the plump fat of your ass had lightly bumped up against the steering wheel of michael's baby blue rolls royce, the sound of the horn making you jump.
michael sat in the driver's seat, chair all pushed back and his pants hastily shrugged down to the middle of his thighs. you sat on top of his lap, like a princess. the bottom of your small dress was getting pushed upwards as he rested his hands on either side of your hips, lightly bouncing you up and down onto himself.
"want the whole damn block to hear?" you breathed out, brows furrowing.
he barely even heard what you were saying though. truthfully, his attention was fully focused on your breasts bouncing out of the silky, pale yellow blouse you had decided on wearing that day. he'd undone most of the buttons and he was trying to get you out of it completely.
you had the faintest tan lines poking through where your top had shifted from swimming at the pool the day prior. your tan lines had to be one of michael's weaknesses, no matter how much he tried to deny that to his brothers.
"c'mon darlin'," he said breathlessly, rolling your hips on his lap once more as he rested his head against the headrest, "i wasn't tryna do it on purpose, you know that."
your manicured nails toyed at the curls at the nape of his neck, your lips forming into a small pout, "you'll wake up my father."
you were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago, and technically you were!
the two of you just happened to get a little side tracked while you were stopped around the corner from your house.
michael reached his face up to attach his lips to your neck, thumbs rubbing on your waist.
"mm," he groaned against you lightly, "i'm not too worried about him."
michael's reputation made him impossible to dislike, but you had a reputation too. everybody in encino knew you, but they knew your father too.
which meant everybody knew his rules. the biggest one being that his daughter wasn’t dating anybody.
so despite being one of the most recognizable people in the world, michael somehow found himself sneaking around like every other lovestruck guy in the valley.

you scooted back down his thighs to free his dick from under you, your hand reaching to stroke it as michael sighed right into your collar bone. the heat from his mouth made you grind against his thigh, a small whimper leaving you as you clamped your lips together, so desperate to keep quiet.
the thing is, your father actually liked michael. he thought he was polite and well mannered. an all around good kid.
you thought the same too.
you loved the way he always thanked you after you make him cum.
໒꒱ and what if i say i wanna make this into a cutie little series..
a/n: i know that this didn’t happen in michael’s thriller era, but for my mental health and ovulation, it did.
the sun had set over disneyland, casting a warm glow over the magical kingdom as you and michael—now husband and wife—had made your way back to your luxurious hotel room. the day had been filled with laughter, cotton candy, and endless rides.
michael had kicked his shoes off by the door, letting out a contented sigh as he loosened his tie. the suite was breathtaking—floor-to-floor ceiling windows overlooking the sparking lights of the city, a king sized bed draped in silk sheets, and rose petals scattered across the marble bathroom floor. he turned to you with that boyish grin, his dark eyes sparking with mischief.
michael approached you slowly, his hands reaching out to gently frame your face as he leaned in for a soft kiss, his lips were warm and tender. pulling back slightly, he whispered against your lips, “mrs. jackson…”
you couldn’t help but smile at the way his voice wrapped around your new title. it was surreal to be married to michael jackson, but in moments like this, he was just your husband—your loving, playful husband. you playfully bit his bottom lip softly, “mr. jackson,” you teased back.
he chucked softly at that, the sound sending familiar shivers down your spine. “come here,” he murmured, guiding you backward toward the bed. his fingers deftly worked at the zip of your dress as he backed you up, until you both landed on the plush mattress.
you giggled breathlessly, “michael, you’re so impatient.”
“i’ve been patient all day!” he protested with a laugh, nuzzling into your neck. “we’ve been surrounded by kids and mickey mouse all day. i just want to be alone with my wife.” his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress higher.
you gasped as his fingers brushed against against the lace of your panties, your head falling back against the pillows. “well, you have me all to yourself now,” you breathed out, your fingers tangling in his curly hair. the room filled with the sound of your hushed whispers and gentle touches.
michael wasted no time in shedding his shirt, revealing his soft skin that you knew so well. he hovered over you, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts. the atmosphere shifted from playful to heavy with desire, the scent of roses and your mingled colognes filling the air.
you arched your back, pulling him closer to you. his breath was hot against your skin as he unclasped your bra, his lips immediately finding your nipple. you moaned softly, threading your fingers through his thick curls while he lavished attention on each breast, his tongue making lazy circles around your hardened peaks.
michael’s hands trailed down your sides, gripping your hips as he moved down your body, pulling your panties off with a swift tug. he spread your legs wide, settling his broad shoulders between them. his first languid lick had you gripping the sheets, your hips lifting off the bed.
“michael…” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as his tongue worked expertly between your thighs. he looked up at you through those dark lashes, a wicked glint in his eyes. “you taste so sweet, baby,” he murmured against your slick folds before diving back in, his tongue swirling around your clit. your breath hitched, your thighs trembling against his head.
unable to take the teasing any longer, you reached down and tugged at his waistband, freeing his length. he groaned appreciatively at your eager touch, stroking himself slowly as he watched you writhe beneath him. “i need you inside me, please,” you pleaded, your voice thick with desires michael smirked, positioning himself between your trembling thighs. “patience, mrs. jackson.”
he teased your entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing himself against you but not pushing in. he lovers how you squirmed and whimpered beneath him, your nails scratching his back. “say please again,” he whispered with a smirk, loving how desperate you sounded for him.
“please, baby,” you gasped out, your legs spreading wider to give him better access. “i need you so bad…please.” michael finally granted your wish, pushing into your tight heat with one slow, torturously delicious stroke. both of you cried out as you became one, the intimacy of the moment washing over you even more than the pleasure.
he began moving then, slow at first, deep thrusts made the bed springs squeak with each one. his forehead pressed against yours, eyes closed as he lost himself in the rhythm. “you feel so good,” he groaned against yours lips, his pace quickening as your walls clenched around him. “my wife…”
you clawed at his back, urging him on. michael obliged, his movements becoming more intense and passionate as he clung to you. the headboard of the bed began to hit the wall with a rhythmic thudding sound that matched their hurried breathing and muffled moans. he shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.
“right there, right fucking there,” you cried out, your voice getting louder with each thrust. michael covered your mouth with his to muffle the sounds, kissing you deeply as he drove into you harder, the bed breaking loudly beneath you both.
the sounds of your passionate lovemaking filled the room—skin slapping against skin, the wet sounds of his cock thrusting into your dripping pussy, the loud squeaks of the bed springs—michael reached down and grabbed your leg, throwing it over his shoulder to go even deeper.
you arched your back as he hit that spot inside you repeatedly, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. the bed was now shaking violently against the wall with each powerful thrust. michael’s breath came in ragged gasps against your neck as he whispered dirty words only you could hear.
“i’m close,” you whimpered, your walls clenching around him tightly. michael groaned deeply, his pace becoming erratic as he felt your orgasm approaching. “come for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “let me feel you.” his thrusts became harder, faster, completely losing control as the bed grained under your combined weight.
you shattered beneath him, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed through you. your scream was muffled by his shoulder as you clenched around him uncontrollably. the climax triggered something in michael—he buried himself deep, his thrusts becoming brutal.
a sound then echoed through the suite like a gunshot. both of you froze mid-thrust as the wooden bed frame splintered beneath you, the middle collapsing inward. you both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, michael landing on top of you with a startled yelp.
silence stretched between you for a heartbeat before michael burst into surprised laughter against your neck.
“i can’t believe—“ he laughed between gasps, still inside you despite now being on the floor. “did we just break the bed?” his eyes were bright with amusement, dimples appearing as he grinned down at you. you were too breathless to scold him, still trembling from your orgasm as he lazily thrust just once more.
you burst into laughter despite still being in complete shock from what just happened, your chest heaving with spent breaths “that’s because you lost control completely, michael!” you managed to say, running your fingers along his jaw. michael kissed you softly, not moving from where he was buried inside you. “worth it,” he murmured against your lips, flexing his hips slowly as sparks ignited between you again.
you both looked over at the broken bed frame and started giggling like teenagers. michael slowly pulled out of me, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. he lay on his back on the carpet, pulling you against his chest.
“you know,” he said thoughtfully, running his fingers through your hair as you curled up on his chest, “they say your honeymoon is supposed to be romantic and perfect. but i think i prefer our version—broken bed and great sex.”
you giggled against his skin, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “most couples just break a glass of something. we took out the whole damn bed frame.” michael chuckled, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “that’s because you’re fully mine now. i can be as wild as i want.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his arm tightening around you.
the laughter eventually died down, replaced by comfortable silence as you both lay tangled on the floor. michael traced lazy patterns on your hip, his breathing slowly returned to normal.
“so…” you murmured, looking up at him with a tired smile. “do you think we should call the front desk orrr?”
michael groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand. “we’re definitely getting charged for that,” he muttered, though he couldn’t keep the laugh out of his voice. “though i’m not complaining.” he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass. “worth every penny.”
you snorted, poking his ribs. “you’re the one with the money, mr. jackson.” you joked.
making thriller!michael feel soo good during sex that he sheds a few tears:
── .✦
your hips would be moving in a relentless rhythm as you rode him, your hands braced against his chest as you felt the rapid thumping of his heart under your palms.
michael's head would be rolled back against the headboard, his jaw clenched hard. his hands would lock onto your hips, knuckles turning white from how hard his fingers dug into your skin.
"can't...oh god," he'd whimper, his voice raspy. a high, desperate whine would slip from him every time you hit that perfect sweet spot. he'd be so overwhelmed by it, his head spinning from the feeling of your body.
when you'd look at him, his eyes would be squeezed shut, his long lashes damp and clumped together. tears would gather at the corners before a couple eventually slipped free, rolling down his flushed cheeks.
and if you asked him if he was crying, he'd immediately hide his face behind his hands. you'd reach up and gently pull them away.
his eyes would be all glassy and doe-eyed when he'd looked up at you. he'd glance away in embarrassment, only for his gaze to drift back to yours. he just couldn't look away from the sight of you.
he'd reach up, one trembling hand finding the back of your neck as he pulled you down into a messy kiss, whimpering and whining into your mouth as he held you close.
his whimpers would pitch higher as he came in hot spurts while clinging to you. the sound would break off into shaky gasps while his body trembled.
you'd slump forward over him afterward, both of you trying to catch your breath. his face would drop to the crook of your shoulder, hiding there as his breathing slowly steadied. you’d run your fingers through his curls, gently playing with them while he stayed tucked against you as another tear slipped free.
summary: you and michael get into a fight about you working with someone he no longer associates with, and he avoids you for six weeks... then his team has the audacity to ask you to be at an awards show you were already going to attend
themes: horrible communication, begging, intimate sex, slightly sub michael, teasing with fingering, masturbation
author's note: yes this is inspired by when michael ignored elvis jr for 6 weeks after she went on vacay with her ex hahahaha. reposted from my wattpad & ao3.
1995
new york
You were pissed.
Not the kind of anger that flickers and fades, not the kind that cools with time or distance. This sat heavy in your chest, constant, simmering, alive. It moved through your body like a current, sharp and electric, making it impossible to sit still on the private jet from Los Angeles to New York. Every shift in your seat, every restless adjustment of your hands in your lap, every tight inhale felt like it was barely containing it.
Your husband had been gone.
For six weeks, a little over a month, he was gone, and you had no idea where he was. That was the part that didn't settle, the part that never stopped feeling wrong, no matter how many days passed. It wasn't just that he needed space; it wasn't just that he left after the argument, it was that he disappeared in a way that shut you out completely. There was no location, no real explanation, nothing that grounded his absence in something you could understand.
And the worst part? He hadn't even spoken to you. Not once.
Every message, every update, every piece of information you'd gotten had come filtered through his team, passed along like you were just another person on a list of obligations instead of his wife. It made your jaw tighten just thinking about it, made your fingers curl slightly against the armrest as you stared out the window, the clouds stretching endlessly beneath you.
A little over a month ago, the two of you got into an argument, and when you got back to Neverland later that evening, Michael was gone. The memory of it lingered with a sharp clarity that hadn't dulled over the weeks, the way the house had felt too quiet when you stepped inside, the way something had immediately felt off before you even knew why. A note that barely gave any explanation at all sat in his place, small and insufficient for what it represented.
Needed space. Be back later.
Those words had stayed with you in a way you hadn't expected, not because of what they said, but because of everything they didn't. You had stood there longer than you meant to, staring at it, reading it again and again like it might change if you gave it enough time, like it might reveal something hidden underneath its simplicity.
And you had initially thought later would mean later that night, or even potentially the next day, because that has happened before. Because there had been moments where things got too heated, where he needed distance, where the best thing either of you could do was step away and come back when it wasn't so raw.
But no.
It's been six weeks, and you still haven't seen him or spoken to him.
Six weeks of waking up without him. Six weeks of going to sleep in a bed that felt too big, too empty in a way that made it impossible not to notice. Six weeks of conversations that never happened, of apologies that never came, of tension that never had the chance to be resolved because he never gave it the space to.
What started it all was Quincy Jones reaching out to you and asking for a favor.
Even thinking about that now felt complicated, tangled up in everything that followed, even though at the time it had felt so simple. He is the executive producer of the sitcom The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and he asked you if you wanted to guest-star on the show as yourself because they've had a lot of musical guest stars on the show. It had felt easy to say yes in your head, easy to imagine yourself stepping into something fun, something different, something that wasn't heavy or complicated.
Michael wasn't entirely happy or comfortable with Quincy asking you for a favor because of how things ended between them after the Bad album.
You had expected that. You had known that before the conversation even started, you could feel it the moment Quincy's name came up in the context of anything that involved you. Michael had wanted more creative control and felt like Quincy was stifling that, and you had seen what that frustration looked like up close, had heard it in his voice, had watched it build over time until it became something he couldn't ignore anymore.
Quincy felt like he was owed more because of how successful all three of Michael's albums that he helped produce, Off the Wall, Thriller, and Bad, were.
And that difference in perspective had never really resolved itself. It just... ended.
But to you, it wasn't even about Quincy.
You loved Fresh Prince, and guest-starring on it was something you didn't want to pass up at all. It was yours. That was the part that mattered. It wasn't tied to history, or ego, or unresolved tension. It was something you enjoyed, something you wanted, something that felt like it belonged to you and your own career.
But Michael couldn't see past it.
He couldn't separate Quincy from the opportunity, couldn't look at it without seeing everything that had happened between them layered over it. It felt disrespectful that Quincy would treat him the way that he did, but then have the nerve to ask you, his wife, for a favor, and you understood that.
You and Michael went back and forth about it for days.
It wasn't one conversation. It wasn't something quick and resolved. You argued for days about it. The same points, the same frustrations, the same inability to land anywhere that didn't leave one of you feeling unheard. Every time it came up, it carried more weight, more tension, more of that underlying frustration that neither of you knew how to soften without giving something up.
You understood where Michael was coming from, you really did.
That was the part that made it harder. Because you weren't dismissing him, weren't brushing off his feelings like they didn't matter. You supported Michael's decision to separate creatively from Quincy because you also felt that Quincy was stifling him creatively, and you had seen firsthand what that freedom had done for him. Dangerous and HIStory were proof of that. They were bold, different, entirely his in a way that felt undeniable.
And you didn't like some of the comments Quincy had made about Michael, especially when it came to his vitiligo.
That wasn't lost on you. None of it was.
But you tried to explain to Michael multiple times, it wasn't about Quincy; it was about guest-starring on your favorite show, getting your music out there in a new way. It was about doing something that made you excited, something that felt like growth in a way that was separate from him, even if your lives were so deeply intertwined.
You're a successful artist.
That mattered. Even if it looked different. Even if it didn't carry the same scale, the same level of attention, the same weight that his name did. No one is on Michael's level, and you honestly don't want the level of fame your husband has; you get enough elevated fame from being his wife, along with being a musician in your own right.
Your two hit singles I'm Your Baby Tonight and I Will Always Love You were still in heavy rotation on the radio stations.
You heard them everywhere. In passing. In cars. In rooms you walked into unexpectedly. Little reminders of something that had come from you, from your voice, from your experiences. Both of those songs you had written about Michael, and there was something that twisted slightly in your chest when you thought about that now, about how much of him existed in your work while he had removed himself from your life so completely.
And I Will Always Love You was the song Quincy wanted you to sing on the show. The same song that had spent 14 weeks as number 1 on the Billboard charts, the same song that was used for Whitney Houston's movie, The Bodyguard.
It meant something. It carried weight. It was yours.
After days of arguing about it, you told Michael that you were sorry that he didn't like Quincy asking you for a favor, but you weren't going to pass up the opportunity to guest star on your favorite sitcom because of Quincy Jones.
