Birthday: February 17th = 19 years old (still a teenager!!)
Nationality//Where I’m from: A big fat proud Filipino, but currently living in Japan. In short I’m asiannn!!(southeast)
My favorite…
Artists: Björk, Michael Jackson, Beyoncé, Sza, Janet Jackson, Solange, Stevie Wonder, Steve Lacy, Cocteau Twins, Pinkpantheress, Beabadoobee, and etc…
Color: Violet
Food: Cancer inducing buldak carbonara
Season: Winter
Song: Hidden place by Björk
Interests//Hobbys:
writing, journaling, reading, drawing, listening to music, Michael Jackson, The Jackson 5//The Jacksons, Avatar (both), Horror Movies, Kubz Scouts, Laurenzside, Itsfunneh, filipino comedies, Saiki K, learning about history, Trese, Wong Kar Wai movies, and etc…
My blog is a space for:
everyone!! (Unless it’s smut..pls mdni) and anyone who’s interested in reading fics about mj or anything mj related!!! I’m aiming for a safe space for mj x readers so pls be kind around here!!
pairing: michael jackson x janets!best!friend!reader
summary: after y/n and janet reunite, janet notices michael’s sudden shy demeanour and decides her and the other brothers need to act.
masterlist 🤎 part one
everyone drifted upstairs to get settled for the night, their conversations kept between each other as they walked down the hallway.
y/n followed behind janet with a small overnight bag she’d borrowed hanging from her shoulder.
“i really appreciate you lettin’ me stay,” she smiled, adjusting the strap, “i hope i’m not causin’ too much trouble,”
“girl, you’ve said that fifteen times,”
“sorry,”
“stop apologisin’,”
“…sorry,”
janet rolled her eyes, unable to keep herself from smiling.
before she could lead y/n any further down the hallway, another figure rounded the corner. randy. perfect, just like they’d planned.
he straightened up almost immediately when he spotted the girls, clearing his throat as if he’d been sent on official business to deliver a message.
“uh, y/n?”
the girl stopped walking, looking to him.
“small problem,” he said, shifting on the balls of his feet as y/n raised a brow, confused.
“what happened?”
“well,” randy scratched the back of his neck, avoiding y/n’s eyes, “all the guest rooms are taken,”
“they are?” y/n said, confusion lacing her tone. she’d seen the front of their house, surely there was one spare room.
“yep,”
“you’re sure?”
randy nodded as y/n looked down the hallway, confusion still on her face.
“i didn’t think there were that many people stayin’,” she said, more to herself than anything as randy nodded, far too enthusiastically.
“well maybe you could share with mi-,”
before y/n had the chance to question it any further, another bedroom door clicked open.
michael stepped out, shutting it carefully behind him, a book tucked beneath one arm.
“what’s goin’ on?” his eyes flickered between the two girls and then randy.
“rooms are full,” randy said, his voice a little thick as he avoided his brother’s gaze.
“what?”
“the guest rooms,”
“no they aren’t,” michael frowned, looking down the hallway, and then back at his brother.
“yes they are,”
michael looked genuinely puzzled now.
he glanced down the hallway, almost as thought he was trying to picture every bedroom in his head.
“jackie has one,” michael counted on his fingers, “so does tito and marlon…and jan, rebbie, toya, you and mother and joseph…there’s still four left,”
randy winced, looking at janet (who was busy looking at the ceiling). y/n looked more consumed than ever.
“they’re…being cleaned,” randy said, his voice a little more high pitched.
“at…night?” michael blinked, unable to hide the skepticism in hid voice.
“yeah,”
“…who’s cleanin’ them?”
randy paused, opening his both, before he closed it again, mulling the question over in his head.
“people,” he said, his voice hardly believable anymore.
“what people?” michael tilted his head, his face still the picture of confusion.
from somewhere behind them, marlon suddenly coughed loudly into his fist.
it sounded suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh.
jackie wasn't doing much better, having turned completely away from the conversation, one hand covering his mouth.
even katherine, who had just stepped into the hallway carrying folded towels, paused for a brief second, lowering her head so nobody could see the smile threatening to appear.
only michael remained completely oblivious.
“when did mother hire cleaners?”
“uh…today,” randy said, still avoiding his older brother’s gaze.
“today?” michael repeated, his voice starting to fill in with some suspicion.
“mhm,”
“why?”
“the rooms needing cleanin’,”
“they were cleaned yesterday,”
“they got dirty again,” randy said, looking desperately to janet for help, who avoided his gaze still.
“how?”
“people,”
“what people?”
“the people that were cleanin’,”
michael’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, pausing for a few seconds.
“the people that were cleanin’…made the rooms dirty,” he repeated, almost savouring the words in confusion.
“accidents happen,”
“well, i’ll go see if they’re nearly finished,” michael shrugged.
before any of them could stop him, he was down the hallway, opening the door to one of the rooms.
the room was spotless, bed made, the curtains open, and completely empty.
“this one’s empty,” he said, looking to y/n, “you can have this one,”
y/n just nodded, still utterly confused as she mumbled a small ‘thank you’, and michael gave the brothers one last look of confusion, muttering something about ‘crazy people’.
as soon as his door clicked shut, janet huffed.
“randy!”
“what was i supposed to say?!” he whisper-yelled back to her as she marched towards her own room.
“you lasted thirty damn seconds!”
“he started counting bedrooms! bedrooms, jan! who the hell counts bedrooms!?”
❀❀❀❀
y/n and michael were in the garden after breakfast, where it was quiet and serene.
she was sat at the edge of the fountain, fingers tracing light patterns into the stone.
michael stood nearby, hands loosely in his pockets and occasionally looking at her before his gaze would be pulled away to a bee buzzing away or a squirrel on a tree.
it wasn’t awkward, just careful.
from the back door, marlon watched. janet had given him the plan - give michael a flower to give to y/n.
he walked round the edge of the garden, careful to make sure y/n didn’t hear him as he examined the roses in the nearby flower bed.
marlon tiptoed past the fountain, careful to make sure he wasn’t spotted as he picked up a small acorn, turning it over in his hand before he flung it at his brother.
michael jolted, his head snapping back as he spotted his brother crouched down comically behind the fountain, a flower in his hand, shushing him desperately.
he crept forward as michael blinked in confusion, the rose pressed into his hand.
“what’s that?” he whispered, looking at the pretty flower in his hand.
marlon rushed back behind one of the large flower pots, gesturing to michael.
small, frantic movements - pointing to michael, then to y/n, then to the rose. his movements were way too exaggerated, poor michael just staring at him in bewilderment.
he looked down at the rose, then to y/n again, who hadn’t noticed marlon or the rose at all.
then, he tapped her on the shoulder.
“marlon wanted me to give this to you,” he said, gently passing the rose to y/n as she carefully took the rose.
marlon blinked once. then he blinked again.
there was no way michael had just said the rose was from marlon.
he was hopeless.
“what happened?” janet said, her hands on her hips as marlon crept back inside, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“i gave him the damn flower and he said it was from me!”
janet blinked.
“oh for goodness’ sake-,” she said, sighing deeply, “i guess we need to call in reinforcements,”
❀❀❀❀
“alright, move,” jackie said, waving a dismissive hand towards his younger brothers.
“move?” randy echoed him, confused.
“the grown-ups are handlin’ this now,”
marlon looked personally offended at the suggestion that he wasn’t one.
“grown-ups?”
“me and tito,”
tito nodded once, folding his arms over his chest.
“y’all had your chance,” he said, “and it didn’t go very well,” he gave randy a stern look.
“and what exactly are you gonna do?” janet said, eyeing them all suspiciously as jackie and tito exchanged a look.
“a proper dinner,”
there was silence for a few seconds, before marlon spoke.
“that’s it?”
the entire afternoon was spent prepping the dining room for the dinner.
katherine had been persuaded into cooking one of mikey’s favourite meals, though she had never quite figured out why only two plates had been set up.
jackie insisted on using the small dining room, tito had been to three different shops to find candles, though janet wasn’t entirely sure they were necessary.
the other two sisters had done wise in keeping out of it.
just before dinner was ready, tito found michael wandering through the hallway, a book tucked under his arm.
“mike,” he said, stopping his little brother.
“hm?”
“need you in the dining room,” tito said, like he was announcing something important.
“why?”
