staff, and finally the studio executive— who shakes your hand with a declaration of 'great work!'. corinne appears at your side seconds later with the green light to leave, and a promise to call you and update you that night.
a glance around the room shows the last person left to say goodbye to is in a seemingly deep conversation with his agent. you go back and forth in your mind on interrupting— would he think you were rude if you pulled an irish goodbye?
you made up your mind quickly, pulling out your phone to check the time and scrolling through missed texts as you walked around the table toward the door.
"hey."
you startle and press a hand to your chest. jaafar is slightly in front of you now, reaching out to open the door and stepping aside with a guilty smile. "sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
"oh, uh— you didn't," you lie, heart still racing underneath your palm. you put your phone away and walk back through the open door with a mumbled thank you. there's a good amount of space between you on your walk down the hall.
the elevator ride is quiet at first. you both stare at the pixelated numbers as they descend, and you can feel him stealing glances at you from his side of the cabin.
jaafar clears his throat, turning and angling his body toward you. "so, that was..."
"kind of intense?"
"yeah," he lets out a smaller version of his laugh earlier, a huff of breath really. "intense."
you risk a glance at him. he's looking down at his hands, turning his phone over and over in his hands. the elevator doors open and he reflexively holds an arm over the opening to prevent it from closing as you step out.
you wait until jaafar matches the slow walking pace you set before speaking again. "you were really good in there."
he looks over, and there's something shy in his expression. it's crazy, the difference between him performing as theo and him as the jaafar in this current moment.
"thank you. i mean—" he stops, shakes his head slightly. "you made it easy. to just... be in it, you know?"
your reply is quiet, a statement about how the feeling was mutual. about how you'd felt the ease of it too. there's a short silence before he speaks again, "what made you say yes? to coming in today? amelie mentioned you've been taking time off."
and because a half truth is better than a lie, you answer with: "mmm, mainly the script. i read it the first time and couldn't stop thinking about it after. about simone and just her life in general."
"she's a good character," jaafar nods slowly, like he's considering that. "she feels real."
"yeah, she does." you pause in the lobby, just a few feet away from the front door, and jaafar mirrors you. "what about you? why a rom-com after—."
you gesture vaguely at him and hope he understands what you're trying to say.
amused, the smile never really leaving his face, he replies, "i wanted something different. something lighter. the biopic will always be important to me, of course, but filming it was terrifying. i just wanted to make him proud and it made everything... heavy, almost."
"jaafar, i'm sure you made the whole fucking world proud. you were amazing," you look up at him, "can i tell you something i'll probably regret and hope you never bring up again?"
"hmm?"
"i wasn't joking when i said i'm half of those ticket sales," you look around the lobby in an exaggerated way before leaning in and whispering, "and i sobbed like a baby each time i watched the 'human nature' performance. my cousin probably has like five pictures of me in her phone with mascara running down my face."
jaafar's smile grows larger, dimple showing high in his cheek. "god, it was emotional for me to film too. it took a hell of a lot of takes." he leaned in slightly before joking, "and hypothetically, if i wanted to see picture proof—"
"over my dead body!" you cut him off, "those pictures will never see the light of day."
you start to walk again as jaafar nearly folds over himself laughing. he still manages to beat you to the door, holding it open for you to step out into the early afternoon heat first.
jaafar pulls his hat lower and throws a pair of sunglasses on as he steps out after you. it reminds you of your own pair and you pull them on as you walk towards your car.
he follows, a few feet to your right.
"how was your time off, though? did you get to rest? outside of reading scripts you weren't supposed to be reading."
you laugh, "honestly? i did a whole lotta nothing for once. reality tv, food, sleeping in, dog-sitting for one too many people, more reality tv, more food..."
"sounds perfect." jaafar agrees, "was it 'harbor' that made you want a break?"
your foot drags on your next step, though you catch yourself before tripping. blinking a few times behind your sunglasses, you look over at jaafar. 'harbor' was the show you were on for years that ended fairly recently.
he seems to realize what he'd admitted to seconds later.