There had been a finality to that moment, something that settled into the space between you that neither of you moved to fix. You told Michael you were going to the set for a meeting with Quincy Jones and the other executive producer, Benny Medina.
When you got home after the meeting, Michael was gone.
The quiet had hit you first, the kind that didn't feel natural, didn't feel like a home that was lived in, even though everything was still there. Nothing had been disturbed. Nothing had been taken. It was just... him that was missing.
You haven't heard from him since.
He didn't come home, his side of the bed remained empty, and the bed itself remained cold. It wasn't just something you noticed once and adjusted to; it was something you felt every single night, the untouched sheets on his side holding their shape like time had stopped there, like he had simply stepped away and never returned. The cold wasn't just physical; it settled deeper than that, sinking into the routine you had built together, turning something that was once familiar into something that felt incomplete every time you lay down.
He didn't call; only his team did, their voices always careful, always measured, never carrying the weight that his voice would have, never sounding like someone who belonged to you. Every message passed through them felt wrong, like a conversation that should have been yours being filtered and controlled before it ever reached you, and eventually, you stopped answering, because if Michael wanted to tell you something, he needed to do it himself. You weren't going to accept distance disguised as communication, not from him.
But yesterday, something had told you to answer the phone when it rang.
Your hand had paused before picking it up, that split second filled with hesitation you hadn't felt in the beginning, because at first you had expected him, had hoped it would be him, but now you didn't expect anything at all. Still, you answered.
His representatives from Sony called and told you that Michael wanted you to be at the VMAs, to which you told them that if Michael himself had ever bothered to pick up the phone to call you, you would've told him that you had to be there anyway because you were presenting a few awards in different categories.
The words came out steady, but there was something sharp beneath them, something that didn't need to be raised in volume to be felt. It wasn't about the award show, not really; it was about the fact that even now, even after everything, he still wasn't the one reaching for you.
And then you hung up and called your manager, Amelia.
The second she answered, everything you had been holding in found its way out, not uncontrolled, but no longer contained either. She let you vent because she knew you were pissed at Michael's behavior to begin with, so for his team to call you and tell you that he wants you at an award show you were already going to be at, pissed you off even more, because it felt dismissive, like he hadn't even thought about the fact that you had your own career, your own obligations, your own presence in that space without him.
You were already going. You didn't need him to tell you.
And then you packed your stuff, each movement deliberate, controlled, like putting everything into place was the only thing you could manage when everything else felt so unresolved. Someone from your and Michael's security team brought you to the airport for you to board your private jet, and now you were in New York, the transition happening so quickly it almost felt disconnected from everything that led up to it.
You were taken to the hotel that Michael would be staying in, and you were brought up to his room so you could get ready, but he wasn't there, and you knew he wasn't going to be. The space felt temporary, impersonal, despite belonging to him, like it was just another place he had passed through without staying long enough to leave anything behind.
You knew you probably weren't going to see him until you got to the award show, so you might as well take your time.
You take a long bath, trying to scrub away some of the stress you're feeling, letting the heat wrap around you until your muscles finally begin to loosen, until the tightness in your chest eases just enough to breathe through. It doesn't erase anything, but it gives you a moment where the anger isn't sitting quite so close to the surface.
You had intentionally picked your dress before you and Amelia left Neverland.
You wanted—no, needed to make a statement, to let Michael know that what he did wasn't okay. Not something subtle that could be overlooked, not something that could be misread or ignored, but something undeniable, something he would see and feel without you having to say a single word.
You've been married for ten years, together for 13 years in total. That kind of time wasn't surface-level; it wasn't fragile; it was built on years of knowing each other in ways no one else did, years of arguments that had always ended with resolution, even if it took time to get there. You've argued before, but those moments had never turned into this, had never stretched into silence, into absence, into something that left you alone to sit with it for six weeks without a single attempt to fix it.
It wasn't okay, and he needed to know that.
Once you stepped out of the bath, you dried yourself off before putting on your robe, the soft fabric settling around you as you stepped back into a room that was already moving with quiet urgency. Your glam team was already waiting in your room, ready to do your makeup, their presence filling the space with purpose as you sat down in front of your makeup artist.
Amelia is keeping track of time, keeping everyone on track, her attention sharp, her voice steady as she moves through the room. Your styling team is steaming your dress so it's not wrinkled, the gold fabric hanging under the light, shimmering even before you've put it on, every detail catching softly as steam lifts around it. It already looks like a statement before it's even on you.
Your makeup artist, Lauren, is asking you what kind of look you want to go for, and you tell her you want a golden smoky eye since your dress is gold.
"You okay?" Amelia asks as she watches you.
She's been watching your body language, which is relaxed, thanks to your bath, but still very much controlled, like she knows what you're trying to conceal. There's a stillness to you that isn't natural, something held too tightly beneath the surface.
"I'm fine," you say, and Amelia doesn't press because she knows you're not going to say.
You're completely focused on making sure you're ready and on the carpet on time. You weren't walking the carpet with Michael; you already knew that, and that knowledge sits quietly in the back of your mind, something you don't allow yourself to dwell on. But you knew that you would be seated by him, and that's unavoidable, something waiting for you whether you're ready or not.
After your makeup is finished, your stylist helps you into your dress.
The fabric settles against your skin like it belongs there, the gold catching the light immediately, every movement sending a shimmer across the surface. The halter neckline draws the eye upward, clean and strong, while the deep cut adds just enough edge to make it impossible to ignore. The beading is intricate, precise, laid across the fabric in a way that makes the entire dress feel alive under the lights, hugging your body through your waist and hips before falling straight down in a sleek line that elongates you completely.
And then the black feather wrap.
It drapes over your arms, soft but dramatic, the contrast against the gold sharp enough to shift the entire look. It isn't just an accessory; it changes the energy of the dress entirely, adding something darker, something more controlled, something that feels less like softness and more like armor.
Your hair, long and flowing down your back, looks glossy under the lights, shining in a way that's hard to miss, and parted in the middle, the way you like it.
You looked hot, and you knew you looked hot, and you knew Michael would know it too.
Within the hour, you were pulling up to the red carpet, the city alive outside your window in a way that felt almost electric, flashes already visible in the distance before the car had even fully come to a stop. Amelia would be meeting you inside, but for now, it was just you, the quiet interior of the car, and the weight of everything waiting on the other side of that door. She looks at you as the car stops, her eyes scanning over you one last time, not for the dress or the makeup, but for you—for whatever you were holding beneath it all—and you take a slow, steady breath, letting it fill your chest before releasing it carefully.
"You ready?" she asks, and you nod.
There's no hesitation in the motion, even if there's something tighter sitting underneath it, something you don't let surface, something you keep tucked behind the composure you've been holding onto all day.
"I'll see you on the other side," you say as the door opens for you and your driver helps you out.
The second your heel hits the pavement, the world shifts.
Flashes explode around you instantly, rapid and blinding, cameras going off in waves as voices rise over each other, your name being called from every direction. The energy hits all at once, loud and overwhelming, but familiar, something your body knows how to step into without thinking, even when your mind is somewhere else entirely.
You don't rush. You never do. You move with intention, every step measured, your expression perfectly set as you turn just enough for the cameras, giving them angles, giving them exactly what they came for without giving anything else away.
A few questions from the press do catch your ear.
"Why didn't you walk the carpet with your husband, Michael?"
"Are you and Michael having issues?! You've both been spotted separately for weeks."
"Have you seen Michael yet? Seems like you both wanted to be the hottest in the room."
The words reach you, clear enough to register, sharp enough to land, but you don't react to them. You ignore them and smile as they take their pictures, the expression effortless, practiced, the same one you've worn a hundred times before. To them, to the cameras, to the press, nothing is different. Your smile is bright, your movements fluid, your presence commanding in a way that looks completely natural, completely untouched by anything happening beneath the surface.
They don't see the control it takes. They don't see the way you're holding everything in place.
After you walk the carpet and they get the pictures they need, you're escorted inside and to your seat, the noise of the outside world fading behind you as the atmosphere shifts into something more contained, more focused. The lights are lower, the energy still buzzing but quieter, concentrated.
Now you start to feel it: the nerves, because you know you'll be seated next to Michael.
The thought settles in your chest, heavy and unavoidable, but you don't let it show. Not in your face, not in your posture, not in the way you carry yourself as Amelia meets you in the aisle. You gently grab onto her arm as you two are led to the front row, your touch light but grounding, something to anchor yourself to as you walk forward.
Because when Michael is at award shows, he's always given a seat in the front row. There's no avoiding him tonight.
You thank the usher who brought you to your seat, your voice soft but polite, and you let out a quiet breath when you see that Michael isn't there yet. The space beside you sits empty, untouched, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something you don't quite let yourself name: relief, maybe, or just the absence of immediate tension.
You take a seat, smoothing your dress slightly as you settle, the gold fabric pooling perfectly around you, catching the light even in stillness. Amelia takes a seat in the row behind you, where her reserved seat is, close enough to feel like support, but far enough that you're still on your own in this.
The seats soon start to fill up, people moving around you, voices blending in low conversation, but Michael's remains empty. You hear others talking around you, their voices casual, unaware of how closely you're listening. They say that Michael is opening the show with his performance.
And soon it was starting.
Once all the seats were filled, the lights went down, the room dimming until the stage became the center of everything, and Michael came on stage.
And just like that, your breath catches.
You hated how even when you were angry, he managed to take your breath away, how it wasn't something you could control, something your body did before your mind could catch up and remind you why you were pissed in the first place.
He had cut his hair; it was short, his curls defined and framing his face, softer in a way that made him look almost unreal under the stage lights. He looked angelic, and it pissed you off even more, because it didn't match what he had done, didn't match the frustration you had been sitting with for six weeks.
The opening notes of Don't Stop Til You Get Enough start, and Michael is immediately in it, his energy snapping into place like it always does, effortless and consuming, and so is the crowd, the reaction instant, loud, completely drawn into him.
But his eyes find yours. Out of everything, out of everyone in the room, they land on you like it was inevitable. You don't give anything away. Not in your expression, not in the way you sit, not in the way you hold his gaze for just a second before letting it go.
And neither does he.
However, seeing that you did take his breath away a little, he almost stumbled over the lyrics. It's subtle, something most people wouldn't catch, something that blends into the performance so easily it could be dismissed, but you see it. You recognize it. Because you know him.
Seeing you in that dress, your hair glossy under the lights, you looked breathtaking in the most devastating way because he knew you were pissed.
Your face was controlled, composed in a way that gave nothing away to anyone else, but Michael knows you better than anyone, and he knows your body language. He knows the difference between calm and contained, knows the way your shoulders hold just a fraction tighter, the way your stillness isn't ease but restraint.
He knows you have every right to be pissed, but he also feels validated in his feelings. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, something unspoken passes between you, something that doesn't resolve anything, doesn't soften anything, just exists.
But he knew he shouldn't have ignored you for six weeks; that was too far.
Michael performs Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough, The Way You Make Me Feel, Scream, Beat It, Black or White, Billie Jean, and Dangerous, moving through each song like he always does, completely immersed, completely lost in it, like nothing else exists once the music starts.
And you sit there and watch him the entire time. You hate how it affects you. You hate how flustered it's making you feel, because you're pissed and you want to stay pissed, you want to hold onto that anger, that clarity, that sense of control you've had all day.
But you can never control how your body reacts whenever Michael performs.
The way he loses himself in the music, giving himself over to it completely, it's always been one of your weak points, something that has never changed, no matter how much time passes, no matter what's happening between you. There's something about the way he moves, the way he exists in that space, that pulls at something deeper than logic, deeper than anger.
It's always turned you on. It's always made you want him badly. And you didn't want to feel any of those things right now, not when you were still carrying everything he had done, not when you hadn't even spoken to him yet.
But your body was reacting to what was familiar without your permission, responding to him in a way that had been built over years, something instinctive, something ingrained.
And you couldn't do anything to stop it.
The opening notes of You Are Not Alone start, and your breath hitches, the reaction immediate and completely out of your control as the sound settles into the room. It's familiar in a way that feels too close, too personal, because this isn't just another song to you. It never has been. Michael had always told you, since he started recording this song, that it was for you, and that truth sits heavy beneath every note, threading itself through your chest in a way that makes it harder to separate the performance from what it actually means.
He had asked you to be in the music video with him, and the memory comes back without effort, warm and vivid, the kind that still feels real when you think about it: the laughter between takes, the way he stayed close to you even when the cameras weren't rolling, the ease of it, the way nothing felt complicated back then. And you know he's performing it because it's a big hit right now, you can't turn on any R&B station without hearing it every hour, the song everywhere, constant, unavoidable in the same way he is.
Towards the end of it, a choir comes out to sing the chorus while Michael sings over them, their voices rising together and filling the space in a way that almost feels overwhelming, layered and powerful, pressing into you from all sides. He walks to the edge of the stage as the choir is singing, "I am here with you," they sing, and Michael sings the line as well, his voice slipping through theirs, distinct enough that you feel it more than hear it, like it's meant to land somewhere specific.
"I'm here with you," Michael sings, and then he does it; he points directly at you, and then he winks... well, attempts to wink. Michael has never been able to wink, and the second it happens, something in you shuts down just as quickly as it had opened. The softness that had been building, quiet and dangerous in the way it threatened to undo everything you've been holding onto, disappears completely, like it was never there at all, leaving nothing behind but the sharp, familiar edge of your anger snapping back into place.
How dare he?
The thought hits hard enough to settle into your body, because it isn't just the gesture, it's everything behind it that makes it feel wrong. He disappears and ignores you for six weeks and then shows up to this award show, has his team tell you that he wants you to be there, and something about him pointing to you during this performance made you even more mad, because it isn't private, it isn't real in the way it should be. It's something he's doing in front of everyone, something that looks like closeness without actually being it, and that contrast sits wrong in a way you can't ignore.
When Michael finished his performance, you stood up with everyone else and clapped, your hands moving in rhythm with the rest of the room while your expression stayed exactly where you wanted it: neutral, composed, completely unreadable. You don't give anything away, even though you knew the camera would be on you since you are his wife and he had just done a 15-minute opener, and you can feel that awareness sitting just beneath your skin, keeping everything in place.
When Michael comes back to his seat, right next to you, he's in all black, sunglasses on, in place, and he sits down in his seat. The space beside you shifts the second he's there, his presence immediate, impossible to ignore even without looking at him. You don't turn to him, you keep your focus forward, but you can feel his eyes on you, steady and waiting, like he's trying to catch something you're refusing to give.
The camera pans past you guys, and when it gets to him, he points and smiles, slipping back into that ease effortlessly, giving them exactly what they expect from him, and as soon as it passes, as soon as the attention moves on, he turns back to you.
Just as he opens his mouth to say something, one of the stagehands comes to your seat and tells you that it's time for you to go backstage to get ready to present the award for Best Dance Video. The interruption cuts through the moment cleanly, stopping whatever he was about to say before it can reach you. You nod and rise from your seat without turning to Michael, your movements smooth, controlled, like none of it affected you at all, and follow the stagehand backstage to wait for your cue.
The distance between you resets the second you step away, but the tension doesn't leave with it.
You were presenting the award with Notorious B.I.G., and you were a fan of his. When the two of you were announced, he offered you his arm, and you smiled, taking it and letting him lead you out to the podium. The contact is brief, simple, but grounding in a way that steadies your step as you walk back into the lights, the room opening up in front of you again.
The first thing you did was look at Michael, and you see how his jaw clenches when he sees you with your arm looped through Biggie's, the reaction quick but unmistakable, tension flashing across his face before it settles again. It's subtle, easy to miss if you didn't know him as well as you do, but you catch it instantly.
You let go of his arm when you two reach the podium, the movement easy, deliberate, and he goes to the microphone first.
"Yeah, uh, we up here to present the award for the Best Dance Video," he says, and you smile.
"And those of you at home are probably wondering, how do you find the best dance video? Personally, I think it should just be whichever one I like the most... but then again, given who the nominees are, you all might call me biased," you say, and that sends a laugh throughout the room because everyone knows that Scream is nominated.
"I mean, I'd say the same thing. I should give it to whoever I want to give it to, and I think we might want to give it to the same video," he says, and you turn to him with a smirk.
"This is how we do it?" you tease, and the crowd laughs again, and so does Biggie.
"Damn, you're cold, Ma," Biggie teases you, and you laugh while shaking your head, the sound coming easier than you expect, light and effortless in a way that contrasts sharply with everything sitting underneath your skin. You glance at Michael again, instinctively, and the reaction is immediate, the second your eyes land on him.
His hand is tight around the arm of his seat, knuckles tense, the grip controlled but unmistakable. He doesn't like this. It's written all over him in the way his posture stiffens, in the way his jaw sets just slightly, in the way his attention doesn't leave you for even a second.