“special dinner,”
michael nodded simply, not asking questions.
“okay,”
“don’t ask questions,”
“i wasn’t gonna,”
at almost the same time, janet appeared outside y/n’s room.
she knocked twice before poking her head round the door.
“dinner’s ready,”
“already?”
“mhm,”
“everyone’s downstairs?”
“kind of. just come downstairs,” janet waved a hand vaguely.
the dining room looked.. different.
the curtains had been drawn, candles flickered softly across the middle of the table, only two places had been set.
y/n stopped in the doorway.
before she could say anything, michael walked in through the opposite door.
he stopped too.
his eyes slowly travelled around the room, then to the table, then to y/n.
"…where is everybody?" he blinked, confusion in his voice once more.
“okay,” he said, accepting that answer immediately.
he walked over and pulled out a chair for her without a second thought.
“thank you,” y/n said, smoothing down her skirt and taking her seat as michael murmured a small “you’re welcome”.
every other jackson was crammed into the kitchen.
jackie and tito stood nearest to the doorway, janet trying to peak round them, randy and marlon knelt down on the floor.
“have y’all lost your minds?” katherine stared at all her children crammed round the door.
“mother, shush! leave us be,” marlon said, crouched down.
“…in my own damn kitchen,”
back in the dining room, michael looked round again, spotting jackie’s favourite plate left on the counter.
“jackie forgot his plate,” he said.
y/n looked over, nodding as she swallowed her mouthful. they’d been having a great conversation before, all about michael’s favourite animals, littered with random facts.
“i’ll go give it to him,” he said, standing up as he twisted the knob of the kitchen door.
the door burst open, five jacksons scattering in every direction.
jackie nearly dropped a bread roll, randy tripped over a chair, tito hit his head, and janet slapped a hand over her face.
“what are y’all doin’?” he blinked, as silence fell over them.
everybody looked at everybody else, until finally, tito spoke, smiling for too widely.
“family meeting,” he said.
“in the kitchen?”
“yep,” jackie said, catching on to tito’s words.
“during dinner?”
“yep,” marlon nodded along too.
“okay,” michael said, looking to the plate in his hand, “y’all forgot your food,”
“i’ll set the table,” y/n said, pushing her plate back as she helped lay out the other plates, and michael brought the pot of food in too.
so much for a date.
janet just groaned internally. there was no way they were this damn oblivious.
❀❀❀❀
by the third failed plan, katherine had seen enough.
she’d watched randy lie about bedrooms, marlon’s failed flower plan, jackie and tito somehow mess up a perfectly normal dinner.
and through all of it, the two people they were trying to help still seemed as oblivious as ever.
“alright,” she said, hands on her hips, as all heads turned to her.
“mama-,”
“no,” she said, her voice not angry, just final.
“leave those two alone,” she said, as the room fell quiet.
“but-,”
“janet,”
the girl sighed dramatically, mumbling a small “yes mama” as katherine looked between them all.
“love don’t need all y’all pushin’ it,”
late that afternoon, katherine found y/n in the living room, a book in hand.
“darlin’?”
“yes, mrs jackson?”
“would you mind doin’ me a favour?”
y/n nodded, as katherine smiled warmly as her eagerness to help.
“there’s a little gazebo at the back of the garden,” katherine smiled, “and i left my knitting basket there this mornin’,”
“i’ll go get it,” y/n said.
“thank you sweetheart,”
a few minutes later, katherine found michael in the music room, quietly turning pages of his notebook.
“mikey, dear,” she said.
“yes, mother?”
“i’ve left my knitting basket in the gazebo, would you be a dear and get it for me?”
michael closed his notebook without question.
“i’ll go get it,”
y/n looked round the small gazebo - the basket was nowhere in sight, not under the clothes or near her flower pots.
“that’s strange,” she muttered under her breath, her gaze drawn to the entrance of the gazebo at the sound of footsteps.
michael.
“mother sent you to find the knitting basket too?” he blinked, watching as she nodded, a confused frown on her face.
there was silence for a second as they both blinked, and then they understood.
“of course,” y/n finally said, realising why they had both been sent to look for it, michael realising a few seconds after her.
y/n just laughed, sitting down on the edge of tone of the benches.
it was obvious there was no point going back now.
michael laughed too, sitting down beside her.
“so…mother sent us both here,” he said, his voice soft as y/n nodded, swallowing for a second.
he was close, she could feel the heat from his body next to her.
“y/n?”
“yeah?”
“you know…i’m surprised you didn’t forget me,”
“you are?”
“yeah,”
“how could i forget you?” y/n said, shrugging for a second, “you left me your book so i didn’t get sad when y’all left. that…that tells me everything i needed to know about you,”
michael smiled softly.
“i kept the drawing you gave me,”
“the dinosaur one?” y/n cringed at how bad it was.
“yep,”
“it looked more like a dog,” she said, shaking her head softly as michael shrugged.
“well, i knew it was a dinosaur,” he said, his finger brushing her hand lightly as he paused again.
“i was kinda scared when janet invited me round,” y/n admitted quietly, shrugging slightly as michael blinked.
“you were?”
“yeah, i mean…y’all are famous now,”
“doesn’t mean you’re any less than us,” michael said, his voice gentle, “i was scared too,”
“why?”
“saw those modelling magazines you did,” michael said quietly, “thought about reaching out when i first saw you on that runway,”
y/n flushed slightly.
“god you looked so beautiful,” he whispered, “but you were janet’s friend. couldn’t do that to her,”
the girl nodded, choosing not to speak.
“but now we know she’s all good with it…and mother too…” michael looked up from the spot on the ground her been staring at, looking to her.
y/n swallowed.
he was close, his breath against her lips as he moved nearer, one hand coming to cup her cheek.
their lips met in a kiss - soft, and gentle.
y/n’s hands stayed on the bench beside her, as they moved back, her face flushed softly.
“they know we can see ‘em, right?” she said, looking over his shoulder through the little window for a second.
once again, all the jacksons were crammed round the window, marlon practically on top of jackie.
“i can’t see!”
“move your big ass head-!”
“get off my foot!”
“what happened?!” janet demanded, shorter than all her brother as she huffed.
“y/n threw up on him, i think!” marlon squinted.
“shut your dumbass mouth,” tito huffed, “they kissed,”
“mother, they kissed!” janet whipped round, her eyes shining as her mother hummed, not even reacting.
“why aren’t you excited?” randy blinked to her.
“i knew it’d happen,” katherine placed her knitting basket on the side (she’d never really left it), “sometimes love just needs some space,”
summary: you're a curious scholar who desires information about the vampire outside of town. who would've thought it would've led to something like this?
content: MDNI, smut, vampiric themes, lonely vampire trope (i know), blood drinking, intimate porn w/ plot, oral (f!receiving), pinning, very very gothic environment but i love it
w/c: 3.1k
taglist | requested | masterlist
The rain tapped a steady rhythm against your bedroom window, a comforting pitter-patter as you continued another night of research.
Your desk was littered with open books, their pages filled with detailed illustrations of fangs and accounts of nocturnal beings. A half-finished cup of tea sat cooling next to a notebook filled with your own gruesome imagined theories and illustrations.
But this particular book you were reading — borrowed from the dusty back shelves of the town's tiny library — spoke of a being not just from myth, but one that supposedly resided just outside town.
The book called him "The Lord of Blackwood", a vampire of immense age and power, who had withdrawn from the world centuries ago. The description was vague, but it mentioned something about eyes that held the weight of eternity.
So, you decided to test the waters the next morning. Approaching an old woman who ran an antique shop, her knowledge of the town's history was as vast as you could dream of. You walked into the shop under the guise of 'shopping'.
She looks up from polishing a silver locket. "Can I help you, dear?"
"I was wondering if you knew anything about Blackwood Manor just outside of town? The history seems so fascinating."
Her friendly demeanor vanishes instantly, putting down the locket so sharply you were afraid she might've broken it.
"We don't ask questions like that here."
Over the next week, you ask others — the postman, the baker, the farmer on the edge of town — and their answers were always the same. A nervous glance, a hurried change of subject with intelligible mumbling, or a warning not to speak his name here.
But of course, you didn't listen. They knew you wouldn't. They even started planning a funeral in your name without your knowledge.