"my uh, my brother— he loves it. he made me watch a few times," jaafar's head whips to face her, "not 'he made me', like it's a bad show! he 'made me', like he asked me to watch and i did and i lo—liked it."
you silently watch him stumble over his words with a small smile, "you're good. and thank you, i think? but yeah kind of. i spent years straight on the same show. barely any time off between seasons. by the end i was just, empty? like i didn't have anything left to give."
jaafar nods slowly, and there's understanding in his expression. "i get that. the press tour was only a few months long but by the end i felt like i'd talked about the same thing so many times that the words didn't even make sense anymore."
"exactly," you say, stretching the word out. "it's like you're performing even when you're not performing."
a silence falls over the two of you as you stand by your car, facing each other. though, it's not awkward. you feel almost a strange sense of camaraderie in the mutual feeling you found. the parking lot is quiet, outside of the distant hum of traffic and an occasional car door slamming from far off.
jaafar opens his mouth to speak, but a repeated buzzing fills the air. he pulls his phone out and glances at the screen, making a face. "my manager. he's probably wondering where i am."
"yeah. i should—" you, again, gesture vaguely at your car.
"right. yeah." jaafar takes a step back, putting even more space between you, but holding eye contact. "it was really, really good to meet you. get home safe."
"you too, jaafar."
you watch as he gives you one last smile and turns, heading in the direction of, you assume, his car. you think about wishing him good luck on getting the role... but who were you kidding?
he'd definitely gotten it.
and your break was definitely over.
at least, until after you finished filming a wedding rom-com.
Synopsis: You and Michael are long distance best friends and during a conversation with Janet over the phone, she mentions something. Michael had been eating less and avoiding social gatherings—despite telling you that he was doing fine. Filled with anxious worry you’re quick to make the 5 hour trip and during your surprise visit he finally tells you what’s been weighing on his chest. He also drops a bombshell.
Genre: romance/angst
pairing: off the wall era!Michael X Fem! Reader
notes: this will have some angst, sad Michael, mentions of not eating, self isolation, Michael has been constantly in the studio, romance, kissing, confessions, Michael mentioning Diana, venting. You two are friends in this. Friends to lovers. This is a long read and I will be actively fixing this or adding words to sentences. Or perhaps even changing a sentence here and there.
Update: realized that I completely missed out on a whole sentence lmao, fixed it.
You and Michael had met a year after off the wall had dropped and remained consistent friends. The two of you met through Janet in which she once brought you over to the estate for a hangout. Her brothers were sweet, polite but a little flirtatious. Michael on the other hand was no where to be seen, he’d been in his studio.
Janet introduced the two of you anyways, he’d been sitting on the couch, staring into nothing, a small book in his lap with a pencil lying in the middle of it. She broke him out of his daydream, asking if he was alright and he smiled softly, a smile meant to be reassuring but it was clear something was bothering him. Clear to you at least. He ended up being a little honest and admitted that he was feeling a little bit blue, because nobody wanted to play monopoly with him.
He wasn’t going to force them, hell he wasn’t even going to say it out loud but he wished his brothers would take even a bit of interest in the “childish” things. These days they felt distant.
However when Janet was about to respond, her name was called by Katherine and, she ended up excusing herself. It had just been you and him in the studio now. he invited you to sit next to him, asked if you were interested in hearing what he was working on. It was unexpected to say the least. It’s not as if you thought he was impolite, quite the opposite really. everyone always had nice things to say about him. Media hawks aside.
When you sat down, the couch had been warm, comfortable and your leg unintentionally rested against his. But he didn’t move it. He showed a couple of lyrics, and rather than playing clips of any demos he was vocal. Making beats with his voice.
“This is how I want it to sound. I’m thinkin of includin some type of instrument solo, electric guitar maybe. It’s comin in slow waves but I’m gettin there.”