He doesn't like how close Biggie is to you, doesn't like the ease of it, the casual way you fit into that space beside someone else. He doesn't like how Biggie is making you laugh, how that sound comes from you without hesitation. And he definitely doesn't like how you're playing into it, how you're letting it happen without pulling back, without softening it for him.
"Here are the nominees for Best Dance Video," you say with a smile as the video montage plays of all the music videos that are nominated for the category, your voice steady, smooth, slipping back into that practiced rhythm as the screen lights up behind you.
The room shifts its attention forward, but you can still feel it, that awareness of him sitting out there, watching, taking everything in, whether he wants to or not. When the montage ends, you turn to Biggie. "Do you want to read the results?" you ask as you hold out the envelope to him.
"By all means, it's all you, Mrs. Jackson," he says, and you give him a look while everyone laughs, the title landing with a weight that feels deliberate tonight, something that sits differently now than it usually does. You turn to the crowd and smile, letting the moment pass without lingering on it.
"And the winner is..." You trail off as you open the envelope, the paper sliding smoothly beneath your fingers, and when you read the name, something soft flickers across your face before you can stop it. "Michael and Janet Jackson, Scream," you announce. Everyone stands to applaud, the room rising in a wave of sound and movement while Michael and Janet get up from their seats. You were actually surprised Janet was seated on the opposite side of the room from you and Michael, the distance between all of you something you hadn't noticed until now, something that feels oddly intentional in hindsight.
Michael comes to the stage first, accepting the award from Biggie, shaking his hand with that same composed ease he carries everywhere, and when he steps toward you, you let him hug you. It's automatic, expected, and necessary. You know the press is going to talk about it if you don't, know that every movement is being watched, interpreted, dissected, and you're not giving them anything they can twist into something bigger than it needs to be. The contact is brief, controlled, nothing like what it used to be, but it's enough to satisfy what's expected.
Then Janet joins you all on stage shortly after, her presence warmer, more familiar in a way that feels grounding. She and Michael hug, and then she hugs you tightly, her arms wrapping around you in a way that feels genuine, not performative, like she's holding onto you for just a second longer than necessary. It settles something in you, just slightly.
You take a step back to allow Janet and Michael to take the podium, shifting your weight subtly, giving them the space that belongs to them in this moment, and once they are done giving their speeches, all of you are escorted backstage, the noise of the crowd fading behind you as the energy changes again. You loop your arm through Janet's, the movement easy, familiar, and the two of you fall into step together, smiling and giggling as you make your way backstage, the lightness between you real in a way that feels almost like relief after everything sitting heavy in your chest.
"I knew you guys were going to win," you say to her, and Janet smiles at you, her expression soft, knowing, before she silently gestures to Michael. It's subtle, just a small movement of her eyes, but you know exactly what she's asking without her needing to say it out loud. Have you talked?
You shake your head and roll your eyes, the motion small but telling, and she laughs, a quiet, understanding sound that carries just enough sympathy without pushing you to say more than you want to. Biggie congratulates them both again before he leaves the three of you alone, his presence fading out of the space as the moment shifts again.
Michael turns to look at you, taking his glasses off, the movement slower than usual, like he's giving himself a second before fully stepping into whatever this is about to be. Janet clears her throat, the sound light but purposeful, and excuses herself, leaving just the two of you standing there.
Now you and Michael are alone.
The space changes immediately, the air between you heavier, quieter, everything that had been held back now sitting right there, waiting. You don't speak. You've already endured six weeks of silence; what's a few more minutes? The quiet doesn't feel unfamiliar to you anymore, but it doesn't feel comfortable either. It just exists, stretching between you.
Michael isn't really sure what to say, and it shows in the way he hesitates, in the way his eyes move over you instead, taking you in like he's trying to understand something without words. Your dress catches his attention again, the gold shimmering under the backstage lights, reflecting softly against your skin, and he can't look away from it.
He knows every single curve of your body, every line, every detail, and he notices immediately how the dress accentuates all of it, how it sharpens everything, how it makes you look just out of reach even when you're standing right in front of him.
"Hi," Michael says, and you scoff, the sound sharp, immediate, your anger rising so quickly it almost feels like it's been waiting for that exact word.
"That's all you have to say to me?" You ask, and Michael shakes his head, the movement small but certain.
"No... but I can tell you're not in the mood to listen," he says, and you nod as you laugh a little, the sound lacking any real amusement.
"I was ready to listen six weeks ago, Michael... but you never came back home," You slightly snap, the words slipping out with more edge than you try to control, because they've been sitting there for too long. Michael sighs as he rubs behind his neck, the gesture familiar, almost automatic, and takes a deep breath like he's trying to steady himself before speaking.
"I know... I'm sorry, I just—" you cut him off.
"I'm not in the mood for your excuses. If you had something to say, you should've picked up the phone and called, not had your team call our home... or better yet, you should've just come home," you snap while rolling your eyes, the frustration breaking through more clearly now as you move to walk past him.
Michael catches your arm and turns you around, the contact quick, instinctive, but you react just as fast, pulling back from him like the touch itself is something you don't want.
"You don't get to touch me," You say.
"Baby, please," he says, the word slipping out rougher than he intends, his voice dropping as he stops himself from reaching for you again, his hand falling back at his side as he takes a breath that doesn't quite steady him.
"No," You respond, the word firm, leaving no space for negotiation, and Michael takes another breath, deeper this time, slower, like he's trying to keep himself grounded.
He knew this wasn't going to be easy. He knew you were going to be pissed, and he was going to have to work extra hard and give more than verbal apologies to get your forgiveness.
"Just tell me what I need to do, I'll do anything," Michael says, and you nearly roll your eyes, the reaction instinctive, but you stop yourself before it fully shows, holding onto that control even now.
"You should've come home... weeks ago," you say before walking off, your voice quieter this time but heavier, the weight of it landing differently than the anger did.
And this time, Michael doesn't try to stop you, because he can hear it, the other part that's lying underneath the anger, the part that doesn't need to be said out loud for him to understand. He hurt you.
And he knows he hurt you deeply, and there's not going to be an easy fix to it.
♡
After the award show is over, you don't feel like going to the after party, the thought of more cameras, more people, more pretending sitting wrong in your chest in a way you don't have the energy to push through. You want to go back to the hotel, somewhere quieter, somewhere you don't have to perform.
You're sitting in the car, Bill in the front, as you're both waiting for Michael, the interior dim, insulated from the noise outside. You're looking out of the tinted window at the night sky, the city lights blurring past in reflection, when you hear the door open, and you feel Michael's presence in the backseat before you even register the shift in weight beside you. Bill pulls off a few moments later, smooth and practiced, and you don't turn to him.
During the rest of the show, you and Michael sat next to each other, but didn't speak. The silence hadn't been accidental; it had been held, deliberate on both sides, stretched thin between you with everything that hadn't been said. You didn't even smile for the camera, not once, even when you could feel it lingering on you, waiting for something to soften. You knew the press was going to run stories tomorrow, speculating about what was going on between you and Michael, but you didn't care. Let them. None of it came close to what it actually felt like to sit next to him after six weeks of nothing.
You were angry, and your anger was giving way to the hurt you felt underneath it, something heavier, something that didn't flare as sharply but lingered longer.
You were hurt for every night that you cried yourself to sleep because Michael wouldn't call or come home. The memory sits too close, too easy to reach, your chest tightening slightly at the thought before you push it back.
Every time you tried to call him, a member of his team made up an excuse as to why he couldn't come to the phone; their voices polite, rehearsed, always just enough to end the conversation without giving you anything real, until eventually you stopped calling, because there were only so many times you could hear the same distance repeated back to you before it stopped being worth it.
You think about how you spent a short period of time feeling guilty for going on Fresh Prince, even though you knew you didn't do anything wrong, the doubt settling in quietly before you forced yourself out of it, because you refused to let his silence rewrite something you had every right to do.
Because you hated how Michael was using his silence to punish you.
And now Michael wanted to make it up to you, but you wanted to punish him. The thought doesn't come with hesitation; it settles in cleanly, sharp, and certain in a way that feels almost grounding after weeks of feeling like everything has been out of your control.
And you had an idea of how you were going to do it.
The car ride was silent; you didn't speak to Michael, and he didn't try to push you into conversation either. The quiet between you feels different now, heavier, aware, like both of you are sitting in it on purpose. He knew how badly he had messed up. It shows in the way he stays still, in the way he doesn't interrupt, doesn't push, doesn't try to force anything out of you before you're ready. He just wanted the chance to explain and apologize to you, because he knows he shouldn't have stayed away as long as he did.
Bill parks in the back and leads you and Michael through the hotel's private back entrance, the transition from the car to the quiet interior quick and controlled, away from the crowd, away from the noise. He takes you both straight to the elevator and presses the button for the penthouse floor. The elevator ride also passes in silence, the soft hum of movement the only thing filling the space as the numbers climb, the reflection of the three of you faintly visible in the mirrored walls.
When you finally make it to the top and the doors open, the men let you step out first, then Michael, and then Bill. The hallway is quiet and empty, like the rest of the world has been shut out completely.
You turn to Bill with a smile. "Goodnight, Bill," you say, and he smiles back at you, giving you a nod.
You use the keycard you were given upon arrival to unlock the door, the soft click sounding louder than it should in the quiet, and you and Michael walk inside. The room is dimly lit, still, untouched, and you move through it without hesitation, going straight to the bed and sitting down, the edge dipping slightly beneath your weight as you start to take off your heels.
Michael walks over before kneeling in front of you, the movement immediate, instinctive, like he doesn't want the distance between you to stretch any further now that you're finally alone.
"Baby... please, let's talk about this," Michael says, and you scoff, the sound sharp, cutting through whatever softness he's trying to bring into the moment.
"Oh, now you're ready to talk? Are you sure you don't need to get your representatives in here to do the talking for you?" You ask as you toss one of your heels to the side before unfastening the other, the small action giving your hands something to do, something to focus on that isn't him.
"I know I should have called you myself... I'm so sorry that I didn't," he says, and you nod, not because you accept it, but because you already knew that.
You toss your other heel to where the first one was, the soft thud barely registering, and only then do you look down at Michael, kneeling in front of you. The pleading was behind his eyes, clear in a way he isn't trying to hide, something open and vulnerable that you haven't seen from him in weeks. He wanted to do whatever he could to fix this, and you could tell.
"Okay," you say, the word coming out easier than it should, because you don't want to talk about this, not right now. Not when your head is still filled with everything from tonight, everything he stirred up without even trying.
Right now, you couldn't get how crazy he was driving you all night out of your head.
From his shorter curls to his performance, the way the stage lights caught every movement, the suit, his outfit change, the way he looked in his glasses, the way he carried himself with that quiet, effortless confidence, it lingers in your mind in pieces, replaying whether you want it to or not. It pulls at something familiar, something instinctive, something that doesn't care that you're still pissed at him.
You were losing yourself in your desire for him, despite being pissed at him.
Michael wraps his arms around your legs, the movement sudden but not forceful, grounding himself there like it's the only place he knows to go. He lowers himself, resting his head against your lap, the weight of him settling in a way that feels familiar, too familiar for how much distance has been between you.
"Please, mama... just tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I'll do whatever you want," he whispers as he presses kisses against you over the fabric of your dress.
The nickname hits first.
It lands deeper than anything else he's said tonight, slipping past your defenses in a way you weren't prepared for, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep your reaction contained. His lips follow, soft and insistent even through the fabric, and it takes more effort than you want to admit not to respond, not to let your body lean into something it recognizes so easily.
"I can't stand you ignoring me, especially when you look this good," he whispers.
There's something raw in the way he says it, something honest and stripped down that doesn't feel practiced, doesn't feel controlled, and it makes it harder to hold your ground, harder to stay exactly where you've decided to be.
"So now you know how it feels to be ignored... try again in 5 more weeks," you say, your voice unsteady despite the words themselves being sharp.
Michael's hand moves along your leg, slow, absent-minded at first, like he's not even thinking about it, just following instinct, and the sensation pulls at you immediately, familiar and dangerous all at once.
"Stop," you say. His hand stills the second the word leaves your mouth, no hesitation or pushback. He lifts his head from your lap, the shift immediate, his attention snapping fully to you as he searches your face. "You think you can ignore me for six weeks and get to touch me?" You ask.
The question lands heavier than your tone, and you see it register in him instantly, his eyes widening slightly as the reality of it settles in. His arms loosen around your legs, and he lets go, pulling back without being told again.
"Baby..." he says, quieter this time. You don't let him finish. You point to the cushioned chair across from the bed.
"Go sit over there," you say.
Michael's eyes are still wide, and when he stands up, you can see the bulge pressing against his pants. Sitting in front of your lap, touching you, and kissing you has already made him hard. When he gets to the chair, your voice calls out again before he sits down. "Take off your pants and boxers," you say.
Michael's hands are already on his belt, unbuckling it, and he tosses it to the side before pulling his pants and then his boxers down. He had already taken his shoes off as soon as you two walked into the room. You resist the urge to bite your lip when you see Michael's length lightly slap against his stomach when he frees it. "Now sit down," you say.
Michael does what you say, sitting down in the chair, and you stand up from the bed. "Touch yourself," you say, and he sputters over his words as he speaks.
"W-What?" he asks, and you tilt your head to the side.
"You heard me... You don't get to touch me yet... so touch yourself," you say. Michael swallows, as he feels himself get harder, his dick pulsing almost uncomfortably at your commands. He grabs himself, slightly hissing under his breath as he does, at how sensitive he is to the touch. "Start slow," you say.
Michael nods as his hand slowly starts to move along his length. You watch his hand, slowly sliding the straps of your dress off your shoulders before reaching behind your back and unzipping your dress. You let it pool at your feet and step out of it. Michael, watching you the whole time, stills his hand, and you turn to him.
"Did I tell you to stop?" You ask. Michael swallows again and resumes his movements, his hand slowly stroking himself as his eyes are glued to you. You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, letting your breasts spill out, and your bra falls to the floor. Michael bites his lip as his grip on himself tightens, and his entire body is pulsing.
You reach for the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs before you step out of them. Your movements are slow and deliberate, drawing it out because you know Michael is watching. "A little faster now," you say. Michael nods, increasing the speed of his hand down against himself, and you hear him whimper.
You stand fully bare in front of him, and then you move to the bed. You adjust the pillows before propping yourself up on them. Michael swallows as your legs slowly spread, your glistening folds exposed to him, and you won't permit him to come to you. You place two of your fingers in your mouth, coating them before reaching down and rubbing your clit, keeping your pace the same as Michael's.
His breath hitches when he sees you touch yourself, his hand almost stilling, but he doesn't. Instead, he whimpers again, desperate to join you on the bed, desperate to touch you. You shiver at the sensitivity of your clit, but you keep rubbing, running your fingers along your folds to slick them in your wetness, a soft moan slipping out of you.
"Faster, Michael," you say as you look at his hand again, moving against his length. Michael swallows, speeding up his hand, and you match his pace, speeding up the pace of your fingers against your clit. You close your eyes and moan louder this time, and Michael feels himself twitching. He's aching to touch you. He keeps stroking himself, his movements getting faster as he watches you pleasure yourself.
"Mama, please," Michael whimpers, and you look at him, your fingers speeding up against your clit when you see his hand moving faster. You're both watching each other, feeding off of each other. When your movements against your clit slow down, Michael's movements speed up. Every time you moan, he squeezes his dick, trying to keep himself under control, and every time he whimpers, you move your fingers faster, letting the sounds of him bring you closer to the edge.
Your hips buck as your back arches, and you move your fingers faster. Michael whimpers as he watches you, moaning and writhing on the bed, knowing that it should be him making you fall apart like that, but he doesn't get that he is making you fall apart like that. Watching him jerk himself off was wildly turning you on.
"A little more, Michael," you say, and Michael goes faster; he feels his release coming, and he wishes that he were spilling himself inside of you, and you also feel your orgasm building. "I'm so close," you moan out, and Michael is aching to have his mouth on you to help you finish. "Faster," you moan, and Michael obeys, stroking himself faster, his whimpers and moans coming quickly.
The orgasm hits you fast, your body convulsing against the bed as a moan pours out of you. Michael can't stand it, seeing an orgasm hit, and he's not connected to you to feel it. He loves the way you feel when you fall apart as your orgasm hits. He loves to feel your legs shaking around him, how tightly you grip him, how his name falls from your lips in a sob because of the pleasure.
You sink back against the pillows, your breath still quick and shallow as you try to regain it. You look at Michael, he's still stroking himself, his whimpering filling the room, and you can feel his desperation. "Come here," you say. Michael is up immediately. He walks over to the bed and stands over you at the side, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.