You decided to pack a small bag that weekend, full of a change of clothes, a lantern, a notebook, and some fruit. You take the old path leading out of town, the dirt road almost completely covered by long-term abandonment. The woods are dense and quiet, the canopy thick enough to block out most of the moonlight, and the air grows colder.
After an hour of aching steps, you push aside a final, low-hanging branch. And there it stood before you. A monolith of dark stone against the dark blue sky, all sharp angles and towering spires. It wasn't as ominous and scary-looking as you thought.
No light shone against the windows, and the path to the front door was overgrown with thorny vines that snagged your clothes as you pushed forward. The massive, iron-branded door looked like it hadn't been opened in forever.
You take a deep breath and raise your hand, your knuckles hesitating for just a second before connecting to the metal. The knock echoed into the silence behind the door, and for a long moment, there was nothing. You hoped you didn't walk all this way for nothing.
But then the door groaned inward on its own, the sound a deep, weary sigh. It hadn't been locked. You then pushed with all your might, the heavy door moving inch by agonizing inch until there was just enough space for you to slip through.
The air inside was still and cold, carrying the scent of old dust, dried herbs, and something metallic, maybe blood or iron.
The grand foyer was vast, and the moonlight from the open door sliced through the darkness. It fell across portraits in gilded frames — faces from centuries past; their eyes seemed to follow you as you descended into the castle. Your lantern aids your vision, glinting off a suit of armor as you pass by, a marble statue, then a collection of ancient-looking urns.
"Hello? I'm looking for the one they call... Michael?"
Your voice doesn't echo, but is swallowed by the immense silence. You take another few cautious steps forward, your heart beating loudly in your eardrums.
A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness near the grand staircase. It was tall, impossibly so, and moved with a silence that was more unnerving than any kind of footstep. His voice is smooth as velvet, yet cold as it suddenly spoke from behind you. "You have a great deal of nerve coming here. Or a death wish. Which is it?"
You spin around quickly, the fire in your lantern highlighting his features, sharp and pale. You nearly drop the damn thing. "I was looking for you—"
"Why?" His voice sounded more like an order than a question as he took a step closer. You felt your blood run cold, and your voice trembled slightly.
"Because... the books. The stories. They couldn't all be wrong. I had to see for myself."
A faint, cold smile touches his lips. "See what? If the monster under the bed is real? You risk your life for a child's curiosity."
"Not exactly from a child's curiosity, but a scholar's. I've studied your kind, and I believe there's more to you than the stories of monsters."
He lets out a soft, humorless laugh that doesn't reach his eyes; his voice is full of mockery. "A scholar. How quaint. And what do your 'studies' tell you I am?" He circles you slowly, and the air grows colder with his proximity. He smelled faintly of wine and old wood, acquainted by faint ash.
You swallow hard as you try to keep your head upright, keeping eye contact as he passes by. "They tell me you value truth, given your own collections and studies. I thought maybe you'd appreciate someone who actually wants to learn, rather than just scream and run at the sight of you."
He stops his circling, now standing directly in front of you. "Appreciate? You think I crave the company of morals?"
"No, but I'd assume a life without interaction would be rather lonely." You try to shrug and laugh, but he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression. Only continuing the conversation when you fixed your face. He reaches out to touch you, but gently taps at the cover of the notebook sticking out of your bag.
"Your book is full of little fairytales."
You lift your chin, "It's not a book of fairytales. It's full of records with history you left behind. I know you're not the mindless beasts people make you out to be."
"You think you can trace all my steps through history?"
"No, but I could with your firsthand account."
He turns and walks toward the grand staircase, his back to you. "Firsthand account?" He glances over his shoulder. "You want an interview with a vampire?" (haha get it?)
You stay in the same spot, but your voice elevates slightly. "I told you. I'm a scholar. I want to understand."
He turns around and moves back towards you. A slight, genuine smile — the first one you've seen — curves his lips. He stops an arm's length away, his head tilted. "Understanding is a dangerous thing to seek from you. Knowledge has a price."
"I'm willing to pay it."
The weeks turned into months, and your visits to Blackwood Manor became a nightly ritual. The intimidating foyer soon felt familiar, the shadows less threatening, and they were now clean from age and dust, thanks to you.
Michael's library became your home. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held books you were sure existed in places you couldn't bear to think of, and he would watch you — sometimes for hours — as you pored over ancient texts you could barely read yet.
He leaned against the bookshelf, using his nail to pick the human flesh from his teeth, clothes still slightly blood-stained from his hunting. But he did clean up the best that he could, out of respect for you. He didn't want to scare you away just yet.
"Your fascination with the Venetian plague is... odd."
"It's all the eyewitness accounts." You mutter, not looking up from the fragile pages. "I mean, you lived through it. What was it really like?"
"Messy. You humans are so terribly fragile."
"You were a human once. Weren't you?" The silence that followed your question was deafening, aside from the soft crackle of the grand fireplace.
He pushed off the bookshelf, his movements slower than usual.
He walked to the fireplace, staring into the flames before resting his back against the stone. "Yes. I was. A very, very long time ago." He paused for a moment, as if it was difficult to remember how life was before his transformation.
You closed the book fully in your lap, giving him your full attention. "Do you miss it?"
He lets out a short, sharp breath, almost a laugh. "The sickness, the fragility, the inevitable decay? No."
He pauses, his gaze how at the expensive rug beneath him. "But.. I do miss the sun. Cherishing the days well-lived. I used to get the best sleep.
And I do miss the family I had."
He pushed away from the mantle, turning to face you fully, but the vulnerability in his voice was now gone. "But don't romanticize it. What I am now," he gestures vaguely around the vast library. "This is freedom. Of a sort."
You stand up, taking a tentative step toward him. "Sounds lonely."
His eyes narrow, but there's no real anger to them. "Lonely is a human concept. I would say that we're patient."
"You've been patient for centuries. That's a long time to be alone."
"Who said I was alone?"
You give him a knowing look, your arms crossing over your chest, and he chuckles. "You ask a lot of questions under the ruse of a 'scholar'."
"You keep inviting me back. So you must not mind them too much."
A slow smile finally touches his lips. "I don't." He glances toward the tall library windows. "It's nearly dawn. You should stay. The spare room is yours, as always."
He turns and walks toward the door, his cape whispering against the cold stone floor. He pauses at the threshold for a moment, bidding you goodnight before the heavy door clicks shut.
The next few nights progressed this way. Your conversations linger later, the topics drifting from history to philosophy, and then to the small absurd details of your moral life that seem to fascinate him somehow.
Tonight, you find him not in the library, but in a solarium you'd never noticed before, full of meticulously preserved plants that should've died a long time ago. You never thought of him as having a green thumb. "A habit from another life," he says. Some routines were harder to shed than others, but it didn't make him any less admirable. You reach out to touch one of the leaves he was catering to, your fingers brushing against his as your thumb traces over the petal.
He doesn't pull his hand away; instead, he turns his hand, his cool fingers lightly tracing the line of your wrist. "Your pulse is fast. Even after all these months, are you still afraid of me?"
"No. Not afraid."
"Then what is it?"
His dark eyes hold yours, and you could feel your breath catch. You couldn't find the words to describe how you felt. Let alone a vampire. But you knew that wasn't how you saw him anymore. He wasn't dangerous, nor a monster. He's gentle, kind, more than any human could be.
He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can hear it, you know. The shift in your heartbeat."
"Does it bother you, Michael?"
The space between you vanishes, and he closes the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that's so soft, it almost feels airy. His lips were curious against yours, a taste so sweet, you could easily fall addicted to the drug of him.
His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that contradicts his cold skin. His breath ghosts against your lips before deepening the kiss. His other hand slides to the small of your back, pressing you flush against the unyielding coolness of his body, which never seemed to warm against yours. He didn't mind your warmth, though. You felt like sunshine against his skin, inviting him with want and endless curiosity.
In a fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms, and the castle blurs for a moment as he carries you from the solarium through the corridors.
He lays you down upon the vast expanse of his bed, the black silk sheets slippery beneath you as they ground you from your slight dizziness. The room is lit only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the left side of his bedroom.
He kneels over, caging you in, his dark eyes burning with undeniable hunger and desire. A look both thrilling and terrifying.
"Are you sure you want this with me? Truly."
You reach up, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ear. "I've never wanted anything more."