It was nice. He was incredibly talented, gifted. But in the moment of silence you turned to him.
“We could play monopoly if you want. If Janet comes looking for me I’ll make her join us.” You said. a little mischievous smile on your face.
Michael seemed a little caught off guard—surprised. but in the end he was extremely excited by the offer and from there on out the two of you became best friends overtime. Janet became a little jealous at first whenever you’s come over for him, but eventually she began seeing that he clearly had a huge soft spot for you and really all she could do was relax. Because this was good for him.
However, all good things couldn’t last forever, because you had to move away. The job offer you’d gotten, the one that Michael helped you prepare for would be five hours away.
It was cliche, sure but you wanted it and became afraid that another opportunity like that would never come again.
And Michael? Well he was devastated to say the least. Of course he knew you wouldn’t stay forever, knew there was a possibility of you going away and if anything 5 hours was doable. But with his somewhat busy schedule, and your new busy schedule, neither of you would have much time in the world to visit. And if there was one thing about Michael, it’s that he couldn’t be away from someone he cared most about.
So The hug he gave you on moving day had been tight. as if he never wanted to let go, because if he did then you’d really have to leave. The sadness in his face was evident and being as though you couldn’t bear to see him sad; you found an easy way to cheer him up.
“We can call,” you said and Michael separated from you “like on the phone?” He asked. You chuckled. “yes Michael on the phone. We can talk all day, any day, whenever we have the free time. If you call I’ll pick up. Always. I promise.”
He held his pinky out “pinky promise?” You took his pinky and interlocked it with yours “pinky promise.”
when the two of you parted ways, he was a little less sad and in the moment you assumed that meant things would be well. After all, the promise was kept. The two of you consistently communicated. He would go on and on for hours about anything and, everything. Sometimes he would keep you on the phone even when he knew he was the only one awake on his end. But never once did you ever hang up on him. That wouldn’t go unnoticed, Michael appreciated your friendship more than words could ever express.
However things hadn’t been well for him though. even after he would tell you that he was fine, even after he would go off on an enthusiastic tangent about how his day went. Janet ended up meaning it through one of your phone calls with her.
“I just don’t know what to do y/n,”
“What’s wrong?” There was concern in your voice. Janet sighed, unsure of if she even wanted to say it. But she knew she had to. If she didn’t Michael might only sink further.
“It’s just, Mike hasn’t been eating lately. He won’t even come out for family time as much. Every time our mother calls him down to eat he’s always saying he’s not hungry or picks at his food. I tried to see if bill could talk to him, but nothing.”
“Really? But he’s been tellin me he’s fine. How long has he been like this?”
Janet got quiet momentarily, because now she had to admit that she knew longer than she wanted to.
“Well..if I’m honest I started noticing it a few months after you left. He was doing fine, about as fine as he could I suppose. but then he started appearing at the dinner table less. Hasn’t been in much of a playful mood, I mean..he smiles sometimes, and..says he’s fine, but I’m his sister, I can tell when he’s feeling under the weather. He’s been cooped up in his studio most days.”
It simmered. The thought of him isolating himself in his studio, refusing food, refusing to talk to anyone. It hit you very hard, and so without hesitation you were on the road the very next day.
There had been a few delays..actually a lot of delays but you arrived closer to midnight. A bit exhausted from the ride, but it didn’t matter once you knocked on the door of his studio. There had been no answer at first, but then you heard footsteps and then it opened. he stood there, a flicker of sadness in his face. once he registered that it was you however, his demeanor changed.
“Y/n? I..wait a moment, what’re you doing here? When did this..? You didn’t tell me you were visiting.” He seemed genuinely caught off guard.
“I can’t surprise you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.
“No..it’s not like that, it’s just..” he smiled, but it faltered for a moment, hadn’t reached his eyes. without waiting for him to respond, without letting the silence stretch uncomfortably, you went in for a hug. A tight one.
“I missed you.” You murmured against his shoulder. He hugged back equally as tight. “I missed you too. Very much. A lot actually..”