You slowly sit up, turning over until you're on your hands and knees. "Sit down... watch," you say. You don't have to turn around; you feel the weight of the bed dip as Michael sits down behind you. He swallows as he licks over his lips, seeing your glistening pussy in his face, still dripping with your release.
You reach behind yourself, pressing your fingers into your release and spreading it around your folds. Michael bites his lip as he watches. He whimpers again, trying desperately to control the urge he has to grab your hips and fuck you senseless until you speak to him again. You sink deeper onto your knees, spreading yourself more, and Michael whimpers again as more of you is exposed.
You rub your clit again, rolling your hips in the air. You can almost feel Michael inside of you, and you want him badly... but you also need him to feel the way you've felt for weeks. Your fingers rub your clit faster, and Michael bites down on his lip. Watching you play with yourself is making his dick twitch. He's so hard it's almost uncomfortable.
More of your cum from your first orgasm slips out of your hole, and Michael desperately wants to lap it up. "Mama..." he whimpers.
"Be quiet, Michael," you respond as you rub yourself harder, a louder moan coming from you as your legs shake. Michael watches intently, wanting nothing more than to press his face against you and fuck you with his tongue until you're shaking against him.
You slip one of your fingers inside of yourself, and Michael groans. You slip it back out, feeling it coated in your own cum, and you rub alongside your folds, purposely parting them, and you hear Michael swallow. He grabs his length again. He needs to feel the relief, the release of everything that's pent up inside of him. When you moan again, he squeezes himself, hissing under his breath.
You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes are locked on you. He's waiting for your permission to move. "Get behind me," you say. Michael gets on his knees behind you immediately. "You can touch me to line me up, and then you do nothing," you say. Michael swallows again as he nods, gently grabbing your hips to line your entrance up with him, and when you feel him let you go, you press back, feeling yourself sink against him as he fills you.
You moan on contact, and Michael stiffens as you continue to press back until he's filled you. You start to move, rocking yourself back and forth, feeling Michael moving in and out of you. You feel Michael's hand go to your hip, and you slap it away, shaking your head as you continue to move against him. Michael throws his head back. He hates that you won't let him touch you, but he will let you use him to take your pleasure.
You spread more, pressing your upper body more into the bed as you continue to move against him. Your ass slapping against Michael every time you move back, and he whimpers. Feeling your heat wrapped around him, sliding in and out, he's fighting the urge to hold you down and thrust into you until you can't remember why you're mad in the first place.
Your movements suddenly stop, but you keep Michael inside of you. Without turning to look at him, you speak. "Fuck me," you say.
Michael doesn't hesitate.
He grabs your hips and pushes you more into the bed. He pulls fully out of you before slamming back into you with one powerful stroke, making you cry out, and he groans. He keeps both hands on your hips as he fucks you, fast and relentless. Both of you are taking out your pent-up anger on each other. You reach down and rub your clit as Michael's movements get faster. Tears prick your eyes as you feel him deep inside of you, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
Wet sounds of skin slapping together, squelching sounds of Michael's thrusts inside of your slickness fill the room. "Just like that, mama... You take it so good," Michael says as he squeezes your hips, fucking you harder. You cry out, gripping the pillows tightly as your legs start to shake.
Michael lifts one of your legs, holding it so he can fuck you deeper, his body trembling against yours as he moves. "Come on.... come on," he practically growls as he fully pulls out and slams back into you again, rocking you forward.
His name spills from your lips in a choked sob as your orgasm hits you hard. Your body is shaking hard against his, and Michael doesn't slow down his thrusts to bring you through it. He keeps going at a relentless pace. His balls slapping against your swollen clit when he buries himself fully inside of you. Your vision blurs from the tears of pleasure as a second orgasm rips through you, your body still sensitive from the first one.
Michael's name spills from your lips as a scream. Michael leans down, pressing kisses against your back as he keeps fucking you. He doesn't want to stop; he can't stop. His arms wrap fully around you as he continues to move inside of you.
"M–Michael... I can't take another one... I–I can't," you whimper as he pulls you upright, your back against his chest as he keeps thrusting into you.
"You can take it, mama... keep going," Michael growls into your ear, his thrusts getting more erratic as he gets closer to his release. You're shaking, your full body is shaking against him, as a third orgasm hits you hard. The sheets beneath you are soaked as Michael's thrusts push through your juices, making them spill all over. "Look at the mess you're making," Michael says as he reaches in front of you to rub your swollen clit.
You twitch against him, your eyes falling closed as your head falls against his shoulder, the pleasure and ecstasy feeling like too much, and you genuinely think you're going to pass out. Your body twitches again as Michael keeps fucking you, every thrust pushing deeper, every stroke drawn out so you can feel it. Michael whimpers in your ear as his dick twitches inside of you.
You feel the warmth as it hits you, and your body twitches again, Michael still rubbing your clit as he fucks you through his orgasm. His cum mixes with yours, squelching out of you and dripping more onto the sheets. You cry out as a fourth orgasm hits, your body completely spent as you shake against Michael.
He slows his thrusts and slows his fingers against your clit, bringing you through the orgasm. He pulls out, pressing you back down into the bed, keeping you on your knees. He spreads your folds apart, watching as your combined orgasms spill from your spent hole.
Michael attaches his lips there, licking and sucking the release, and you start shaking again. You know you can't take another orgasm, and you feel on the verge of passing out from the overwhelming pleasure. Michael lightly slaps your pussy, making you shake again, before he attaches his lips back to your folds, licking up your full release before he pulls back. He turns you around and lays you back on the bed, his breathing heavy and erratic as he looks at you.
"Don't you ever do that to me again, Michael," You say as you look at him, and he knows what you mean, not just from the words but from the way you're holding his gaze, from everything still sitting underneath them. Don't ever leave you like that for that long ever again. He nods, the movement immediate, serious, before he leans down and kisses you, slower this time, like he's making sure you feel it. You taste yourself on his lips as you kiss him back, and it pulls something deeper out of you, something softer than the anger you were holding onto before. You missed him, you ached for him, you needed him, and now that he's here, that absence feels almost unbearable in hindsight.
You're the first to pull back, needing the space for just a second, and Michael leans his forehead against yours, keeping close anyway, like he's not ready to let any distance settle back in. "I promise I won't. I'm so sorry... I love you so much," he says, and there's nothing guarded in it, nothing held back, and you nod, taking it in even if you're not fully ready to let it settle.
"You have six weeks' worth of making it up to me to prove it," you say, and Michael laughs, the sound softer than usual, like the tension is finally easing out of him.
"Mama, I just made you cum four times," he says, and you shrug, your expression shifting just enough to let him know you're not letting him off that easy.
"That only covers one day. You still have 41 more to make up for," you say. Michael laughs again, more relaxed this time, and he leans in to kiss you again, the contact lighter, easier, like something has shifted between you. Your chest loosens for the first time tonight, the tightness that's been sitting there finally easing just enough to breathe through it without effort. You knew that this didn't fix everything, but you were willing to work through it with him, willing to meet him somewhere in the middle now that he was actually here.
You pull back and lay your hand on his jaw, your thumb gently rubbing across his skin, the gesture slow, absent-minded, something that comes naturally after all these years.
"I love you, too," you whisper.
Michael lies down next to you, pulling you into his arms, your back settling against his chest as he fits around you like he always has, like nothing about that part has changed. He buries his head in the nape of your neck, kissing the soft skin there, slower now, softer, and you feel him let out a deep breath, like he's been holding it in for weeks. The tension that had been sitting between you all night fades into something quieter, something steadier, and the two of you lie there, wrapped up in each other, until you fall asleep.
From the moment he laid eyes on you, stood with his sister, La Toya, introduced to the family as his sibling’s friend at Hayvenhurst for the first time, in a pretty plaid skirt and a taupe oversized sweater — he knew he loved you.
Loved you so much he’d go to the ends of the Earth for you. Travel miles just to hold you for 5 minutes. Cancel every tour, every show if you needed him, at the drop of a hat.
Especially so once you became his official girl.
He’d do absolutely anything.
Anything but make sweet love to you.
It kept you up at night — how can a man so infatuated not want to strip you bare and ravish you till the sun came up. Not want to see you, stark naked, in all your glory, writhing and whining underneath him as he took you.
Michael had his reasons.
Timidity. Inexperience. Insecurity.
But, the largest factor of all — religion.
Michael was a raised as a devoted Jehovah’s Witness — something his Mother had instilled in him from birth. A religion built on morality and modesty. A religion that forbid sexual intercourse before marriage.
Michael wasn’t as devoted as his Mother — ever since his album Off the Wall, he had slowly began parting ways with the religion. Distancing himself as the connotations of his album were subtly frowned upon due to mentions of sensuality and infidelity — however, his personal beliefs about a higher power still remained.
He still, after his parting, believed that sex was something marital and holy — something to be worshipped and protected, performed with someone you truly love and trust.
And he did. He did, wholeheartedly, love and trust you — with every fibre of his being. But, every time your hand would trickle down his body, grazing over the painfully obvious bulge that clad him beneath his slacks — he would stop you. The guilt that washed over him far greater than any aching pleasure he so desired.
As time progressed, and your relationship blossomed — that guilt diminished. Grower smaller and smaller with each tentative touch or pleading look you’d give him. Each one cracking the glass dome of restraint he had locked himself in.
You knew tonight you’d finally shattered it.
Michael was sat comfortably next to you on the sofa at Hayvenhurst, a gentle hand resting on the curve of your clothed knee, television blabbering in the background as you watched him. He looked gorgeous in every aspect, but right now — calm, relaxed, content, it took the cake.
“Watch the movie, lovey.” His voice soft and bashful, a blush creeping onto the round of his cheeks after catching you staring.
“I think my view is better.”
Michael breathed out a huff of timid air — your quick-witted flirting always got to him. “Stop. Y’know I’ll get shy.”
You giggled next to him, shuffling closer to his warm body, “I know y’beautiful, Mike.”
He laughed, turning his flushed face away from you in embarrassment, “Can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause..” “‘Cause, what, angelface?”
Michael groaned, finally returning his gaze back onto you, a smile he failed to suppress adorning his ethereal face, “‘Cause y’makin’ me think things that I shouldn’t.”
Ting!
The lustful lightbulb sparked so bright in your brain you almost saw stars.
There was your green light.
“Like what, sweetie.” Your voice now hushed, darker, deeper — an undertone of temptation that had Michael reeling inside, “Tell me.”
“B-Baby.” He was cracking — you were certain. The way he twitched as a calculated hand fell into the tense of his lap, stroking languidly along his clothed thigh, the denim scratching along your manicured nails — paired with a small knit in his eyebrows that made him look so deliciously adorable.
“What’s up, honey?” You teased, face now inches from his own bashful one, “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ mind of yours.”
Michael whined, deep from his throat, as you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mouth moved slowly — trailing to his warm cheek, to the sharp of his jawline, and ending on the smooth of his bare neck. The gentleness of your lips against his burning skin had him fluttering his eyes shut — basking in the sensation. His hands moved subconsciously, once against your knee, now hesitantly holding the curve of your waist as you pressed yourself against him.
“Wanna hear it, Michael.”
He whined again, ever so louder this time, a statement of his timidity, “Baby, please.”
Your lips left his skin to move upwards, meeting his gaze once more. He looked wrecked — torn between honouring his devout innocence or letting his dirty mouth reveal his secrets.
You made the decision for him, clambering over him to settle in his lap, legs either side of his twitching hips. His eyes shot open in surprise.
“Honey, I-“ “It’s okay, sweet boy, I know what you’re thinkin’, anyways. Someone else is doin’ all the talkin’ for ya.”
Michael knew exactly what you were on about.
His embarrassingly obvious hard-on pressed into the softness of your clothed cunt — your skirt ridden up your thighs so perfectly that the cotton of your panties now resided directly on top of the boner he was attempting to hide. Despite never seeing his gracious cock with your own eyes, you knew he was big — every ridge now digging into the slick of your covered folds, hugging his length through his pyjamas bottoms.
“Let me make you feel better, handsome.”
Heaven and hell. That was the only thought that plagued Michael’s mind in this moment. Did he remain pledged to his beliefs, or was the way your drooling cunt wrapped around him, despite the barrier of clothing, enough to make him crack?
With one flex of his grip around your waist, and a breathy whine from your lips — the restraint shattered.
His lips met yours in a feverish connection — sloppy and messy. Spit coating your lips and chin as he forced his eager tongue into your mouth — hands now splayed across the small of your back, pushing you closer. His mouth met yours in a frantic motion, quick and rushed, like he was afraid someone, or something, would stop him at any moment. Your hands slipped up his body, resting on the lean of his shoulders, before sliding into the sweetness of his curls.
He truly crumbled when your hips began moving.
A slow, tantalising rock against him — movements so precise and languid he was certain one harsh buck and he’d fill his boxers right then and there. You had played this game with him before — being in this compromising position wasn’t new to you and Michael. You had once, in a state of pleasure, picked up your speed as you rocked against him, but he quickly shut it down. Telling you, bashfully, he was soon to finish and felt wrong about it — paired with a pout and blush.
This time, though, when your hips picked up a swifter pace — he daren’t stop you.
He’d been agonisingly hard and denied an orgasm for months now — every time he’d nearly get there, the devil on his shoulder telling him to carry on and make a mess of his shorts, the angel on the other side would force him to halt your hips to a stop, apologising at the way you’d whine in disappointment.
Michael let you take what you needed — back arched, hands threaded through his curls as you fucked yourself on his clothed cock, the prettiest noises falling from your swollen lips.
“Y’look so beautiful like this.” Michael revealed quietly, hands following the liquid movements of your hips, eyes trailing over your frame, focusing on your erect nipples poking through your tank-top, the curve of your breasts becoming more visible with each bounce.
With every drag he guided along the ridge of his cock that relentlessly nudged against your puffy clit — your whines got louder, only forcing his cock to throb beneath.
Michael, all too familiarly, held you to a stop.
“Michael.” His name fell past your lips in a desperate plea, the pleasure depleting as you stilled against his crotch.
“I know, I know, sweet girl.” He reassured, leaning up to press a gentle peck to your pouting lips, “M’not stoppin’, don’t worry that pretty head. Just wanna try somethin’.”
He lifted you off his lap with strong precision — settling you down to a place you’d not explored with the temptation between your legs.
His thigh.
“There y’go, pretty.” He whispered, smoothing down the back of your hair in kind strokes, “Go’head, baby, take what’cha you need.”
Your head reeled at the sudden change in his disposition — the once shy boy had magically been transformed into a confident man as the remains of his restraint settled around you.
His new attitude sent a pulsation so strong between your thighs you ground down on his — the tense of his muscle rolling against your nub in the most sensual way. Something you’d never quite felt before.
“Oh, God.” You whined — ignoring the way Michael tched at the name used in vain, not once stopping as he dragged you along his leg, lip caught between his teeth as he ogled at you.
“D’ya feel good, pretty?” Despite his switch in confidence, he was still desperate for your praise, his voice cracking slightly as he met your glossy eyes.
“Mmhm—s-s’good, Mikey.” Your voice hit him right where he needed you most — the place between his twitching legs that had been denied touch for so long.
You didn’t miss the way his hips bucked ever so slightly upwards, chasing a grasp he undeniably craved. Your hands soothed that ache — reaching forward, ever so hesitantly, to palm the bulge in his slacks.
Michael gasped, hand flinching at your side, frantic eyes meeting yours once more, “This okay, angel?” You questioned.
Michael’s lip sucked between his teeth once again, glance flickering from your gorgeous smile to your manicured hands hovering over his crotch. An act he would once deny — but not this time.
He hummed, his voice high-pitched and needy, nodding quickly, “Please, mama.”
A curse fell from your swollen rosebud at the sound of his despair — your hand enveloping around his length beneath his bottoms.
“Oh, my Lord.”
He was done for — head falling back against the plush of the sofa, eyes rolled to his skull as the pleasure washed over him. You wasted no time in pleasing the man beneath you, never once stopping rocking your hips against him, as you slowly stroked him.
The scene was erotic — a dirty array of arousal in the way he bucked his hips unapologetically into your hand, cock throbbing under your palm, as you continued to hump the meat of this thigh, your slick staining the blue denim that had trickled from your soaked panties. It was enough for him — no direct physical contact, but just the right amount of pleasure to satisfy you both.
When your thumb swiped over the oozing head of his cock, Michael lost it. Whining so loud like he didn’t care who heard — the sudden boldness depleting faster than it had come around, now replaced by uncontrollable desperation.