A low groan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to kiss you again, peppering soft kisses downward as his lips find the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath catches as he sucks on the dip of your collarbone. A soft moan escapes you as his mouth finds a sensitive spot against your sternum, your back arching off the silk sheets.
He pulls back slightly, his breathing unsteady — something you thought was impossible with him. And you could feel the tension coiled in his body. His fangs, which you've only seen in glimpses, are a subtle pressure against the skin of your stomach as he kisses his way lower.
His hands slide up your thighs, pushing the simple fabric of your dress higher, exposing you to the room's chilling air. He moves down your body with a reverence that steals your breath more than you thought. His lips brush against the inside of your thigh as your fingers tangle in the smooth sheets.
It seems like forever before his tongue dances on the fabric over your clit, clear with intention as you feel his fingers hesitantly pulling against the waistband over your panties.
You become breathless, your hips lifting in silent invitation. "Michael, you're teasing. Please."
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly, deliberately, slides them down your legs. The air feels sharp against your core, now soaked with arousal. He lowers his head again, his tongue tracing wet circles against your slit. The sensation was almost too much. You could feel his teeth as he suckled and kissed on your bundle of nerves, and his cold breath ghosts over you, making you shudder slightly.
You cry out as his slender tongue slowly fucks your entrance, tasting you with the focus of a connoisseur, each thrust and flick and kiss a slow, aching torture. A string of pleas falls from your lips as he groans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.
His fingers join his mouth, a finger sliding inside you in a way that brings spots to your vision, the dual sensation overwhelming the heat building in your stomach. He looks up to watch your sweet reactions, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Is this what you thought would happen when you knocked on my door, scholar? To come apart on my tongue? Is this what you wanted?"
You can only manage a frantic nod, your hands fisting in his dark hair. "D-Don't stop."
His pace quickens, his tongue circling your clit relentlessly while his fingers curl inside you. Your orgasm washes over you unbearably fast, and you feel his fangs brush against your inner thigh, a sharp threat amidst the bliss. Your vision grows white, and your body trembles uncontrollably against the silk.
He gentles his movements, drawing out the last shudders of your release with a soft, lingering kiss over the same spot as your inner thigh.
He moves back up your body and hovers above you, his gaze dark as he brushes a damp curl from your forehead. His touch is tender as he kisses you, the taste of your orgasm still fresh on his tongue. His bulge presses against your thigh, so undeniably hard and prominent, even through his trousers.
You reach between you, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his pants.
He guides himself to your entrance once you free him, the tip of his dick a slick, hot pressure against you. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper as his slow thrust steals the air from your lungs. He stills, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours. You couldn't contain the small pants falling from your lips; it felt like he was splitting you open, and he hadn't even moved yet.
He begins to move, each thrust a rolling movement that pulls your mouth agape, a silent scream as he kisses your cervix. His lips find your neck again, his tongue tracing the frantic pulse there. "You smell so sweet. Practically screaming for me, sweetheart."
You tilt your head back, baring your throat to him in absolute surrender, and it seemed like all of his control frayed at the edges, deteriorating with every moan against his ear.
Then a sharp, sudden pain of his fangs piercing your skin is eclipsed instantly by a wave of euphoria. It became a pleasure so intense it borders on pain, a dizzying rush that syncs perfectly with the fast rhythm of his hips. His mouth is sealed against your throat, a low, continuous moan vibrating through you as he drinks you in.
Your body instinctively jerks against him, your hands flying to his abdomen, but he captures your wrists, pinning them to your chest as he fucks you senseless.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax and take what I give you."
The dual sensations of the intimate fullness of his dick moving within yours and the deep, pulling ecstasy of the bite bring you to your orgasm simultaneously. It is a silent, yet hot convulsion of pleasure, lasting longer than usual as he follows closely behind you.
He holds you there for a moment, his body draped over yours before letting your wrists go, lapping gently at the small wounds on your neck. You drift into an exhausted sleep as you wrap your arms around him, the taste of metal and dizziness on your tongue.
You wake to the soft kisses on your cheek, the curtains now closed as they concealed the grey light of pre-dawn light filtering slightly at the edges. His voice is a low murmur next to your ear, his arm a heavy weight across your waist. "Good morning. Or what passes for morning here."
"Did I pass out?"
A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. "You did. I may have done too much."
You shift slightly, feeling a pleasant ache in your muscles and the faint mark on your neck. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's the price I'm willing to pay."
Just heard about the Ebony muse situation… as a black writer myself, I definitely thought she was black no doubt. I’m really hurt because she was one of my favorite creators on here:( Let’s use this as an opportunity to support our black fanfic writers because this community for us is already tough as it is.
If you want writers to keep writing, you need to engage and encourage! This goes for any fandom and any community.
I hate seeing fan writers discouraged because they feel like their community is shrinking. If you’re a reader and you’re actively following a fic, it matters so much to comment, reblog, tell others about it whatever platform—tumblr, wattpad, ao3. There are so many gems out there.
And it’s nice to comment and not just ask for more. People are writing for the love of their fandom. It’s the least we can. Fandom is an ecosystem, everyone plays a part. But don’t be a silent reader! Show some reciprocity.
punctuation marks add clarity to and end sentences. we all know this, but it's good to have a refresher. punctuation marks determine the rhythm and the speed of a sentence. the usage of some punctuation marks is also a stylistic choice since many of them have similar uses. this is going to be pretty long bc i'll be going over the all the standard english punctuation. these rules come from my copy of merriam-webster's dictionary and thesarus.
disclaimer: this is for american english. british english and american english differ quite a bit in punctuation. i do know a few of the rules of british english, and i will include them when i can to show the difference. however, i will not include every single rule because i don't know all of them.
𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬
ends of sentences
period ( . ):
ends declarative sentences (any sentence that is not exclamatory or interrogative)
Went to the store yesterday.
Do the right thing.
(brit. eng.) separates data in time-telling
10.30
exclamation point ( ! ): ends exclamatory sentences
I'm so excited!
Put that down!
question mark ( ? ): ends interrogative sentences
What time is it?
Where are you from?
pauses and separation
comma ( , ):
separates main clauses joined by a conjunction (FANBOYS) and very short clauses
She reached for his hand, but he didn't notice.
I came, I saw, I conquered.
sets off an adverbial clauses that comes after the main clause
When I walked into the store, the employees greeted me.
sets off the rest of the sentence from transitional words and expressions, conjunctive adverbs (however, therefore, furthermore, moreover, etc.), and expressions the introduce an example
She, on the other hand, prefers to shower at night.
I, however, do not like loud noises past a certain time.
They have traveled two continents, namely, Asia and Africa.
separates words, phrases, and clauses in a series of three of more
He made a salad with lettuce, tomatoes, and spinach.
note: the oxford comma or serial comma adds extra clarity. it's neither correct nor incorrect to not use an oxford comma, but, in my opinion, it should always be used.
separates adjectives modifying a noun
The girl had long, black hair.
indicates parenthetical elements
The speaker, who had a slight stutter, motivated the graduating class to always reach for greatness.
introduces a direct quotation, ends a direct quotation that is declarative, and encloses a split quotation
She asked, "What time will you be home?"
"I don't know. I probably won't be home tonight," he said.
"Do you even know," she asked, tears forming in her eyes, "how much you hurt me?"
sets off a direct address, absolute phrases, and mild interjections
I've always loved you, Michael.
She walked with confidence, her chest poked out.
I struggled to crochet, my hands cramping from the tension
Oh, I thought that happened yesterday.
separates a question from a sentence
One piece of candy wouldn't be too bad, right?
adds clarity
To Jack, Jill was the most beautiful person in the world.
semicolon ( ; ):
links two related sentences not joined by a conjunction
I crocheted in my free time; she went out dancing.
links sentences joined by conjunctive adverbs
She didn't get paid this Friday; therefore, she couldn't afford to go out tonight.
links clauses that contain commas even when such clauses are joined by conjunctions (helps avoid the overuse of commas)
The oncologist, who recently graduated from med school, was still inexperienced; but he gave important information on how to lower your risk of cancer.
colon ( : ):
introduces a word, clause, or phrase that explains, illustrates, amplifies, or restates what has gone before
She understood why he was upset: he failed a test that made up 40% of his grade.
introduces a series
We bought three fruits from the store: apples, bananas, and mangoes.
separates data in time-telling
10:30 p.m.
quotes and brackets
quotation marks ( "" ):
encloses direct quotations
"Please stay with me," he begged.
encloses words or phrases borrowed form others or used in a special way
The so-called "leader" led his followers into their deaths.
encloses the titles of songs, book chapters, short poems, TV episodes
"Electric Relaxation" is my favorite song from Midnight Marauders.
Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
(brit. eng.) encloses a quotation within a quotation
She said, 'I remember when I was younger, my mom would always tell me, "Enjoy being a child. You have the rest of your life to be an adult," but I never listened to her.'
single quotes ( '' ):
encloses a quotation within a quotation
She said, "I remember when I was younger, my mom would always tell me, 'Enjoy being a child. You have the rest of your life to be an adult,' but I never listened to her."
(brit. eng.) encloses a direct quotation
'Please stay with me,' he begged.
parentheses ( () ): sets off supplementary, parenthetical, or explanatory material
The music festival put together in a week (as I would have imagined) was a disaster.
The Nissan Altima (now discontinued) was known for its chaotic drivers.
brackets ( [] ): sets off extraneous data such as editorial additions especially within quoted material
The victim stated, "He [the police officer] was extremely rude and irritable."
structure
apostrophe ( ' ):
indicates possessive nouns and indefinite pronouns
the girl's favorite song
the girls' favorite song
marks omissions in contractions
don't
can't
wouldn't
forms plural of letters, numbers, or words to referred to as words
She wrote x's and o's at the end of every letter.
The first thing the class learned how to do was figure 8's.
The theater filled with ooh's and aah's
hyphen ( - ):
used between a some prefix and word combinations and prefix and a word beginning with a vowel (the last part is more of a stylistic choice and preference. it's not wrong to not separate a prefix from a word starting with a vowel)
pre-Renaissance
co-opt
re-open
used in some compounds
president-elect
sister-in-law
used between the elements of a unit modifier
her blue-green dress
They have a two-year-old child together.
used in writing compound numbers between 21 and 99
twenty-six
eighty-nine
one hundred forty-four
used as the phrase "(up) to and including" between numbers, time, and dates
The teacher told us to read pages 31-50
The store is open 6:00 a.m.-6:00 p.m.
The years '85-'88 were the best of his childhood.
en dash ( – ): the same as the final rule for hyphen (stylistic choice. en dash is slightly longer than a hyphen) (option + - on mac and alt + 0150 on windows)
The teacher told us to read pages 31–50
The store is open 6:00 a.m.–6:00 p.m.
The years '85–'88 were the best of his childhood.
em dash ( — or -- ):
marks an abrupt change or break in the continuity of a sentence and used in place of commas to provide more clarity than a comma would
She ordered the cake—even though it was expensive—for the party.
sets off or introduces defining phrases and lists
The bakery sold a variety of donuts—glazed, strawberry frosted, chocolate frosted, crullers, apple fritters, and cinnamon-sugar twists—to their customers' delight.
introduces a summary statement after a series
Instant ramen, coffee, all-nighters—these are all essentials of college life.
precedes an attribution of a quotation
If you can’t fly then run, if you can't run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward. — Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
ellipsis ( ... ):
indicates the omission of words or sentences in a quoted passage
The head is not more native to the heart...than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. — Shakespeare
indicates halting speech, trailing speech, or an unfinished sentence in dialogue
"I can't believe..." she said, a distant look set in her eyes.
(forward) slash or virgule ( / ):
separates alternatives
and/or
he/she/they/it
separates successive divisions of an extended period of time
the June/July issue of a magazine
used in place of per
50 km/hr
10 m/s
note: curly brackets ( {} ) and back slashes ( \ ) are used only in computing and programming. don't worry about them in writing unless your writing includes code.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 brief sexual contents (intentional unprotected sex, p in v penetration, creampie, “breeding” essentially), explicit language, fluff, (tw!! very minor mentions of body image), michael being a loving father. proofread but i’m half asleep at the editing stage, if you see any errors… no you didn’t!
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 you felt ecstatic when you learned you and michael would be having your first child, even at the peak of his career. children bring many trials and tribulations, but to the two of you—this was a blessing.
𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐒É ݁ 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 hi again! michael and his desire to start a family early has been lingering like clockwork on my mind, and i know all of us would’ve given him a whole football team if he asked for it ˙𐃷˙
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 4.6K a pretty short (in my eyes) little one two while i brainstorm some longer fic ideas, enjoy! ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
You and Michael had a bond that was unbreakable since the early years of adolescence. You often talked about the uncomfortability of growing up, and when life just wasn’t going to be so simple anymore. You used to be afraid of getting older, having to put everything aside for what was to come–and so was Michael. He wasn’t able to have a regular childhood like you were. He was accustomed to hard work and heavy manual labor at the early ages of five years old. He wasn’t used to the celebration of the major holidays, gifts under the Christmas tree, or even birthdays most of the time. Joseph thought things like that were a waste of time, and that work was more important than living through his childhood.
This affected Michael big time, too. When he would visit the small, one story house you and your parents lived in, he got a taste of what real childhood was like. Decorations for every holiday, birthday parties every year, and the biggest of all–your own room, that was catered and decorated to directly fit your personality.
Was Michael a little envious of you as a child, of course he was–he had every right to be. But once you let him in your life, you helped him fill the void that was down in his heart. You two were able to be kids together, and he never failed to enjoy every lasting moment with you.
You hit your teenage years, and fell for each other. It was a feeling that sat in the low depths of your heart for the longest, too timid to ever admit your longing for Michael. When he asked you to be his girlfriend, you had no hesitation in saying yes. He had feelings for you ever since the day he met you, always telling his brothers in private that he’d marry you one day. He never wanted to push it, so if being best friends with you was how close he could be with you in that moment, he accepted it because of how much he loved you.
You were at every tour, every event–all of it. Michael was so happy to have you in his life, through all of the things he’s gone through his entire childhood, having a loyal woman in his life who was there for thick and thin was something he not only cherished, but prayed for.
And this is why he got on one knee when the two of you turned twenty-one. A private proposal, just like you wanted. You talked about getting married young when the two of you were teenagers, and you talked about having children once Michael was at a good point in his career–but it was only a thought that sat in the back of your mind for years. Your parents knew that Michael would change your life for the better, and asking for their blessing was the first thing he did. You and your mother talked about the hypothetical life with you bearing Michael’s children, and she gave you the ups and downs of motherhood. At first, it frightened you–the pain and absolute torture it applied on your body, the complications, all the things that could go wrong. It all scared you more than anything, but your head brought you back to everything good–bringing life into this world, a fresh start for a human being that you could call yours, and Michael’s.
A FEW MONTHS AFTER THE END OF MICHAEL’S ‘BAD TOUR’, – 1989.
You and Michael were settled in the luxury of your living room on the Neverland Ranch, your legs laid onto his lap, while the two of you watched Bambi on DVD for what seemed like the fourth time this week. You enjoyed moments like this, because before you knew it, he’d be back working again. You were always used to his schedule, if he wasn’t rehearsing something, he was in the studio–if he wasn’t in the studio, he was at children’s hospitals. And if he wasn’t doing that, he was tucked away in his office, brainstorming ideas about new music. The only reason you never complained, is because despite all of this, he never let you go to bed alone–and once the two of you got married, he learned to shut his brain off so he could cater to you. Was it a long process? Of course, but you knew that would come with the two of you being together. Michael was extremely work driven, but it wasn’t his fault. It was engraved in his head that every song, every dance move, every performance–it needed to get to a point of absolute perfection. But even when he beat himself up, one thing Michael never wanted for you, was giving you the impression that work came before you, and that was the first thing he said in his vows.
He rubbed his big hands along your leg propped onto his lap, feeling the smooth skin that made contact with his palm. He loved touching your body, and not just sexually. He needed to know that you were still real, and not just a figment of his very vivid imagination. He had his hands on you all the time, massaging you when you had a long day, or simply just interlocking your fingers to bring him a sense of comfort.
“Bambi reminds me of you, baby.” You spoke, breaking the comforting silence between you.
He looked at you and smiled, his pearly whites leaving you in a trance like they always did. “It’s all in the eyes,” he laughed. “Mother used to say the same thing.”
Your heart fluttered at the thought of Michael and his mother. You were glad that she still tried her best to give him those small moments of comfort, no matter how much Joseph fought her on it.