Once separated he guided you inside and closed the door. You sat down on the couch and patted the empty space “come here, I brought something for you.”
He sat down, eyes watching you and then he’d been handed a bag. What he pulled out of said bag was a tin full of cookies. His face had noticeably lit up.
“I made them for you. Your favorites, the ones I used to make before I moved.”
He smiled “you didn’t have to.” Voice soft, shy now.
“If it makes you smile like that, I’ll always bring you the things you enjoy Michael. You’re right, I don’t have to but I did so you’d better enjoy em.” You said playfully sticking your tongue out.
He chuckled “I will, I will.” There was more silence after that. Then he spoke up. “I really did miss you. Who knows..Maybe I manifested your presence.”
“Your manifestations always did work.” You responded with a playful chuckle. Your head falling against his shoulder. “So you wanna tell me what’s on your mind? I heard you’ve been cooped up in here a lot lately.”
Michael’s jaw tightened a bit, as he started fidgeting with his shirt, his face refusing to meet your gaze. You always did have a way of noticing when he was upset. However He was so deeply afraid that if he really said what he was feeling, that if he was actually honest you’d judge him. But not once have you ever given him any reason to feel that way. Unfortunately some feelings are hard to shake off. After all nobody had ever just wanted to be friends with Michael, and whenever anyone had been lucky enough to converse with him it would go completely off the rails.
He switched his mood, trying to lighten up. “It’s nothin, really.” Then he shifted to a more playful tone. “I’m alright. Promise.”
“Your sister says otherwise. It’s kind of why I’m here.”
His head turned to look at you “really?”
“Of course. She told me over the phone and I came as soon as I could.” Grabbing the tin of cookies from his lap you open them up and hand one to him. To which he doesn’t decline and pops it into his mouth.
“Michael, I care about you, a lot. When I see that you’re troubled or find out that you are and I’m several miles away, that concerns me. Worries me.”
“It’s Joe.” He admitted, circling his finger against his thigh. “well, him n everything else.” He looked at you, pulling his knees up to his chest. “you know, I try n I try to get away from him. Try to distance myself n it doesn’t work.”
He leaned his head back “fired him and yet he’s still makin demands, n I just cant seem to…” he let out a breath “shake him off.”
“It’s a process,” you said “keep yourself strong, visualize what you want and then when you feel the time is right, everything will fall into place.”
“It’s not just Joe. It’s my brothers it’s..her.”
“Her?”
There was strong silence, and you firmly looked at him, sliding your hand into his. “Michael, tell me. Please?”
“Diana. It’s..She’s…she’s got this control over me. This..this hold. I don’t know what to think whenever we’re together. I can..neva tell if the feelin is mutual between us.”
You didn’t want to tell him what to think, nor did you want to even tell him how to feel. There was one thing you did want to let slip though: and it was that Diana was entirely too damn old with too much time on her hands. You hadn’t liked her ever since Michael first spoke of their “relationship” but you bit your tongue because the reality was that he seemed entirely enamored with her, any insult against her always offended him. And even though you despised her and her sneaky manipulative behavior—you wanted Michael to eventually see her for who she really was on his own.
“And then there’s my brothers, my sisters too. It’s like they neva have time for somethin as simple and fun as a game. Don’t get me wrong, they play, but on rare occasions. They’re always chasin after girls and boys..goin out to parties. Sometimes I wish they would indulge in the elementary things. Makes me feel lonely when they rather do somethin else. Does that make me selfish?”
“Absolutely not. But I will admit, they’re different from you. Different style, different opinions and personalities. At some point siblings sort of want to go off and do their own version of what’s fun. Their own thing. Kind of like you going solo. It’s nothing personal, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t but you’ll never really know that unless you have some sort of deep conversation with them.”
Then a thought came into your head.
“Why not join them?”
he chuckled softly, his head tilting. “me?” He looked at you, his mind full of thoughts.