“O-Oh, s-shit,” The curse fell from his mouth before he could suppress it, “G-Gonna cum, lovey.” His hips now fucking up into your hand pathetically, chasing a high he’d been yearning for for so long.
In your own state of blinding pleasure, your only response was a melodic whimper, his tensing thigh hitting the ridge of your clit that had your own orgasm building. Michael, with no prior warning, came with a cry, his milky white release soaking the material of his boxers — the neediest whines of lust filling the room. You soon followed — an exclaim of his name hitting his ears, only furthering his pleasure, as you came undone on his thigh, humping him at such a speed you were almost a blur in his glassy vision.
Michael heaved as he came down from a high that had been lingering on his mind since the moment you met him — an orgasm so strong he was twitching uncontrollably. You stilled against his leg, catching your breath simultaneously, peering down at his fucked out state.
“Thank you, pretty.”
“Ah, ah, I’m not done with you yet.”
Michael swore he died and went to heaven as you dropped to your knees beneath him — eyes hungry and dark, agenda unclear to him.
It was only when you lay your tongue flat against the rough of his jeans, the ones you had once fucked yourself on, licking up your essence that clad the denim, that Michael realised how much of a sex-hungry slut you were. The tang of your seeping arousal lingered on your tongue as you lapped up the mess you’d made on him — glancing up at him through your lashes at his knitted eyebrows and agape mouth. His suspicion that you were a cock-slut only deepening as you retracted your tongue back into your mouth, savouring the taste of yourself, and kissed your way up his leg, getting dangerously close to where he was pulsating.
“Mama, I—“ “Shhh, just gonna clean y’up, baby.”
Michael saw stars when you shoved his pyjama bottoms down his thighs and latched your greedy mouth to the wet spot that clad his boxers, a crackled groan ripping from his throat as you hummed around him. Your lips, settling right against the softening tip of his cock, suckled the cum straight from the cotton — his salty release flooding your tastebuds, colliding with the tang of your own essence in a delicious blaze on your tongue. His hand flew down to cradle your cheek as you lapped up the cum that stained him — his cock throbbing once more as your hands gripped his thighs, jeans now even more wet from your eager mouth.
“Baby—fuck, I-I’m gonn—“ With a strangled cry, another irrepressible spurt of cum shot from him once more, hands tightening ever so slightly around your flushed cheek as you greedily sucked up what he blessed you with — lapping up his second orgasm like you were dying of thirst.
Only when you pulled away, satisfied with your salty refreshment, did Michael’s breathing level out — blissed out expression meeting your devilish one.
omg imagine its mini ab’s ballet performance and alfie cant come to see it because he’s filming and she’s on stage at the start lined up looking around for him but only sees reader and she can see Arabella’s lip trembling about to cry 🥺🥺🥺🥺
stop it this makes me so emotional 😢😢😢
you’re obviously trying to keep her smiling by gesturing to your face, and you’re recording so alfie can watch it later.
i can’t decide in this scenario whether he forgot it was today or just genuinely couldn’t escape filming, but i think she’d be pretty annoyed at him afterwards , but her annoyance manifests itself into tears so when he gets home she’s just immediately sobbing at him.
‘why didn’t you come?!’
‘i’m so sorry AB, i had to film.’
‘no! not AB!’
she comes slumping over to you, burying her face in your tummy.
‘do you wanna show daddy your dance?’ you whispered to her, but she’s in a proper mood and doesn’t want to. ‘okay, you don’t have to.’
he spends the rest of the evening trying to apologise to her.
when you show him the video of her dance and he sees that she was on the verge of tears/ crying slightly throughout the whole thing, he’s immediately in her room and telling her she did really good.
you tell your fiancé how much he embodies a beautiful disney prince, and he gets you ready for bed in more ways than one. dedicated to @prettyangeliczz, ty for the brownshirt!jaafar inspo!! ;)
𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 ❤︎ late night fluff leading into 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.. our man is the perfect soft dom effortlessly balancing both sexy and sweet! includes dry humping, jaafar hitting it raw from the back, doggy into prone bone.. followed by the sweetest aftercare.
⟡ ۫ . ✉️ — jaafar had been out from morning to night, doing interviews around LA as part of the 𝑚𝑖𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑒𝑙 press tour, as had been the case for most of the last week. today you'd been at home for the majority of the day, and you knew jaafar wouldn't be returning until late at night—because after the interviews he had other appearances to make—so that made the mundanity of the day drag itself out into torture. you perhaps wouldn't have been half as frustrated if it hadn't been for how frequent jaafar's lack of domestic presence had been since the press tour began.
it was early evening when you realised you probably should've made some plans to make the day a little more enjoyable, but instead you just had to sit and distract yourself to pass the time. you couldn't wait to squeeze him.
at 11.30, he finally came home. you were lying on the couch, fighting to stay awake with the TV flickering in front of you, where you had long since lost interest in the show you'd chosen. but as soon as you heard the rattle of the key in the door, you smiled. finally. in came your fiancé, dressed in a silk brown co-ord, the outfit you'd fawned over that morning before he left.
"hey, pretty face.” your favourite bright smile grew on him as he walked over. happily while still so sleepy, you outstretched your arms for him to fall into.
"my man, i missed you..." you hummed into his neck as he leaned over to hug you.
"c'mon baby, it's late. i thought you'd be in bed," jaafar said, still smiling. he went to pull back, but you only held him tighter, keeping him there.
"wanted to wait for you."
at your words he grinned wider, then reached down and lifted you up against him with a low grunt, settling you into a bridal hold. "alright, let's get you upstairs."
you hummed in delight against the crook of his neck, breathing in his delicious scent and feeling up his shoulders and biceps, the latter literally almost bursting through his long sleeved shirt.
"how was your day, baby?" jaafar whispered in your ear while he carried you upstairs. he bounced you once in his arms as he walked, and you made a sweet noise against his neck, at which he chuckled.
"good. i got lots done—ran some errands—and then just chilled here. but now i'm so tired... i'm so happy you're home."
"you should've just gone to sleep," he laughed softly.
"no, i'll always wait up for you," you protested.
"thank you, sweet girl."
then without a thought, you bit his bicep through his shirt, and of course he looked down at you bemused, even though you did that quite a lot. "you good there?"
"no, you're driving me crazy."
jaafar laughed. "shh, it's too late for that."
now at the top of the stairs, he continued carrying you to your shared bedroom. once you got there he put you down, but you were so sleepy and clingy that you kept your arms up around his neck, leaning back into him again like a sorrowful child, although you couldn't be happier.
"you okay?" he smiled down at you, wrapping his arms around your waist tight and rocking you softly. then he pressed a ton of kisses to your head, before pushing your head back gently to hold your jaw and stroke your skin with his thumb. "hm?"
"i missed you," you murmured, receiving another kiss on your nose.
"angel, i was gone for a day," jaafar chuckled, but in awe at how cute you looked below him, all sleepy with your makeup slightly smudged from how much you'd rubbed at your eyes.
"yeah, and it was a long day," you emphasised.
"aw, c'mere," he smiled, pulling you back into a tight hug. "i'm here now. let's go to bed, pretty girl."
you blushed, and a smile grew on your expression.
"oh, there's that smile," he teased, poking your nose. but it was his smile you'd been longing for while you'd endured such a tedious day.
now you pulled back again and looked up at him, in true awe of how gorgeous he was.
"you know you really look so much like a disney prince?"
"you've told me that many times, yes," jaafar laughed, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his arms. it was a casual move, yet still it made your head spin.
"but i'm serious," you persisted, with a yawn. "you always laugh it off like you don't agree with me. i swear, baby, i'm not just trying to flatter you because i'm your fiancée."
"whatever," he smiled bashfully, then began taking off his pants.
you decided to start getting undressed too, because standing there right in front of where his bulge was poking through his briefs was not a good idea at this time of night, when you both needed to be going to sleep.
so you changed into a white silk nightdress, then followed a half-naked jaafar into the bathroom. you blinked hard, in disbelief at the sight of him, despite how your long-term relationship meant that this was your norm.
as he took out the toothpaste, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind and kissed the space beneath his left shoulder. "you should play prince naveen."
"in the princess and the frog?" he smirked in amusement.
"mhm."
"i'm sure they could find someone better."
"baby, the whole of the internet agrees with me."
now jaafar turned around, holding your waist with his gentle touch. "yeah? the whole of the internet?" he found this very comical.
"everyone who's talking about you, yeah. at the top of every comment section is always somebody saying how handsome you are, and that you look like a prince."
now he did in fact blush. he bit his lip too, unable to suppress how your compliments made him feel, even if he wouldn't always believe them at first. "they're really saying that?"
"yes. you want me to show you?"
jaafar squinted, a small smile still on his lips, and because he didn't say no, you skipped off to get your phone.
you leaned into his bare chest as you showed him the comments, and he looked at them in complete bemusement. he knew he looked good, but he had really never viewed himself as anything special, even though you always made a big deal of how apparently perfect he was.
"alright, don't let this inflate your ego now," you joked, moving to face him with your hands in his. "but this proves that everyone else sees what i see."
jaafar was by no means insecure, but his shyness meant that he didn't like to own up to being so beautiful, in favour of modesty and his naturally humble nature, but also you were so obsessed with showering him in compliments that it was easy and very understandable for him to resort to thinking that what you said about his appearance was mere exaggeration.
he turned to take out his toothbrush.
"they're also talking about your ass all the time," you added humorously.
immediately he understood, and smirked. "the striped pants."
"precisely."
you both laughed.
"and," you added, "they're also writing fanfiction about you."
jaafar turned his head back to you and raised a brow.
"i mean, of course they are," you said matter-of-factly.
he only shook his head in amusement.
once you were done with your night routine, you were both back in your bedroom and jaafar was on his knees, applying the last bit of lotion to your legs. vanilla and shea butter. you'd bought it for yourself initially, and then it soon turned into something that jaafar himself would cherish, because he was obsessed with its scent on your skin.
his big, smooth hands rubbed the product up and down your legs, and you couldn't deny that there was now a serious ache of arousal between your thighs.
"all done," he said with a kiss to your ankle. "come on, sleepyhead."
you giggled. your man always treated you like a princess, and how fitting, for as you'd previously emphasised, he was in fact akin to a prince.
you quickly got settled under the comforter together, and even though you'd both intended to go to sleep straightaway, as usual you ended up making out instead. it started off softly, just your mouths meeting between murmurs and gazes at each other, but it soon deepened when jaafar slipped in his tongue, and with your craving for him you only intensified things from that point. hooking your leg over his thigh, you pulled him even closer to you, moaning into sloppy kisses.
"you don't seem very tired anymore, huh?" jaafar smirked.
"need you, baby..." you whispered, before resuming the kiss.
wordlessly he shifted so that he laid back with you on top of him, and beneath your nightdress he gripped and squeezed your ass. you rocked over his bulge while he marked up your neck, groaning into the crevices.
"you need me to give it to you, yeah sweet girl?" he asked against your skin.
you sighed loudly at the vibration of his voice. "please, baby," you whined, leaning back to straddle him properly, now starting to dry hump his clothed cock.
jaafar shot you a teasing smile. oh how desperate you were for him—you could hardly go a night without getting fucked. not that he minded, of course.
"jaafar," you moaned again, with one hand flat on his chest and the other on his bicep as you rocked over him faster, grinding down hard.
he continued to smirk at how visibly horny you were, but he couldn't deny how insane he felt too, all because of you. he had his lip held between his teeth, pupils dilated at the perfect sight before him—and of course at the feeling of your wetness seeping through your panties and onto his briefs. the damp patch was visible every time you moved a little further back on him.
"oh yeah, that's it, baby. grind on me just like that... you're a fucking angel..."
now it was his turn to bestow compliments, and he wouldn't hesitate to tell you just how naturally beautiful you looked. no makeup, just you in your barest form. you truly were a celestial beauty, moving divinely over your man, and he gripped your hips to guide your movements.
"j, i don't wanna cum like this."
"i know," jaafar said softly, pulling you down to kiss you with fervour. "lay on your back, baby."
you did as he said, getting comfortable against the pillows, and he got on his knees, leaning over to pick up another, which he then placed beneath your hips. jaafar always took so much care with you, and knew the best ways to increase your pleasure and make you feel the most comfortable.
he tugged down his briefs with a relieved groan, where even though it had felt perfect to have you dry hump him, his cock was aching with desire.
your own pupils dilated at the sight, and now he shuffled closer, suddenly pulling your legs up onto his shoulders. you squealed, splaying your arms out across the sheets as you smiled prettily at him above, so ready to be fucked into the mattress.
with his signature smile never departing his expression, jaafar tugged your soaked panties down your legs. when the fabric pooled at your ankles, he caught the sweet scent so addictive to his senses, and cursed under his breath.
then after tossing them to the side, he kissed over each of your ankles like a true gentleman. every inch of you he cherished, and not one aspect of his love was left undemonstrated.
"now let's get this off," he chuckled—referring to your nightdress—letting go of your legs and coming closer to settle himself between your thighs.
"baby..." you immediately started giggling when he began attempting to pull the dress up and over your head, because he kept unintentionally tickling you as he did.
"this fuckin' thing." he complained at the obstacle he was facing as he struggled, but you only laughed more, turning around slightly to show him that he needed to untie it first. that was why it was so difficult for him to take off.
"oh."
"yes. it ties at the back," you continued to laugh.
with an eye roll, jaafar finally worked the fabric off you and threw it aside, leaving you completely nude in front of him.
"you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen. seriously."
"jaafar..." you whispered shyly, his strong gaze and that pretty smile definitely not helping you to deal with your insatiable desires.
he only shook his head with a chuckle, then nudged his tip at your entrance. you gasped as he rubbed the head up and down your glistening slit, and then he surprised you with a quick smack of his length along your pussy. you squirmed and he laughed above you.
"alright baby, on your stomach f'me."
you hummed happily, rolling over onto your stomach to oblige. jaafar gripped your waist, then slid his hands down to your ass and squeezed, before giving one cheek a light smack.
you whined, turning your head back to look up at him still teasing you with that stupid smile. he held your waist again, and repositioned you so that you were now face down, ass up.
you waited patiently, forearms planted into the sheets, as he again ran the weight of his manhood up and down your pussy, smearing his already leaking tip with your juices. you had even surprised yourself how you'd managed to get this wet so quickly.
"you ready for me, hm?"
"yes, baby..." you cut yourself off with another moan as you tried to push your ass back against him, desperate for his thick cock to fill you.
"okay, if you say so..." you heard him tease, and slowly he pushed in. instantly you braced yourself, eyes clamping shut with the force of his girth stretching you out.
"that's it, baby girl, just a little more..." he cooed, massaging circles into your lower back.
"jaafar... 's too big—"
"i know, i know, sweetheart but you take it perfectly every time. you need it tonight, hm?"
"yeah, need it so bad..." you pushed your ass upward again, unconsciously this time, and he squeezed the soft skin there, groaning as he pushed himself further inside.
you steadied your breathing, although it was very difficult. it always was. except, jaafar was right—you did take that huge cock every time, no matter how difficult the stretch initially.
when he bottomed out, he whispered more praise. "look at you, pretty girl... all full now." the sight of your pussy wrapped around his shaft drove him insane, and he didn't wait a moment longer to begin his thrusts.
as he set the pace, he smacked your pretty ass, and your head fell even further forward into the pillows while lewd sounds spilled from your throat. "oh baby, right there—you're so deep, fuck—"
"yeah angel, that's the spot, i know..."
you whined and gasped over and over as his cock plunged in and out of your walls, nudging that spongy spot with ease. jaafar's low moans harmonised with yours of a higher pitch, and his pelvis smacked against your hips with every movement.
then he leaned forward a little, and tugged your head back through grabbing a handful of your hair—careful not to hurt you but with enough suddenness to display his passion. now he whispered to you, and the contrast between his sweet cadence and the filthy words that came from his lips made you dizzy.
"how's it feel, sweetheart?"
all you could do was produce noises from your throat that would give him his answer. you heard his warm laugh in your ear and almost came on the spot.
"rub your clit for me, princess."
at his order, you reached down and began toying with your bundle of nerves, intensifying the pleasure that had already sent you to cloud nine. meanwhile, jaafar's strokes never once slowed, and every so often you received a quick smack to your ass and another tug of your hair so that he could whisper more filth close in your ear. you loved this position so much for that reason.
and coincidentally, you had just been thinking about the position's only negative element—that you couldn't feel jaafar's body weight on you—when it appeared that the man had read your mind. gently, he pushed your lower half down so that your whole body met the sheets like before, and then leaned himself forward to rest his torso against your back. prone bone—one of the most perfect positions in existence, and it almost seemed that jaafar had interacted with your mind telepathically, to know exactly what you wanted. he knew you needed to feel him like this.
jaafar groaned in your ear as he settled against your skin, and switched the pace to slower, but just as beautifully deep. "fuck, i love you, sweet girl..."