“I hope our kids have eyes like you one day, Michael.” You admitted, giving him a soft smile that just made him want to bring you in closer.
He ushered you to sit up, bringing you closer to him, and you nuzzled your head in his chest. He played in your hair and rubbed circles on your back, his mind now wandering about the statement you just admitted.
“Well, I hope they get your beautiful personality, mama.” He says, kissing the top of your head and gently laying your flyaways back down. The two of you sat comfortably like this for a while, listening to the soothing sound of the Bambi end credits. For a second, you dozed off–but for some reason, (some reason being that you were his wife, and you knew him like the back of your hand), you could sense that Michael was lost in thought. You watched as he fidgeted with the drawstrings of his pajama pants, and when you looked up–he was teary-eyed.
You sat up, all of your attention towards your vulnerable husband in front of you.
Before you could ask what was wrong, it only took you looking at him one time for him to vent.
“I just–you’re the love of my life. I wanna give you children, but I’m so scared that I’m never gonna know the right way to be a father.” As he expresses this towards you, a single tear falls from his right eye. You sat on your knees, and grabbed ahold of him, bringing him in to hug you. He cried into your shoulder, and you rubbed on his scalp as gently as you could.
“You’re gonna be a great father, Michael. There is no right way, honey. Just be you.” You comforted him, getting a little teary yourself.
You knew deep down Michael didn’t want to be anything like his father, and you knew for a fact he was far from it. Michael had a different kind of love for children that weren’t even his, and did everything in his power to give them as many blessings as he could, because he had to work for all of his blessings at their age. He wanted to show that children could make all the difference, they just simply needed all the help they could get. The children of the world were never alone as long as Michael was living, and he made sure of that.
“What if I’m like him? What if I don’t know how to be the parent our child would need?” He was starting to spiral at this point, and you gently shushed at his antics. Michael was the only candidate you saw fit for being the father to your children, and you knew better than to let just anyone help you bring life into this world.
“You’re so much more than what Joseph thinks you are, honey. When the time is right, and we have children of our own–you’ll be the best thing they have. I can promise you that.” You kissed his temple, and gently glided your thumbs across his face to dry his tears. You knew this was a tough subject, simply because the two of you had this conversation so long ago. Michael wanted to not only maintain perfection in his work, but for the things in his life, too. He felt that if he wasn’t the perfect father to his future kids, he’d make them feel how Joseph made him feel.
Lost.
His tears slowly dried up, and he looked at you with his large, soft eyes. Just like Bambi.
“I can’t believe I made you my wife.” He said, with a big smile creeping on his oh so beautiful face. He leaned and kissed you, and the two of you got back comfortable on your couch, sitting in the silence you learned to cherish.
You were moving around on the couch, trying to get into a comfortable position. Since the movie started, your lower back and neck began to ache from sitting in one spot too long. You made faces out of frustration, and Michael was amused by this.
“You okay, baby?” He chuckled, sitting back to let you get this out of your system.
“Neck is killin’ me,” You started. “And I have to pee, all that orange juice you had me drinkin’.” You laughed, and slowly stood up.
Michael tapped at the back of your thighs. “Go pee, baby. Nd’ when you come back, I’ll give you a massage or somethin’.” He bit his lip a little at the thought, and all you could do was shake your head out of amusement. He watched you strut to the bathroom in your very short pajama shorts, leaving a little wiggle behind with each step.
FIVE MINUTES LATER
You stepped back into the hallway, shutting off the bathroom light. Michael heard your footsteps approaching, and quickly wrapped up the glass of orange juice he was pouring to go back to sitting next to you on the couch. You thought that it was so adorable that Michael’s favorite things carried into his adulthood, because the amount of orange juice you had stored in your fridge would drive anyone else crazy. It was what he loved, and it made even more space for him in your heart.
You sat down on the couch and took a breath, watching as Michael walked back to your living room. He sat down his tall glass of orange juice on the coaster taking its place on your coffee table.
“Face your back towards me, love.” He demanded, his voice still maintaining that gentleness.
You turned your back to him, taking a deep breath while he worked his hands along your shoulders. He firmly massaged them, then worked his hands along your neck, being as gentle as possible while still getting the job done. His hands felt so good against your skin, so much so that you let out a quiet moan–hoping he didn’t catch it.
“Feels good, huh?” He teased, his voice laced with that tinge of seduction he always used when he had his hands on you. He massaged a lot firmer, trying his best to get some sort of reaction from you. That was another thing Michael couldn’t resist. Every groan, moan, whimper, any of it that escaped your mouth, immediately gave him shivers. He already loved listening to your voice, but any foreign sound that left your throat drove him crazier.
He kissed your bare shoulder, moving the spaghetti strap of your tank top out of the way. His lips were like heaven against your body, and you told him this countless times. Listening to the sound of his slightly wet lips pecking at your shoulder was turning you on, and that wasn’t anything your husband couldn’t see. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and the warmth radiating off of your body sent him over the edge.
“Y’know…the thought of seein’ you carrying my child makes me feel some kinda way.” Michael admitted, chuckling low against your skin. “You’d be ten times more gorgeous than you already are, baby.”
You smiled and let out a shy giggle, placing your hand on top of the one Michael was using to rub at your shoulder.
“I’d get t’ watch you grow our baby,” he groaned in your ear, kissing behind it. He knew what he was doing, getting you all riled up just to deny his actions once you caved in. “Can watch these grow too,” he added, removing his hands off of your shoulders to wrap around your chest, gently massaging your breasts, still covered by your tanktop.
He loved kneading the fat of them, even when the two of you weren’t indulging in anything sexual. He knew how tender they could get at times, and always sprung to action to relieve you from any pain. His hands were huge, and as you looked down to see your tits completely melted in his hands with no struggle, the heat between your legs started to ache you.
You whimpered from his touch, and the kisses on your neck began. They were serene, but you couldn’t resist how he was making you feel. It was becoming unbearable, and your hand snaking to his neck from your position made him even more cocky. He knew you were falling apart, and this was all he wanted.
“I’m ready.” You moaned out, all your pent up frustration making you admit things you didn’t know were entirely true. He brought his teasing to a halt, tilting his head. “I-I’m ready, Michael. S’ all I can think about now.” You added.
“Ready for what, mama?” He raised his eyebrows, anticipating the sweet sound of your voice to finally admit to him that you needed him. Michael always teased you when you didn't use your words when you were fed up with his taunting, which only motivated him to do it more.
“I wanna make a baby, Michael.” You confessed, turning around to look at him with your low, begging eyes. You caressed his jaw with your hand, and Michael looked hungry. Everything he ever wanted was coming to a reality. He married the love of his everlasting life, and now he had the opportunity to plant his seed inside his woman to create a new life. A life that will never know what it feels like to go through half of what he went through.
“Well, let’s go make a baby, my love.” He smiled, standing before you with his hand reaching out to take yours. You took his hand, and he guided you in front of him. He left a polite slap to your ass, as you led the two of you to your master bedroom.
You already had the ambience for it, the candles you lit a couple hours ago leaving a warm hue, while the smell of cinnamon and cedarwood filled your nose. You had so many lamps around your house, including your bedroom. Michael always believed he could focus more and stay level-headed when there was more warmer toned lighting throughout the house. The super bright lights wired him as if he was on stage, and that’s what he wanted to get away from when he was at home with you.
As you approached your king sized bed, you released your hand from his. You stood before him, and he watched as you pulled the straps of your tanktop from off of your shoulders, and let the cloth fall to the floor. Your nipples were already hard from the cool air in the bedroom, and it left Michael salivating. You tugged at your pajama shorts, wriggling your thighs out of them so they can also fall to your feet. All that was left on your body was your baby pink lacey panties, with a short white ribbon in the middle of them.
Michael scanned your body, and instead of pushing you down into the mattress like he usually would, he knew that tonight was the night he took his time with you. He needed to make sure it was more intimate than the two of you were used to when you had sex—this was the night the two of you were in an attempt to conceive your child.
He stared at your breasts before walking towards you. He didn’t kiss you just yet, he just looked into your eyes for a couple of seconds. You wrapped your hands around his neck, and he ducked just enough to reach your height. He placed his hands on your hips backing you into the mattress as gently as he could, despite his anticipation. He wanted this night to be a special one.