Your eyes were full of playful mischief. “Yeah you.” “Go out to a party, chase after a girl. Well..not literally, you know what I mean..but try it out.” Then for whatever reason, you had went on an entire rant about how he was good looking enough, had a great personality, he could probably pull anyone he wanted. Explained that he should do something out of his comfort zone at least once in his life.
Michael listened. He always did when you spoke, that was the thing, he really enjoyed listening to your voice. Usually he was the one going off on a tangent, but when the roles were reversed, oh god he was glued to your every word. Nodding to say: ‘im listening’ and chuckling when you said something funny, even if sometimes he got distracted by how pretty you were.
This time he’d been distracted by how passionate your words were. The way you used your hands to express words, to be dramatic, funny. The way you’d do that constant finger snap whenever your head blanked. As if it was supposed to help you remember something. Strangely enough though it always did work.
his eyes flickered down to your lips, then down to the tin of cookies. You had actually come all this way, made the 5 hour trip even though there was no obligation or invitation. You came even when you were probably busy. made his favorite treat, in a clear attempt to cheer him up. He could not name a single person who’d ever once done that for him merely because they cared or because they wanted to. He couldn’t even name a single person that would answer every one of his calls on the first ring. Couldn’t name not one soul that would listen to his ramblings without calling him weird or thinking he’d been too much.
Now that he really thought about it, even when you were miles away, you’d always been there for him, always been on his mind. The second he ever got good news you were the first person he told. With Diana it felt like a guessing game. Would she acknowledge their relationship today? Or would she pretend as if there was nothing going on. With you he never had to second guess much of anything, and if he did it never was personal.
It only took him a few minutes to become hyper away of himself, to become hyper aware of you and your close proximity. Then his heart began to race, his thoughts clicking into place. Almost as if he had an epiphany.
Did he like you? No, did he love you? A love epiphany….
That was impossible right? You’re a friend, a good one, his only current one. The two of you had never actually been romantic with each other. Was it wrong to fall for a friend..?
“I can’t tell you what to do, but all I’m saying is, sometimes a trip out of your comfort zone ends up being worth it.” You ended your conclusion and Michael had been entirely silent.
He was currently staring down, lips slightly parted as if he was going to speak. The words seemed stuck though.
“You alright? Did I say something wrong?”
The words came out before he could really think of the consequences.
“I think..I think I might be in love with you.”
A statement that you had absolutely no idea how to react to. “I-I’m sorry, what? Michael are you—“
His face could be described as realization. Nervousness and determination all at once.
“No, I..i get it now. I did love Diana, that much I can’t deny. I clung to her because I didn’t have any clue what it felt like to love n to be loved.” He paused.
“But..you..you’ve always been the one. You’re precious to me. The only one that I can count on in the end. It was always you.” His voice was soft, a little nervous but definitive. He meant every word, it was obvious. Michael had never really said things for no reason, not always at least.
“Wow,” he mumbled. “why did it take you movin away and this visit for me to see that? I feel like a shmuck.”
You shook your head and pulled him into a hug, your hands caressing his hair with such gentleness. “Michael no, absolutely not, you’re not a shmuck.” Your heart had been beating so incredibly fast that he could probably hear, feel it even. You pulled back but your hands gripped his shoulders so that he couldn’t break eye contact. “I don’t blame you for feeling the way that you do about her. You’ve known her since you were a child, but that’s just the issue. You were vulnerable and she preyed on that. You’re loving, respectful, caring and…” you took a slow deep breath through your nose. There was no going back, you had to say it, had to be honest even if it might hurt him a little. You exhaled, and looked up again.
“Naive.” “A little naive. You’re too kind for your own good and I’ve always somewhat admired that about you. But that part is why she was able to get into your head. You trusted her too much to be honest with you. Truth is she’s never going to love you the way that you love her.”