"baby, i love you so much..."
"you mean everything to me. i love having you like this," he whispered, and the whisper alone sent a shiver down your spine to pair with the pleasure of his thrusts.
"me too j, you fuck me so good..."
"and that's 'cause i know exactly what this pussy needs, don't i, huh?" he moved your hair over one of your shoulders to reveal the nape of your neck, then pressed kisses over every inch that was available to him.
"how lucky am i," he nibbled at your skin, "to have a goddess in my bed?"
you giggled and gasped at the same time. "not as lucky as i am to have a real life disney prince in mine."
again, you heard his beautiful laugh in your ear. "a goddess is a little better than a prince, sweetheart."
"depends—fuck—which prince we're talking about."
jaafar smiled to himself, then started to pick up the pace because he was close and could tell you were too.
"jaafar, fuck, i'm gonna cum," you almost screamed, the sound swallowed by the fabric beneath you.
"i know pretty baby, let me get you there..." he kissed all over your upper back and shoulders, turning your head to cradle it in his hand as he feverishly devoured your lips. you were his pillow princess, and in that moment he was devoting everything he had to you, as he always did each time you were together.
"alright, let go for me angel, i can feel how much you need it..."
"oh baby—"
finally, you reached your climax, body seizing as jaafar continued to talk you through it. you felt him throb and twitch inside you.
"shhh, so perfect for me... did so well, baby—fuck, one sec—"
quickly he pulled out, stroking himself rapidly over your lower back while you tried to steady your breathing, still coming down from your high. he groaned behind you, pumping his cock until ropes of warm cum spilled onto your skin.
now entirely exhausted, you shut your eyes in complete satisfaction. there was no better way to end the night, because you knew you'd sleep so soundly after that treatment from your man.
and your body was already beginning to succumb to a slumber, but you heard jaafar speak behind you, warming your hips with his big hands.
"hey, don't fall asleep yet. gotta get you cleaned up first, baby."
you sighed in gratitude and content, waiting patiently as he wiped his release from your lower back. then he pressed a kiss to the area, and followed that with more kisses stemming from there to the top of your neck. he deliberately made each kiss ticklish, especially with the light touch of his fingers running up and down. you giggled deliriously, so sleepy and sex-worn.
"now you need to pee," he reminded.
you groaned and looked back at him. "no, i hate this part—i just wanna stay here."
he smiled down at you, resting so cutely against the sheets, then rolled you onto your back and—without you even needing to ask—picked you up into a bridal carry, getting up off the bed with you in his arms.
you made a soft noise of appreciation as your head tucked itself against his shoulder, arms going around his neck. "thank you, my prince."
jaafar chuckled, making his way through to the bathroom, and there setting you down on the floor. you'd happily live a life where your fiancé carried you everywhere.
afterward, he picked you up again, even though this time it wasn't necessary—but jaafar was a natural gentleman that way. every action was done with care and reverence. you felt so protected in his strong hold as he carried you.
"i love you, beautiful," he whispered, and you felt those same butterflies that never seemed to dissipate when you were with him.
he dropped you onto the bed playfully, then got in beside you, both of you laughing in pure joy. pulling you into his chest, he leaned down a little and kissed all over your face, pecking from your forehead to your nose, to your cheeks and to your jaw, leaving no skin untouched while you scrunched up your face in shyness beneath each kiss. you rested your leg over his, one hand drawing circles over his chest below where he played with your hair. your breasts were semi-touching his chest too, and the skin-on-skin contact made you both shiver.
"you feelin' good, sweetheart?"
"amazing, thanks to you." tenderly, you gave him kisses over his skin too. "but so sleepy now. orgasms literally work better than a melatonin pill."
jaafar chuckled. "glad i could help with that."
a few moments of silence passed, where the two of you breathed in each other's quiet comfort. then jaafar tapped your cheek to make you look up at him, where his heart melted to see you so graceful against him even in your drowsiness, your eyes shining under the scarce light from outside, lighting up the otherwise darkness.
he squeezed your face with one hand, rubbing his thumb in a soft caress, simply wanting to look at you.
"yes, baby?" you asked, assuming he wanted to say something.
"just admiring you," he grinned, hand going into your hair again.
you smiled and dragged his free arm over. interlinking your fingers with his, you then shuffled to move on top of him, and as was typical, bit the muscle of his bicep.
jaafar laughed, cupping your chin now. "i can get you something to eat if you're hungry."
"i just love your arms," you smiled against that same bicep again, kissing up and down it.
"better go to sleep before you get all worked up again, huh?" he smirked.
you nudged him with a playful scold. "shut up, i'm not an insatiable animal."
"you seem like one sometimes," he hit back.
you rolled your eyes, but found yourself spending the next two minutes kissing tenderly over his neck, creating multiple hickeys in the process. you were so crazy over him that it was almost as if you were still living in the early honeymoon phase. jaafar felt the exact same way.
that night, you fell asleep kissing his neck, while he massaged the soft skin of your torso down to your ass. he let you stay there on top of him for a little while, relishing in how perfect and intimate the position felt. and then, as gently as could be, he rolled onto his side, pulling you into his arms as he did so, weaving his limbs into yours.
jaafar might have always called you a princess as merely a pet name, but the way he treated you was nothing short of experiencing the real disney fantasy every little girl dreamed of. if every day and every night until death could be like this, you'd be justified in declaring that the life you cherished with your fiancé was one belonging to a princess, for he was your very own prince.
hii, thank you so much for all the love on my recent fics! i really appreciate the feedback. hope you guys enjoyed this one.. ♡
summary : husband/ dad headcannons of michael! sfw (heavily suggestive at the end.)
a/n: this was rq by @heuhanenani 🥹💞
˙⋆✮💐HUSBAND!MICHAEL! : who would deeply apologize, everytime he came late from the studio, on the verge of tears for not being able to wish you a goodnight, not being able to hold you to sleep.
=
“ ‘m so sorry, pretty.. got carried away at the studio with demos… “ he whispered into your ear, sliding into the comfortable duvet you two shared.
you softy blinked, fluttering your long lashes as you stirred. “mmh… hm..? what time is it?” you whispered into the pillow, your frame showing a faint outline outside the blanket.
“it’s 12:42 baby…” He whispered, a small whimper leaving his lips, rubbing your blanket covered body, his large hands making their way up your body, pushing faint pieces of your hair pass your face. “ ‘m so sorry… so sorry…” he whispered again, this time pressing a kiss to your forehead, trying not to disturb your sleep to much, already. “I’ll.. I’ll make it up to you when you get up, I promise baby, I promise..”
⋆✮💐HUSBAND!MICHAEL! : who surprised you once when you went to one of his tours , pulling you up on stage for “lady in my life.”
=
“everyone, everyone!” Michael breathed out, quickly trying to catch his breath from the previous song. “For, for our next song, we have a very… very special guest.” He chuckled out, his gaze looking at you, which you were in the front row. You didn’t notice how his attention was meant to be towards you, until the camera flashed onto you, the instrumental to “The Lady in My Life” slowly bleeding into the speakers. The security quickly grabbed your hand, carefully dragging you onto stage, which where you met Michael, a nervous smile spreading across your face, as you whispered something ineligible to him, making him giggle.
“My wife!” He smiled, interlinking his hands with yours., and holding it too the sky.”
⋆✮💐HUSBAND!MICHAEL! : who records every single thing you guys do, claiming it’s for memories, it doesn’t matter if you guys are getting ready for bed, or if you’re cooking dinner, or if he’s just making you talk about your goals in the camera, he has it out, and he’s definitely recording.
=
“Testing.. testing…” he mumbled into the camera, the camera clicked, quickly zooming into your face, right into your pores, before zooming quickly right back out, now just a clear view of your face. “say hi.” he sung out, as you looked up, a camera directly almost inside your eyeball. “Michael get that shit away from me!” You giggled, trying to push the camera away, which he quickly brung it right back. “mamas angry.. we’ll fix that later.” he mumbled, the camera now directing to the food you were stirring.
BONUS STORY:
your hands stayed firm on the steering wheel, your eyes remained on the road before you, as Michael held up the camera, wind blowing in his hair. You guys were on vacation, practically begging for a sense of peace, no paparazzi, no overbearing fans, none of that, just you, him, and the car that was currently on the way to the beach, sun roof and windows down, the sky was a bit gloomy, but that didn’t stop you guys. The wind blew in your hair, as you screamed the lyrics to a song you still couldn’t frankly remember. “Baby! Baby it’s raining!” You giggled, the rain slashing down your hair, face, and camera lens. Michael laughed as well, the camera sloshing around, capturing all the smiles and giggles. “Hold— hold the steering wheel!” You yelled, standing up from your seat, peaking your head from the roof of the car, letting out a squeal. You were insane, but that’s why he loved you, you brought out a side of him no one else has ever did.
˙⋆✮🍂DAD!MICHAEL!: who brung your children with him to the studio sometimes, making sure everyone knows days prior, making sure to not to introduce to the bad habits of the studio, like the cigarettes, the smoke, all of that. He’d even teach them about the soundboard, if they were interested of course, not wanting to force them apon something they didn’t want to do.
=
this… this is the soundboard, you can control how loud, or quiet your voice can be!” Michael smiled, bouncing the child on his leg, one hand supporting them on their waist, and the other pointing a slender finger to all the button, nobs, twist and what-not. “what does this one do, daddy?” Your child beamed, pointing at a random button, too which Michaels face scrunched up, laughing off his confusion. “I… i dunno, sweetheart..” He chuckled out, grabbing the child, and taking them off his lap.
˙⋆✮🍂DAD!MICHAEL!: who designated days where he gets to hang out with his family, coming home and early, and taking the next day off. You’d all build the best of pillow and blankets, angle it next to the tv, pop popcorn and make other snacks, having movie marathons, and talking about parts of childhood (well, some of the memory’s Michael could grab at least.)
=
”I remember— i remember how i met your father, it was so ridiculous—.” You snickered, your legs criss-crossed, throwing some popcorn in your mouth. Michael laid on his side, covering his face as he remembered the story. “…he… he was practicing at the dance studio my father worked at.. and, and when i walked in, he fell right on his butt—… and we were the only two kids in the room, well.. really the only two people, so we just both died of laughter, and then we just.. been together since.” You giggled out, still chewing the popcorn in your mouth, as your children laughed, Michael tickling their stomach, a grin spreading across his face. “you laughing at your daddy falling?” He smiled, shifting a little, causing the pillow fort to shuffle a bit.
˙⋆✮🍂DAD!MICHAEL!: who, if he could, get you pregnant with 18 kids, which sounds like stretch but it’s true. Everytime he sees you with your children, feeding them, reading them a story, etc, he can’t help but want oneee more, or two, or three.
=
you squatted next to the kids bed while you read them a story, kids tucked under the soft and comfortable duvet, eyes resting under the lid, in taking the words that fell from your lips. They had requested Peter Pan, again. Their dad quite literally engraving it into their brains, as you finished the book with a quiet close of the book, you stood up, dusting your pajamas from imaginary crumbs, turning around to walk to the door, which you were quickly met with Michael’s lean frame, leaning against the door frame. You quickly jumped, not expecting him to be there, as your hand rested on your chest. “ ‘did not expect you to be right there..” You whispered, more to yourself, than him. To which he just chuckled, his teeth slipping from his mouth to bite his lip. “One more.” He stated, which left you confused. “…We can fit a crib inside our room.” He noted to himself, his back fully to the bed frame now, to which you sighed, pushing past him. “oh, absolutely not.”
BONUS STORY:
It must’ve been so hilarious to him, to see you so oozy on drugs. Medical drugs, of course. You were about to birth your first child, the first one to make you a mommy, the first to make Michael a daddy, your angel. And, all Michael could worry about, was teasing you, pressing the camera in your face. “on a scale from 1-10–“ Michael started which you quickly shut him up, pushing the camera back from your face, and shoving it into his chest. The next clip shown Michael in the corner of the hospital room, your screams of agony roaring through the air, and the faint sounds of “push!” echoed. Then, it stopped, little gasps came out, and for the first time you’ve entered this hospital, you felt you could actually breath. The last clip was you smiling, finally getting a calm moment between you and your baby, the baby laying against your bare skin, as you admired them. Michael coo’d an incoherent mumble, before quickly dropping the camera, going to attend to his new born baby.
————————————————————————
a/n : tyyy for the request, this lowk took all day to write, again it’s my fault bc i need to manage my time better 💔 ima go work on some other fics so yall won’t be hungry for longggg !
warnings: 18+ (mdni). this is fucking disgusting, detailed and explicit. don’t wanna see minors in this bitch. oral (f receiving), pussy examination/pronouns/sniffing, panty nibbling. lots of cum. you’re disgusting and wet and it’s everywhere.
“look at that, baby,” michael whispers in fascination, eyes fixed onto your twitching pussy. he’s kneeling between your legs, the back of your knees hanging over his shoulders. “so responsive t’me.”
his thick thumb rubs up and down your lips through the already soaked lacey material. your pussy breaches open around him like a flower, lips almost hanging out, and every time his finger strokes over your gaping, puffy hole, you feel more wetness drool out of you in slow, stringy drips.
“need you so bad,” you beg back, voice high and needy. “so fucking bad.”
michael chuckles, lips merely inches away from your pussy. “yeah? i can tell princess,” the action sends a wave of heat over your skin. his hair tickles the insides of your thighs, and your legs are on the verge of closing around his head. “she’s fucking dripping. so wet f’me, all mine.”
you can feel your slick spreading over the fabric of your panties while he noses through your folds like an obedient cat. “smells so delicious, baby, fuck. gonna eat y’up.”
your legs shake every time the tip of his nose bumps over your clit, back arching off the bed as he presses a tiny kiss over the sloppy, wet material of your underwear, right over your empty, fluttering hole. “she’s so good f’me. can only reward my best girl.”
and that’s the moment his brown eyes flit up to yours. his tongue meets your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. your hips immediately shoot up from the bed, and you let out one, drawn out whimper.
the heavy weight of his tongue against your folds has your head lolling back into the mattress. “shit, mikey, i—” white spots flash before your eyes, unable to keep your eyes open due to the delirious friction from his tongue lapping up, sucking up, your essence.
“keep feelin’ it, princess. that’s it,” he praises you in between licks and soft nips to your clit, voice strained and broken. “can taste you on the fabric, baby. shit—”
at this point, the material of your panties is so soaked and wet, it clings to your lips, perfectly outlining you through the lace while michael eats you out like a man starved. he alters between gentle nibbles at the fabric and nudges of his tongue into your entrance, only a thin layer of lace separating his tongue from your cunt.
“swear y’have the cutest lil’ pussy i’ve ever seen,” michael mumbles as he distances his face a little from your sex. the lace is so wet and creamy that it stays poking into your hole from where his tongue prodded into you just moments ago. he slides one light kitten lick over your clit. “purrin’ for attention. don’t worry angel, i’ll give it to ya.”
“oh my— you’re so nasty, mike,” you whine out, hips bucking up into the air before michael pushes you back down.
“feel how i was juuust in there?” he pushes the thick tip of his middle finger right into the little dip his tongue made, slowly twisting his fingertip around at a maddeningly torturing pace, practically fingering you with a layer in between.
the touch of his fingers to your creamy, messy panties produces the echo of a squelching sound, like a sponge being wrung out, like honey sticking to his fingers. under the pathetically sodden fabric of your lace panties, your warm slick bubbles around your hole, your white cream mixing with his spit, dribbling over the crease of your opened thighs, meandering over the globes of your ass.
part of you feels ashamed of how filthy you are. how thick, slimey globs of cum just gush out of you with every contraction of your hole, and because of the barrier of your panties, it has no place to go. the only option to seep out the sides of the panties’ gusset, as if revealing a dirty secret of how aroused you really are.
“pretty, dirty girl,” the man beneath you praises, voice cracked open in admiration. “should see how messy she’s for me, baby. ‘s a fuckin’ work of art.”
later, when you find your panties thrown on the floor of the bedroom, you notice tiny, little, miniscule holes right around the middle part of the gusset.
“mikey, you nibbled on my panties. you ruined them!” you exclaim in disbelief, holding the pathetic excuse of what you’re supposed to call panties between your thumb and index finger.
BONUS (bc i’m disgusting)
when his fingers pry off your drenched panties, michael’s eyes stay directed on the transparent, white strings extending from your drooling entrance to the sloppy lace material. “so messy y’are for me,” he says, lopsided grin on his face. “push it out. wanna see.”