You followed his lead, leaving small pecks along his jaw, before you fell back onto the memory foam behind you. He stood over you like a ravenous animal ready to devour what was in front of him, and you knew that you were in for it. Michael had the tendency to keep his gentle persona while he drilled your pussy, and it drove you nuts. His face was so sweet, but it was finally that time.
He slowly untied the drawstring of his pajama pants, letting the fabric fall effortlessly. His boxers were on the tighter side, and the sight of his hard erection sent chills down your spine. He snaked his plain white t-shirt over his head, his beautiful chest exposed to you. It took a while for Michael to get this comfortable having sex with you, since it was a nude act most of the time. When he learned that you didn’t care about his skin condition and loved all of him for who he was, it was easy to do this now.
He kept his boxers on, and he didn’t want to take your panties off just yet. He leaned into your body, leaving wet, sloppy kisses on your collarbone. He was close enough to your heat to bait you to buck into his boxer clad cock, the bulge against your pussy feeling like a dream.
You tugged at his boxers, getting them halfway down before he took over, taking them off on his own. You looked at the sight before you–all mean nine inches that you took every other night still seeming to make you nervous. You were nervous for a completely different reason though this time. You and Michael usually fucked raw, simply because it seemed more intimate for the two of you, and there weren’t many risks or scares because you let Michael cum on your chest most of the time, and he especially loved watching it drip onto your body.
But taking all of him inside, felt more intertwined–like puzzle pieces.
He hooked a finger into the side of your panties, yanking them down gently, watching the slight string of wetness follow behind them. You weren’t ashamed of how much Michael made you leak, it was your way of showing him your submission. He grinned at the sight, tossing them on the floor with everything else.
“I want it to last a while… so put it inside now, not later.” You demanded, your voice still soft and submitting. You didn’t want to rush anything, and with Michael’s foreplay, you were bound to cum in under two minutes once he inserted his length inside of you.
“S’ whatever you want, beautiful. You needy, huh?” He mocked, kissing your neck some more. You arched your back off of the mattress slightly, and at this point he was done with his teasing. His girl needed him to please her, ‘not later–right now.’
He lined his cock up with your entrance, patting it against your clit just for the fun of it. He held his length, slowly watching as you took all of him with no hesitation. His bottom lip immediately made contact with his teeth, the feeling so good he almost bit skin off. He pushed all the way in, and fell on top of you. He grabbed at your hand, holding it against the sheets.
What felt like pure bliss, he gave you an unholy amount of strokes until he was reaching his end, and so were you.
“You’re…mmph–gonna make such a good…fuck–daddy, baby.” You moaned out, using your free hand to claw at his back, leaving red marks you know might be a tad bit sore to the touch tomorrow morning.
“Clearly I already am, mama. Y’ see how I’m–shit… fuckin’ you? Gonna give you a pretty baby, I promise.” He groaned between strokes, the sound of his hips slapping yours making your brain feel fuzzy.
Your stomach was starting to grow that familiar heat, and suddenly he picked up his pace. This was the moment that mattered–for the first time since your wedding day, Michael was releasing his seed inside of you–and it would really count this time.
A couple of strokes later, and you could feel him starting to spill out of your pussy from the white ring around his dick. He held your hand tighter, burying his head in the crook of your neck, letting out all kinds of whimpers and groans. You felt the liquid spray inside of your body, and it felt like it was sealing the deal.
You both attempted to try and recollect your breathing, but Michael thrusted a couple more times.
“Jus’ wanna make sure it takes, angel.”
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
It goes to show that the night you and Michael shared seven months ago, definitely got your point across. Here you were, in your white sundress and relatively large baby bump, putting together the Bambi themed nursery for your baby girl. Ever since you and Michael found out the gender of your newest creation, you took forever trying to decipher what a fit name for her would be. You ultimately decided on “Angelina”, which Michael said meant ‘little angel’, and that’s exactly what she would be. You kept the announcement between family, but of course as they always do–the tabloids got a hold of the news as well. Michael never cared about any of that, and was proud to tell the world that he was becoming a father, because in his eyes–this kind of thing was a blessing, not a burden or curse–not even to his career.
Her nursery was almost done being painted, and Michael insisted that the two of you tackle this project without any help, because it seemed more authentic that way. You were in charge of decorating–he was in charge of painting and building–and soon enough this baby was going to be sleeping in something straight out of a Disney movie.
Michael was such a big help with everything too, and you thought to yourself how there was no way he thought he was unfit to be a father–because in your eyes he always did everything the right way. He kept his rehearsals at a minimum, spent time doing whatever it was you needed, and even caving in to try whatever pregnancy cravings you had just so you wouldn’t feel alone.
He kissed your belly goodnight every single night along with you, and made sure to give you space when it was time to sleep, but also never hesitating to bring you in when you were feeling isolated. You were glad that you had a husband that would take care of you regardless of his fame, because that was always something you feared. But knowing now that carrying his child was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made, you were finally at peace.
TWO MONTHS LATER (total of nine months)
“Keep pushin’! You’re doin’ great, sweetie!” One of the nurses yelled out, boosting your confidence to get this baby up and out of you. In reality, you were struggling. The pain was nothing like you’ve felt before–a hundred times worse than period cramps, and more uncomfortable than getting a pap smear. Michael stood by your side, draped in blue hospital gear, with a scrub cap on top of his head for the extra precaution.
You were squeezing his hand hard, but the adrenaline made him feel nothing at all. He motivated you just as the nurse did, telling you how great of a job you were doing, and he left so many kisses on your forehead. As you closed your eyes to give your final pushes, you felt a breeze of relief. The crying started, and you watched as they gently pulled the tiny human from out of your body, and to your surprise—she had a head full of hair–just like Michael.
So that’s why your heartburn was so bad.
Michael cut the cord, and the nurses finished their job.
The nurse cleaned her off and sat her on your chest, and this left you and Michael crying so many tears you could fill up a neighborhood pool. The nurses congratulated you, and took their leave, so you and Michael could have your first moments with your newborn.
“She’s beautiful like her mama,” Michael starts, his voice muffled from the snot build up in his nose. He took the seat next to you, admiring his now two favorite girls. She was calm, and for a split second, she opened her eyes. They were doe-like, and honestly, very identical to Michael’s.
“She’s got eyes like you, Mikey. I knew she would, baby.” Michael looked at the baby sitting on your chest, then at you–the woman he loved with all his might, who just gave birth to his child. He got teary eyed at the reality–finally becoming a father, and not only that–a much better father than Joseph would’ve ever been. He knew that this was going to change his life forever, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He scrounged around in the go bag the two of you brought for when this moment was supposed to happen, and found the camera he used when he took pictures of you to put in his office. He called one of the nurses back in, and he had a moment to hold his new baby. He sat back in the chair next to you, and smiled for the camera. Angelina seemed to understand, despite being a no less than an hour old, because the smallest smirk painted across her tiny face. The flash of the camera went away, and the picture printed at the top.
There were the three of you, Michael in his black button up shirt and slacks, those same loafers and white socks he wore everywhere–and the small hairs creeping up on his upper lip, really making him look like a dad. There was you, hospital blanket pulled up to your chest, anticipating to breast feed Angelina later. Your hair was stuck to your face from all the sweat, but your face was always as beautiful as ever. And then there was baby Angelina, so poised and perfect already. She was fast asleep, dreaming about who knows what, but now you finally felt complete, and so did Michael. And most of all, both of your wedding rings beamed in the light.
Michael took the polaroid and let it finish processing. He leaned in to show you, and couldn’t believe the sight he was seeing.
he looked on a different level of fine during the making of Bad, there’s something so poetic about that transition period, you can FEEL his character and his confidence growing UGGGGGGHHHHHHH
don’t get me started on that outfit that red shirt makes me have palpitations
Early Jackson 5 fans had their own headcanons ❦⋆ .❦on magazines❦. ⋆❦
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Vintage Jackson 5 teen fan magazines, likely Tiger Beat, 16 Magazine, or a Jackson 5 Fan Club magazine. Year: c. 1971–1972
Vintage fan magazine spread inviting readers to imagine spending time with each Jackson 5 brother. These captions describe romantic or playful scenarios with Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon, reflecting the kind of celebrity fantasy and fan culture that was popular in the early 1970s.