Michael sunk his teeth into his lower lip before leaning against your chest again, feeling your warmth. “I know. I knew for a while…just couldn’t cope with that. N you being gone didn’t help. life was so much better when I could physically see you. I missed when you would visit me in the studio n watch me work.”
The both of you chuckled, embracing closely. “It was fun wasn’t it.” A question not meant to be answered, because you both knew the answer. He said it anyways “yeah, it was. N she was neva on my mind when you were around, not even once.”
He sat up a bit, a blush spread across his cheeks, his eyes looking everywhere but at you. “Could I..I want to..kiss you. Could I? Would you let me?” He’d been incredibly nervous, that much you could see since he distanced himself on the couch when he asked.
“Yes,” your answer had been fast, extremely fast.
But even as you said it, he suddenly didn’t have the courage to make eye contact. Usually men were the first to initiate, but you were a woman unafraid to do that. So you called his name.
“Michael,”
Once he turned to meet your gaze, your lips touched. His eyes went slightly wide. He hadn’t been expecting you to take the initiative but in the end he loved that you did. The kiss was soft, and Michael clearly hadn’t exactly known what to do—not clueless, just inexperienced. And equally terrified, considering the fact that he’d froze.
His point of view had been different though. The moment your lips touched he felt strong fireworks which was the whole reason he froze. He’d had this idea of how it was supposed to go down in his head—and it was far different than this.
You pulled away “was that too sudden?”
“No..I..it’s just. Not the way I saw it happenin..”
“That mean you hated it?”
“That’s a strong word y/n. I didn’t hate it. I..I liked it.”
“So does that mean I could go in for another?”
He nodded as a verbal response and you leaned in to kiss him again. This time his fingers slid into the hair towards the back of your neck as he pulled you in. His grip soft and gentle. But you could also feel him shaking just a bit. Considering his upbringing you knew that this was uncharted territory. It took awhile for him to even be comfortable with you offhandedly being handsy with him in the past. You gave him every opportunity to pull back or to stop this. He didn’t stop it.
“Precious..” he mumbled as the two of you broke apart. “I prayed someone like you would enter my life.” He caressed your cheek. “Someone that would want me for me n not for what’s attached to me. Things like the fame, the money. I never had a simple life n now simple is all I want but with you.”
“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
“I didn’t know how to ask.” He admitted “I’m glad you said it before me.”
“Well then alright Michael. I guess that makes you my boyfriend.”
By now he had a huge grin on his face “want to play twister?”
can an imagine of Jaafar Jackson where reader goes with him to premiere but she has social anxiety because of the amount of people and he comforts her through out the night?
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚something sweet˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
your eyes squint at the blinding lights of flashing cameras as you and jaafar stand hand-in-hand on the red carpet of the Michael movie premiere. your grip on his hand tightens with a gentle squeeze, as the photographers continue roaring jaafars name
"jaafar!"
"jaafar, this way!"
"on your right jaafar!"
you try your best to maintain the smile on your face, but the once small ache in your chest begins to blossom, causing your facade to slowly slip.
jaafar immediately senses the shift in energy and quickly picks up on your discomfort, squeezing your hand right back. after a quick once-over to examine your facial expression, he's leading you off the carpet (despite the protest from the photographers) and into a quite area, away from the shouting and flashing of cameras.
"hey you okay, baby?"
he says, bringing a large hand to stroke the side of your waist
you stare up at him with glossy eyes, your breathing fast
"I-im just scared, o-of everything" your lip starts to quiver
"s'too much jaafar"
he pulls you into his chest
"oh my baby, im so sorry you're feeling like this"
his hands stroke up and down your back, before removing his suit jacket and placing it on your shoulders
"im right here baby, okay? ill be right by your side for the whole night, if you ever feel like you really cant do it anymore just say our word okay?"
pineapples. the safe word you and jaafar agreed on as he knew you struggles in social situations.
"o-okay" you sniffle and nuzzle your head into his chest
the two of you stand like that for a while, unaware you were still in view of some fans who were going crazy over the sweet interaction they had just witnessed.