“see what, mike?”
“see this,” he holds up your panties, gooey remnants of your thick cum glued to the material. “wanna see it pour outta you, baby. up close.”
your bravery sickens you. you clench your abdomen together, gaping hole opening and closing as another sticky wave of white shyly oozes out of you. your face heats up out of embarrassment when you feel the cool, wet patch under your ass spread out.
you cover your face with your hands.
“d’awhh, baby. don’t be shy,” michael places a kiss on top of your bare mound. “don’t be shy w’me. you’re so sexy when you’re being nasty for me.” he coos as he places another kiss to your pussy lips. “y’r just your mikey’s nasty girl.”
what’s worse, you feel warm drops of wetness dribble out of you again at his praise, right against his soft lips.
“fucking beautiful. look at’cha, pretty.” your boyfriend puckers your pussy lips together, trying to coax another glob out of your sex. instead, your tacky lips stick together, and michael peels them open again. “don’t want my baby down here poutin’. gonna lick ‘er clean.”
you’re all mellowed out, his words not really getting to you. your chest keeps heaving, your skin coated with a thin filter of sweat, drool piling up at the corners of your mouth, trickling down your cheeks as you give yourself completely to michael. you just let it happen now.
he’s going to have his way with you, anyway.
this continues the entire night like so. michael just playing with your pussy, literally, whilst you’re trying not to go insane.
a/n: when he’s cleaning up your come with his tongue he flips you around to lick up those little meanders of sticky cum off of ur ass cheeks too btw! occasionally sucking purple marks on ur plump ass, cuz he likes to have a pretty view when he takes you from the back. and loves how you can’t sit down cuz he stretched you out too much 😊
summary - after a producer flirts with you, michael can’t help but want to claim what’s his.
warnings - smut, profanity, michael is all possessive and jealous oral (reader receiving), p in v, pet names, praise kink, reader is kinda oblivious to someone else’s flirting towards her. dom!michael, sub!reader exhibitionism/voyeurism themes, hair pulling, backshots, missionary, aftercare mentioned + a little choking, overstim and fingering.
A/n : i got inspired by @michaelsfavgirl fic called word to the jealouss and decided to write this 😋
As you and Michael walked in, you smoothed your dress the black silk clinging softly to your frame, simple but elegant, the kind of fabric that hugged without trying too hard his arm stayed around your waist as you two walked in together.
His new album had done exactly what everyone expected it had been a massive success, breaking records. So his team threw a party to celebrate its success.
౨ৎ
The first hour passed in a blur of introductions and polite smiles. Michael kept his hand on your lower back the entire time, the kind of touch that said she’s with me.
“You okay?” you asked, turning your head to face him.
He was watching something over your shoulder, his jaw moving slightly, a muscle ticking under his skin.
“Michael?”
His eyes snapped back to you, and the tension in his face softened. “Yeah, baby. I’m fine.” He said, kissing your forehead. “You need another drink?”
“I’m good,” you said, shaking your head slightly.
He nodded, but his hand stayed where it was against your spine.
౨ৎ
“You’re Michael’s girl, right?” a producer said, sliding in beside you while Michael was pulled into a conversation with Quincy Jones near the piano. “I’ve seen you at his recording sessions.”
You gave a polite smile. “Yes.”
“I can tell,” he said his eyes dropping to your mouth, lingering there a bit too long.
You let out a small, nervous laugh in response.
For the rest of the night, he kept finding reasons to stay near you.
He brought you a fresh drink when yours was half-empty, leaning in close to explain the background of another producer you didn’t really care about he yapped away letting his hand brush your waist when he gestured toward the bar.
You didn't think much of it. You were friendly by nature always had been and the champagne had made you warm and loose tongued. You laughed at his jokes. You nodded along when he talked about the label's upcoming projects.
Across the room, though, Michael went quiet as he watched you both laughing together, trying to figure out why he felt so damn comfortable with his girlfriend.
౨ৎ
Michael was laughing with Quincy, nodding at something a dancer said, accepting a congratulations with a soft smile but his eyes kept drifting towards you everytime time you turned back to check on him, he was already looking at you.
Over the next few minutes, Michael made his way back towards you.
He excused himself from a conversation mid-sentence, irritated he was so tired of seeing you laughing with another man. When he reached you, his hand slid around your waist, gripping you possessively as his eyes flicked to the man beside you.
“Hey, baby.”
He kissed you on the lips before you could even respond, right there in front of him.
"Hey." You smiled up at him, tipsy and happy. "Quincy done with you?"
"For now." He pulled you close enough to press your hip against his. "You having fun?"
“I am.” You smiled, motioning to the man beside you. “He was just telling me about-“
“I know.” His words came out as if he was annoyed…because he was. “Come sit with me.”
He didn't wait for an answer. As he guided you toward the far end of the lounge, where a curved love seat sat half-hidden behind a marble pillar. He sat first, then pulled you down onto his lap.
In front of everyone.
You laughed softly, surprised. “Mikey, people are watching.”
“Let them.” His hand settled on your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles against the silk of your dress. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “You were too far away over there.”
“I was right across the room.”
“Too far, sweet thing,” he mumbled, his eyes scanning the room for the producer who had been too damn close to you.
౨ৎ
He somehow made his way back over to you again ten minutes later. When Michael stepped off to chat with a choreographer, you now stood near the windows.
“Another one?” he said, appearing beside you with two glasses in his hand. He offered one to you with a wink.
“I’m cut off,” you said, smiling. “Michael’s been watching my intake he doesn’t want me to get too tipsy.”
“Smart man.” He kept the glass out, though, waiting. “One more won’t hurt. I’ll take the blame.”
You hesitated, then laughed and took it. “You’re trouble.”
“That’s what they tell me.” He leaned in slightly. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure you out all night.”
“Oh.”
He looked at you, his gaze warm, a little too intimate for a man you’d met hours ago. “How does a pretty girl like you end up with someone like him?”
His question caught you off guard, a hint of offense slipping into your voice. “What do you mean, someone like him?”
“I mean.” He shrugged. ‘He’s Michael Jackson. He’s not exactly available to the world, I guess. I just wonder how you fit.”
You opened your mouth to answer, but a hand closed around your wrist before you could speak.
“She’s done with this conversation,” Michael said, pulling you away.
“Michael-“
“Now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
His fingers tightened around your wrist but not enough to hurt. “Excuse us.”
౨ৎ
The hallway outside the lounge was empty. Soft light from the wall lamps cast a glow against the walls, and the sound of the party faded to a low hum behind the closed doors. You and Michael had ended up leaving early.
He walked fast, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, until he reached a door marked Private Suite.
Michael let go of your wrist as the two of you walked into the room. He stood with his back to you, shoulders tight, hands sliding into his pockets as he took a deep breath.
"You wanna tell me what that was about?"
His voice was terrifyingly calm. You knew he was mad.
You closed the door behind you, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“What was that about?” you added. “He was just asking me a question.”
"You know what."
"I don't."
He stared at you, then laughed a short, breathless sound that didn’t match the tension in his body.
“You don’t even realize,” he said, shaking his head as he paced toward the window.
“Baby.”
“You let him touch you,” he said, stopping and turning back to face you. “You let him stand that close. You laughed at his jokes, you took his drink.”
“I was being polite.”
“You were being friendly,” his voice dropped, softer now and somehow that was worse. “Too friendly.”
“I’m friendly with everyone, babe.”
"That's the problem."
“Mikey…” you said, stepping toward him. “I don’t even remember his name. He was just some producer. I didn’t-I wasn’t trying to-“
"I know."
"That's what makes it worse. You don't even know what you do to me."
“Every time another man looks at you, I lose my patience,” he said.
“Every time you laugh at someone else’s joke, every time someone touches you, I have to stand there and act like it doesn’t bother me.”
“You’re mine. I can’t help it.”
You reached up and touched his cheek. He leaned into your palm, needing the contact more than he’d admit.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“You’re okay, mama. It was him he wants what’s mine.” He said pressing a kiss to your palm.
“I’m yours, Michael. I don’t give a fuck about that producer.”
His hand tightened at your waist as he pulled you in and kissed you slow at first, then deeper. His hands moved to your face, cradling you with both hands, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you, his tongue in your mouth and everything.
This was the kind of kiss that made your knees weak.
“Mm mikey…” you breathed against his mouth.
“Fuck, I love kissing you,” he said, backing you toward the bed until your thighs hit the edge.
“My girl,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your throat. “Wanna hear you say it.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were all wild.
“Tell me you're mine again.”
“Say it.”
“I'm yours,” you whispered.
“And who do you belong to?” he asked as his hand slid up your neck, his fingers squeezing.
“You.”
“I belong to you, Michael im all yours forever.”
When you said that its like the tension in his shoulders released, and he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath all night.
“That's what i wanted to hear princess.”
౨ৎ
The air left your lungs in a soft gasp as your back suddenly hit the duvet, his body following yours. His hands were already moving pushing the silk straps off your shoulders, dragging the black fabric down until your breasts spilled free.
He didn't stop to admire them. Not yet. His mouth was already lower, pressing hot, open kisses down your sternum, your ribs and your belly.
He took his time you were something truly precious in his hands.
His hands followed the curve of your hips, your thighs.
“Don't wear that dress again.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll remind me of him.” He said biting the skin just above your navel, not hard enough to break, but enough to leave a mark.
"And i won't be nice about it next time." He said hooking his fingers into your panties pulling them down your legs. Tossing them somewhere behind him without looking.
Then he pushed your thighs apart.
“You’re so gorgeous.”
You moaned softly at his words, threading your fingers through his hair.
He pressed kisses to the inside of your thigh, then another a little higher, before shifting to the other side. He took his time, working his way upward his lips tracing over every inch of your skin avoiding where you wanted him most.
“Michael...”
“Be patient.”
“No, Michael, please.”
“I want it now.”
He smiled against your skin a slow, wicked smile. “That's not how this works. You spent all night giving another man your attention. Now you're gonna give me every sound you got.”
“I wanna hear every sound.” He said and then his mouth was on you.
His tongue pressed flat against your cunt dragging from your entrance up to your clit in one long stroke. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, but he didn't let up. He did it again. And again.
Each pass slower than the last, his tongue pressing harder, until you were gripping the sheets, gasping his name without thinking who might hear.
“Taste so fucking good,” he murmured against you, the vibration making your hips jerk.
“Been starving all night thinking about this pussy.”
He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked with full force, causing you to see white in your vision. His tongue flicked rapidly against the sensitive nub, while his fingers found your entrance and slid one, then two inside you without warning.
“Shit baby,” you breathed.
“You feel that?” His voice was like silk against your skin.
“That's me inside you. Nobody else is ever gonna be inside you. Say it.”
“Nobody else-fuck-nobody else, Michael-“ He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made you see stars.
“That’s my girl.” He said humming in response as he held you down with one hand on your stomach.
He didn’t slow down, though. He fucked you with his fingers while his mouth worked your clit relentlessly and possessively, as if he was trying to crawl inside you through your pleasure.
Every time you got close to coming, he pulled back just enough to keep you teetering on the edge, and then he dove back in harder.
“You gonna come for me sweetheart?”
“Yes-yes-“
“This pussy is entirely yours, Mikey.”
“Good girl.”
"Come for me." His voice was muffled, rough. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."
He pressed his tongue against your clit, flattening it as he rapidly circled it.
Simultaneously, his fingers fucked you deeper and rougher.
He groaned against you, savoring the sensation, and the sound of his groans, mixed with the vibrations, pushed you over the edge.
Your back arched off the bed as you cried out his name, and he drank every second of it as if he were dying of thirst.
Your thighs clamped around his head, your body shaking through wave after wave. He didn't stop he kept licking, kept sucking, kept drinking every drop of your release like he was claiming it, marking it as his.
When you finally stopped trembling, he pulled back just enough to look up at you. His face was wet, his lips swollen his eyes burning with satisfaction.
"You even taste like you're mine," he said.
He lowered his head again, spreading you open with his thumbs as he buried his face between your trembling thighs, his tongue plunging inside you once more.
The second orgasm hit you harder and faster. As you screamed his name, he pinned your hips down and continued licking until you were crying begging him to stop.
Only then did he pull away.
He crawled up your body afterward, kissing you and letting you taste yourself on his lips. He was still fully dressed, his shirt damp from your release.
“Better?” you managed, still gasping for breath.
“Not yet,” he replied, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I’m not done.”
He rose from the bed and sat up long enough to remove his shirt, pants, and boxers. You watched him in the dim light the lean lines of his body, the smooth skin, and the way his dick stood firm against his stomach.
He settled over you the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, “Feel it baby?” He said pushing just barely inside just enough to make you gasp.
“All this is just for you.”
The stretch was perfect as he slowly moved in, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. You could feel him everywhere. He lingered there for a moment, allowing you to adjust. His forehead pressing against yours.
“Uh uh, look me in the eyes while I fuck you,” he whispered as he began to move. You tried to maintain eye contact, but your eyes were about to roll back.
He slowly fucked you, with deep, rolling thrusts that hit that spot inside you.
His rhythm was hypnotic as fuck, his breath hot against your neck, as his hands gripped your hips.
He pulled out slow so slow you felt every ridge, every inch then he slammed back in hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.
“Fuck-“
"Yeah. That's it.”
“Whose girl are you?” he asked.
“I’m Michael’s girl,” you moaned.
“Yes, you are, baby,” he said, picking up the pace. He drove into you harder and faster the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room.
He set a punishing rhythm. Hard, deep strokes that drove you further into the mattress with every thrust. The room filled with the wet sound of him fucking you, your breathless moans, his guttural grunts.
“You like this hm sweet girl?” He said, rubbing tight circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. “You like being fucked like this, huh?”
You just kept mumbling incoherent words as he fucked you stupid.
“Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he gripped your chin, forcing your gaze to his. “I want you to see who’s fucking you. I want you to remember.”
“I won’t forget,” you said.
“Good,” he kissed you, sloppily and hungry.
“Because I’m not gonna let you.”
He flipped you onto your stomach without warning, pulled your hips up, and entered you from behind. The new angle made you gasp, made you claw at the sheets.
“All mine.”
“Tell me,” he thrust deeper, harder. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” your voice broke on a moan. “I understand, I understand-“
“That’s right.”
He moaned as you tightened your pussy around him. He drove deeper and faster, his rhythm losing control. You were close, and he could feel it building.
And then
A knock at the door.
Three knocks.
"Shit." You tensed.
"Don't you stop." His hand clamped down on your hips, holding you in place. "Keep throwing that perfect ass back on me.”
He stopped moving for half a second, his head lifting. His eyes cut toward the door.
“Michael?” You were breathless and trembling. “Who is that?“
"Shh." He resumed moving, slower now, but no less deep. His hand pressed flat against your lower back, holding you steady. "You feel so good around me i don’t wanna stop."
The knock came again, louder this time. A familiar voice, slurred with alcohol, followed it.
“Hey, hello? Is this the wrong room? Is anyone in here? “ He asked.
"Oh my gosh, that's-"
"I know who it is."
It was the producer who had flirted with you.
He didn't stop.
The door wasn’t locked either. You realized that when he started fumbling with the doorknob. He pushed the door open and stumbled inside. Michael didn’t care as he continued to pound you into the bed.
"I was told suite 4-"
He stopped in his tracks suddenly sobered up.
The room was dimly lit by only two lights, but that was enough for him to see the two of you on the bed. The light revealed Michael’s silhouette moving against yours, your body arching beneath him.
The wet sounds of sex filled the silence.
He froze. His mouth opened. Closed.
You turned your head the other way in fear, scared that he’d realize it was you two. But Michael didn’t stop; he wanted him to see that he’d never have you.
His eyes locked onto his as he wrapped his large hand around your neck tilting your head back.
“Don't hide,” he murmured, loud enough for him to hear. “Let him see.”
“Oh fuck im-“ You were shaking, humiliated and aroused in equal measure. “Please.”
“Please, what?” He pressed further, and you couldn’t help but moan, despite feeling embarrassed. “Please stop, or please don’t?” he teased.
“Keep going,” you moaned, completely ignoring his presence at the door. You didn’t care as long as he kept fucking you.
He stood frozen in shock, watching Michael move his hand from your neck to your hair, using it to pull you back as your ass rippled against him.
His gaze fell to Michael’s cock as it disappeared into you. It was wet and glistening, with a white ring forming at the base.
He smiled and asked, “See something you like?”
“She’s all mine you’ll never have her.” Michael said, his eyes never leaving the man.
“You understand me?”
The producer swallowed and nodded.
“Then get the fuck out.”
The door slammed shut.