Articles and captions placed readers in fictional romantic scenarios with Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, and Michael, showing that creating fantasy stories, “what if” scenarios, and celebrity crushes was already a normal part of fan culture decades before the internet.
Okay girl, I really need you to hear me out. Do you know that rumor that Michael jackson and tupac fought at one point??? GIRL I NEED THAT AS A FIC!!! I need jealous!michael x reader BADDD!!
⊹₊⟡⋆ michael defending you at the slightest sign of disrespect
you and michael had been together for a year now. it was a very lowkey relationship, completely tucked away from the public eye and the constant chatter of the tabloids, but you were happy. both of you. it was a quiet, solid kind of love that didn't need the world's approval.
but tonight, the two of you had decided to step out. it was a random industry party thrown by one of his longtime friends, the kind of exclusive, dimly lit club event where the room was packed tight with artists, producers, and executives.
you were standing together near the edge of the crowd when someone caught michael's eye from across the room. he turned back to you, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.
“you gonna be okay baby?” he asked, leaning down slightly so his soft voice could carry over the music.
“yes love, go ahead,” you said, smiling up at him.
he gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze before walking away to greet his friend. once he departed, you took a spot in the corner of the club, not too far from the bar. it was a good vantage point—safe from the crowded dance floor but close enough to keep an eye on things.
you were just watching and vibing with the music when a shadow fell over you. you looked up to see a very familiar face approaching.
tupac smiled, leaning one arm against the wall near you. “hey ma, how you doing?”
“i’m good, mr. shakur. how are you?” you said. you wanted to be polite, keeping your tone even and professional, but secretly you were hoping he’d just take the hint and go away.
“i’m great now that i’ve seen you,” he said, his voice smooth, completely confident.
you forced a tight smile, your eyes instantly scanning the crowded room to see where your man was. michael was still locked in conversation a few yards away, his back turned to you.
tupac noticed your wandering gaze. “looking for somebody?”
“just my boyfriend,” you responded directly, hoping the word boyfriend would act like a solid brick wall.
it didn't. tupac just let out a low laugh, his hands rubbing together as his eyes ran down your body, taking you in. “boyfriend? girl i could care less about that. come party with me and my crew tonight. i promise i’ll show you a good time.”
the sheer arrogance of it hit you instantly. he’d literally given you the ick so so badly, the uncomfortable warmth spreading in your chest making you want to roll your eyes and walk away.
“im good, thanks,” you said, your voice dropping all the previous politeness.
“come on now-“ tupac started, stepping just a fraction closer into your space.
“i think the lady said she was good pac.”
the interruption was sudden. michael had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, stepping right between you and tupac. his voice had dropped to a low, heavy tone you’d only ever heard a handful of times before—the exact tone he used when he was absolutely pissed.
tupac blinked, looking a little caught off guard before he squared his shoulders, a cocky smirk returning to his face. “with all due respect, michael. i wasn’t talking to you.”
“but you were talking to my girl,” michael said, his posture rigid, his chest heaving slightly under his jacket.
“your girl?” tupac asked, raising his eyebrows. from the slightly glassy look in his eyes and the way he slurred the words just a fraction, it was clear he was drunk out of his mind. he looked at you, then back at michael, letting out a mocking laugh. “oh so that’s why this bitch wasn’t checking for me. okay playa.”
the word left tupac's mouth and the entire atmosphere shifted. the air in the corner of the club turned completely freezing.
“don’t call her that,” michael warned, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.
“or what mike? you gonna hit me? i’m so scared,” tupac laughed, entirely amused, completely misjudging the situation.
sensing the immediate danger, you reached out, your fingers catching the fabric of michael's sleeve. “michael, don't, let's just go—”
you tried to stop him, but before you could even finish the sentence, michael moved.
it happened in a fraction of a second. michael’s right arm swung forward with a sudden, explosive speed no one in that corner expected. there was a sharp, sickening crack as his knuckles connected dead in tupac's jaw.
the force of the blow sent tupac stumbling backward into a nearby high-top table, sending a couple of glasses crashing to the floor. the sudden noise caused a few people nearby to snap their heads around, their eyes widening in pure shock.
tupac stayed down for a second, one hand flying up to cup his face, his cocky expression completely shattered into stunned disbelief. he blinked rapidly, shaking his head as a thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his lip.
michael didn’t step back. he stood right where he was, shielding you completely, his breathing heavy and his eyes completely dark with an intense, protective fury.
"i told you," michael said, his voice dangerously quiet, vibrating with an authority that left no room for argument. "don’t call her that."
tupac glared up from the floor, his hand still on his jaw. for a split second, it looked like he was going to scramble back up to his feet, but before he could make a move, two members of his crew rushed over from the bar, having seen the commotion. they quickly grabbed pac by his arms, holding him back.
"yo, pac, chill, chill! let's go, man, it ain't worth it," one of his friends muttered, looking at michael with a mixture of wariness and utter surprise. they knew better than to let a full-blown riot break out here.
tupac spat a bit of blood onto the floor, his eyes narrowing to slits as his friends began dragging him back toward the VIP exit. "you lucky, mike," pac muttered darkly, his voice muffled. "you real lucky."
the second they disappeared through the heavy doors, the heavy tension in michael’s shoulders seemed to snap. he let out a long, shaky breath, the terrifying anger in his expression melting away into pure anxiety as he spun around to face you.
“are you okay? did he hurt you? did he touch you?” he asked frantically, his hands coming up to gently cup your face. his palms were warm, his touch so incredibly soft and careful it was hard to believe he’d just thrown a punch a second ago.
“i’m fine, michael, i’m completely fine,” you said, your own hands coming up to grasp his wrists. your heart was hammering against your ribs. you looked down at his right hand, noticing his knuckles were already swelling and turning a dark shade of red. “your hand... oh my god, michael, you just punched him.”
michael looked down at his fist, then back up at your eyes. a faint, almost sheepish look crossed his face, but there wasn't a single shred of regret in his eyes. “he disrespected you. i don’t care who he is, no one talks to my lady like that”
looking at him standing there—completely untamed by his usual shy, gentle demeanor just to protect your honor—a sudden rush of warmth flooded your chest, completely washing away the bad vibe tupac had left behind.
“come on,” you whispered, pulling his arm gently toward the main exit. “let’s get out of here before the security gets involved. let’s go home.”
“yeah,” michael agreed, his fingers sliding down from your face to lock tightly with yours, pulling you close against his side as he led you out into the cool night air. “let’s go home, baby.”
probably gonna get slandered for this but whatever.
i’m gonna preface this with the fact that i am a proud black woman and i’m happy to be black.
i see a lot of anon asks and conversation under the michael tag on people getting pissed when y/n’s race is supposedly “not specified” and then you go down to read the fic and there’s very clear indications that she’s white. and yeah, that’s annoying as hell when you read it, and it’s normal to get pissed off when it isn’t said she’s white/not black.
however i have also seen a lot of other people getting angry when y/n is unspecified on a black author’s fic and then the writer goes on to describe things like braids and traits you’d find for a black woman. but when they get called out for it, it’s “letting their own side show in their fics” or the people calling them out are “racist”.
as i said, i’m black, but i just don’t think it’s fair at all that white/not-black authors get a lot of hate for doing the same thing but us black authors can get away with it. either ignore it for all fics or all authors change up. the second option is far less likely bc we authors write how we want.
my fics, i try to make them unspecified but sometimes i do mess up every now and then and i like when people respectfully dm me or send me an ask about it, and i do change it. but let’s not have some double standard for different authors, michael loved everyone.
another quick mention i’d like to make is there are so many vague posts attacking authors/fics you didn’t like - if you don’t like them, block and move on. if it’s really bad (as in the fic is ethically very bad), talk to the author? or make a direct post? there’s no use for vague posting about one specific person but not telling us who to block. multiple authors end up seeing a post and feeling it might be them.
and finally, i see loads of vague posts about how there’s a lot of smut - authors write for free. if you want angst, fluff, text smaus, au’s, but always complain that there is just smut - write them yourself. writers will write what they want to, you can request to us, you can ask us, it’s never a guaranteed yes. yes you can be frustrated but please be respectful!! a lot of the writers here are new and have come from the movie/discovered michael recently, and want to explore themes of smut too.
and stop being so rude to new fans, michael is probably the most famous artist of all time, you can’t gate keep him.