Michael didn't slow down. He leaned forward, his chest pressed against your back.
“He saw us. He saw me fucking you. He really knows you’re mine now.”
His pace quickened. His breathing grew ragged, his control slipping. He buried his face in your neck and continued fucking you like he was trying to brand himself onto your bones.
“I’m so close.” You said.
“Come on, baby, come for me then,” he urged. “Come on, your dick.”
You came apart, a shattered cry tearing from your throat. Your body clenched around him, and he followed a second later, his body shuddering against yours as his groan was muffled against your skin.
“Fuck-“ He buried himself deep, his hips flush against your ass. You felt him pulse inside you, all hot and thick, a claim that went beyond words.
He stilled inside you, gasping for breath, his forehead pressed against the back of your head.
Afterward, he collapsed beside you.
“Now, your pussy is marked too.”
You nodded, you were exhausted.
The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing.
“Michael?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t believe he saw us!”
A soft laugh escaped him. “Honestly, I’m glad he saw us. That’ll teach him about flirting with my woman.”
“Are you okay though?” he asked quietly.
“I feel good, and also thoroughly fucked.”
“That’s what I wanted,” he said as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you kissing your forehead.
౨ৎ
The aftercare was gentle and thoughtful. He brought you water, a warm washcloth, and even kissed the marks he’d left on your hips, apologizing softly.
“I got all carried away,” he said, tracing patterns on your skin
⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: it’s genuinely on sight if you catch diana by herself.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ no crazy warnings. female reader, public verbal argument (reader and diana), brief emotional stress and anxiety, romantic jealousy, relationship strain, smoking / cigarette use—pls its the 80’s, mikey in the doghouse.
So.. Michael doesn't think he's ever been this fucking scared in his life.
Which feels deeply unfair considering he’s Michael Jackson. He’s performed in front of thousands of people, he’s danced on national television. And yet somehow none of those experiences prepared him for the sight currently waiting across Studio 54.
His girlfriend is sitting alone in a velvet booth with a drink in front of her, looking so spectacularly deadpan that Michael briefly considers leaving the country. The problem is that she isn’t crying, isn't yelling. She isn’t even causing a scene. She’s ignoring him. Which is infinitely worse. When she gets loud, at least he knows where he stands. When she gets quiet? Oh, baby that’s when God himself starts abandoning his people.
The club pulses around him in flashes of gold and red light, cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air while celebrities and socialites laugh their way through another night they’ll be talking about for years. Meanwhile, Michael is standing near the bar wondering if it’s possible to die from being in trouble with a pretty girl. The worst part is that she has a point, enough of a point that every defense he’d come up with has fallen apart the second he’s tried saying it to himself.
The evening had started perfectly fine. Then Diana arrived. And somehow Michael had spent the next two hours getting continuously pulled into her orbit. One conversation became three. One dance became several. Every time he managed to drift back toward his girlfriend, Diana found a way to pull him somewhere else. A joke. A story. A hand on his arm. A request for “one more” dance. Michael hadn’t noticed how bad it looked at first, but his girlfriend had. The first warning came in the form of a look. The second came as a pointed comment. The third involved her physically appearing beside him while Diana stood entirely too close and entirely too comfortable. And Michael, complete idiot that he was, had smiled. Smiled! Like there wasn’t a bomb actively ticking beside him.
The argument afterward had not gone.. well. Mostly because it stopped being about jealousy almost immediately—that would’ve been easier. Instead it became about disrespect. About spending an entire evening standing in a room full of people while another woman monopolized her boyfriend’s attention. About feeling invisible and like a second choice. About Diana acting like she possessed a claim on Michael that nobody else was supposed to fucking question. Then, Diana made the catastrophic mistake of questioning her right back. Michael doesn’t remember every detail because the second the tension started rising, his survival instincts kicked in and his brain effectively left the building. But he remembers (Name) asking if she could maybe have five uninterrupted minutes with her own boyfriend. He remembers Diana not appreciating the tone. He remembers trying to smooth things over then—the drink in (Name)’s hand found itself splashing in Diana’s face before Michael had to physically pick up and pull her away while another nearby did the same with Diana.
Now Diana is on one side of the club pretending none of it happened. His girlfriend is on the other side pretending he doesn’t exist.
And somehow Michael is the common denominator in both disasters.
After spending nearly fifteen minutes pacing around the bar (like a condemned man awaiting execution), Michael finally orders her favorite drink. Then orders another because his hands are shaking badly enough that he drops the first one. By the time he starts walking toward her booth, he’s rehearsed approximately seventeen? different apologies and forgotten every single one of them. His girlfriend notices him immediately but she simply chooses not to acknowledge it. Michael stops beside the table and waits. Nothing.
“Hi.” Silence. “Hi,” he tries again, somehow sounding even more nervous the second time. Still nothing then carefully, he sets the drink down in front of her.
“..I got this for you, baby..” That finally earns him a reaction: she looks at the glass. Then at him and back at the glass. A smile appears and Michael’s stomach immediately drops to the floor. Because it’s not her happy smile. It’s the smile. The one that means she’s about to make him suffer.
“Oh.” One word as she picks up the drink and studies it thoughtfully before slowly lifting her eyes back to his. The smile widens.
“Oh,” She says again. “Finally remembered who your girlfriend is?” And just like that, every apology Michael spent the last fifteen minutes rehearsing evaporates completely.
Michael just stares at her. Which, unfortunately, is probably the worst possible thing he could be doing right now. He just.. stares. Partially because he's terrified and genuinely, sincerely terrified in a way that feels ridiculous considering he’s a rising star, one would think very little scares him. But he’s staring mostly because she’s angry, and he's never actually seen her like this before. Not really—not directed at him. Usually when she’s upset, there’s still something soft underneath it. Its huffy, pouty, there’s some visible crack where he can see his way back in. Tonight there isn’t. Tonight she’s sitting across from him looking completely unimpressed, completely unaffected by his presence, and somehow so damn beautiful. She’s beautiful everyday, yeah. But right now? Whew. Her eyes seem darker, her posture straighter and there’s a confidence that feels like she owns the entire nightclub and everyone inside it. Michael knows he should be apologizing. Knows he should be speaking. Knows he should be doing literally anything other than staring at her. Instead, his brain completely betrays him by noticing how pretty she looks when she’s mad.
The silence stretches longer than it should and her eyebrow slowly lifts. Michael continues staring.
“Hello?” Nothing. “Michael?”
His brain finally restarts with all the grace of a car refusing to turn over. “Pardon?” The second the word leaves his mouth, she lets out a short laugh and leans back against the booth cushions.
“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You're not even listening to me.”
Michael immediately opens his mouth to argue before deciding against it. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Then she gestures casually across the club toward Diana and smiles in a way that makes every survival instinct in his body activate at once.
“Please go back over there before I drag that old bitch.” Michael’s eyes widen and his gaze instinctively flickers toward Diana before snapping right back to his girlfriend. Huge mistake. She catches it immediately.
“Oh, don't worry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.” And suddenly Michael understands that this isn’t really about Diana at all—or at least entirely. It’s about spending an entire evening making his girlfriend feel unwanted while he floated around Studio 54 like he didn’t even have one. The realization settles heavily in his stomach, and for the first time all night, he's no longer scared of her being angry. He’s scared because she has every right to be.
(Name) stares at him for another few seconds before letting out a long sigh and sliding out of the booth. Michael immediately straightens because the fact she's standing up usually means a decision has been made, and Michael has a horrible feeling he isn’t going to like it. She smooths down her outfit, picks up her purse, and points directly at him.
“I’m leaving.” She says and Michael blinks.
“Okay..” He nods.
“You can stay if you want.” His face falls instantly. “But,” She continues holding up a finger, “I’m changing the locks if you do.” The statement confirms he is, in fact, still very much in trouble and (Name) watches the realization happen in real time. His shoulders sink. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Then without a single argument, he simply stands up and follows after her immediately with no hesitation. He’s trailing along a few steps behind like a giant, miserable puppy that knows exactly why it’s being punished.
(Name) makes it approximately ten feet before glancing over her shoulder and finding him still there looking guilty and pathetic. Looking like if she left him alone in Studio 54 for more than twenty minutes he’d probably just stand in the corner thinking about life. The sight nearly breaks her resolve. Nearly.
“That's what I thought,” She says, reaching back and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and Michael doesn’t even protest. If anything, he seems relieved to be collected. (Name) rolls her eyes and starts steering him toward the exit while he obediently follows along behind her. They’re halfway across the club when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.
“Well, look at this.” Quincy appears out of nowhere, drink in hand and a grin already spreading across his face as he takes in the scene before him. (Name) with one hand on Michael’s collar. Michael following behind her with all the dignity of a man being escorted out of kindergarten. Quincy immediately starts laughing.
She brightens instantly. “Hi, Q!” she calls cheerfully, as if she isn’t actively dragging her boyfriend through the middle of Studio 54. “We're leaving!”
Quincy glances at Michael and at the hand attached to his collar. “I can see that, sweetheart.”
She nods enthusiastically. ”Early too!” And behind her, Michael closes his eyes for a brief moment as Quincy nearly doubles over laughing.
“What’d you do, Mike?” Quincy asks.
“I don't wanna talk about it,” Michael mutters.
“He knows what he did,” She answers at the exact same time, giving his collar another tug toward the door and Quincy laughs even harder. Michael wishes the floor would open and swallow him whole.
The walk to the car is painfully embarrassing for Michael but she saves him from the embarrassment of the paparazzi because releases his collar the second they step outside, but somehow that’s worse. At least when she was dragging him around, she was touching him. Now she’s just walking beside him with her purse tucked under her arm and her expression fixed firmly ahead. The night air is cooler than inside the club, carrying away some of the heat and noise of Studio 54, but none of it helps the growing sense of dread sitting in Michael’s stomach. When the car finally pulls up, he nearly lunges for the door handle, rushing ahead to open it for her before she can do it herself. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture beyond sliding into the seat without a word and Michael follows a moment later, settling beside her as the door shuts and the city begins moving past the windows.
The silence inside the car feels louder than the music had.
(Name) sits with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and one leg thrown over the other, looking out the window because she’s suddenly become fascinated by New York traffic. Michael glances at her once.. then again. Then a third time. Every few seconds his eyes drift back toward her before darting away when she doesn’t react. He lasts maybe five minutes before finally giving up. Slowly and cautiously, he reaches across the seat and rests his hand lightly on her knee.
She just refuses to look at him.
“Lovey..” Michael says quietly. No response.
“I’m sorry.” His thumb moves against her knee. “Will you look at me?” Nothing.
“Please? What can I do?” The worst part is how sincere he sounds. He’s not making excuses or defending himself. He’s just being her Michael. Soft and sweet and looking so genuinely miserable that she can physically feel her resolve beginning to crack down the middle. She hates it. Hates how easy it is when he uses that voice. Hates how his eyes get all sad. Hates that she still wants to forgive him..
So instead she turns her head slowly and narrows her eyes at him. Michael immediately brightens.
Big mistake.
“Don't,” she warns and his smile falters. “You are going to massage my feet until your hands hurt.”
For a moment he stares at her then relief washes across his face so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. “That's it?”
Her eyes narrow further and Michael wisely corrects himself. “I mean.. yes. Absolutely. As long as you want.”
“Good.”
“Okay."
“And I'm still mad at you.”
“I know.”
“Very mad.”
“I know, lovey.”
She turns back toward the window, fighting the smile threatening to appear on her face and a few seconds later, Michael’s hand quietly slips from her knee into her hand.
This time she lets it stay there.
The second she lets his hand stay in hers, Michael immediately gets hopeful in that cutie way he gets when he thinks he might still be forgiven. She doesn’t even have to look at him to feel it. Its the little glances he keeps sneaking at her and the way his thumb moves against her knuckles. She keeps her gaze fixed out the window acting like she hasn’t noticed any of it even though she absolutely has.
The quiet doesn't last long.
“..Can I have a kiss?” Michael asks, voice softer than it already is because he’s testing whether the ground is stable again. (Name) closes her eyes for a second like she’s physically bracing herself, then finally turns her head toward him. The look she gives him is unreadable, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning across the space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It’s brief, barely even a second, and the moment it’s over she’s already pulling away and turning back toward the window like nothing happened. Michael goes completely still beside her for a second then lets out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.
“I got a kiss,” he says softly, and she immediately groans and hides her face in her hand.
“Don’t start,” she warns, but her voice isn’t nearly as firm as she wants it to be. And Michael, still holding her just leans back in his seat with a smile that makes it very clear he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.
By the time they get back to her apartment (he pays for), the argument has started to lose its intensity. She kicks off her shoes the second she walks in and Michael follows her in without a word, already looking for ways to make things right without overcomplicating it.
A few minutes later she’s settled on the couch with one leg tucked under her, a cigarette resting between her fingers as she leans back into the cushions, watching him move around the room. Michael eventually ends up sitting on the floor in front of her, carefully taking her feet into his hands and he starts massaging slowly, thumbs pressing into her arch. She doesn’t look at him at first, just exhales smoke toward the ceiling, acting like she’s still mad, but her foot relaxes in his grip anyway, betraying her before she can stop it.
Michael glances up at her once, then keeps going when she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it from her anyway.
(Name) doesn’t look down at him right away. She just takes another slow drag from her cigarette, considering it for a second longer than necessary, then finally tilts her head slightly in his direction with the faintest trace of a smile pulling at her mouth. And Michael, still on the floor with her feet in his hands, keeps massaging like he’s already accepted whatever verdict she decides to give him.
Michael keeps working his thumbs into her feet and she lounges back into the couch like she’s testing how long she can stay annoyed before it dissolves on its own. She finally speaks without looking at him, voice light but still edged with something he knows better than to fully relax around.
“I dunno,” she says, exhaling another thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Do you think I should still be mad?”
Michael pauses for half a second, hands still resting around her ankle. Then he looks up at her properly, curls a little messy, expression soft and painfully earnest.. that look always makes her anger feel less solid than it should. “Yes,” he says immediately, then corrects himself just as fast, “I mean—no. I mean.. I think you were right to be mad.”
That earns him a look.
So he keeps going, “I was stupid,” he admits, thumbs resuming their slow pressure like he needs the movement to stay grounded. “I should’ve been with you more. I didn’t mean to.. make you feel like that.” His eyes flick up again, searching her face carefully, like he’s trying to read whether he’s losing her in real time. “But I.. also really don’t want you to stay mad at me.”
(Name) watches him for a moment, cigarette still between her fingers, expression unreadable in a way that makes his stomach tighten slightly. Then she tilts her head, studying him like she’s deciding something she hasn’t fully committed to yet. Michael doesn’t move, he just waits there on the floor with her foot in his hands.
Finally, she lets out a small breath through her nose, something almost like a laugh buried in it, and leans her head back against the couch.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she says, not quite forgiving him but not holding on to the anger either. Michael lets out a relieved breath he clearly didn’t realize he was holding and immediately goes back to massaging.
“But you’re definitely putting that mouth to work tonight.”
A/N: so it was only a matter of time before I indulged myself and made a smutty imagine for Fez so here's that. this is just porn tbh because this man does things to me. hope ya'll enjoy
"Fez please," you mewled. Your hand at the back of his head as you lightly scratched his scalp. He kisses down your chest, the rough pads of his fingers were a stark contrast to your delicate tits as he squeezed them. Fezco loved how soft you were. Always so warm whenever he held you. You were driving him crazy the whole day. Walking around in your little sundress, the back of your exposed thighs made him go feral, the overwhelming want to have you sit on his face becoming too much. He could go down on you for hours, but right now, he needed you to be quiet. "Don't be too loud, baby," he whispered to your stomach, before kissing either side of your hips. You squirmed at that.
You knew you couldn't make much noise with Ash just in the other room, but Fezco's mouth wasn't where you needed him. You felt his fingers pull at the waistband of your panties before snapping it back in place, teasing you. You moaned. God, he was being a smug asshole right now, smiling as he watches you clench your thighs to relieve some of the pressure. "You real wet down there, baby?" He peers up at you through his lashes, his eyes darker than they usually are.
After a second you nod, your eyes closing as you feel him drag your panties down your legs. You bend your knees to help him strip you completely. He tossed the drench material somewhere else in the bed before placing his strong hands on each of your knees, spreading your legs and exposing your pussy to him. Fuck, he really has no fucking clue what he did to deserve you. However hard life was to him, you being in it made it all worth everything.
You try to force your legs shut again with the heat of Fezco's stare making you suddenly feel all shy and shit. "It's okay baby. Just wanna get a look at ya," you let him part your legs again, exposing your cunt to the cold air of the room. Fez brings his thumb to part your folds, spreading your lips which made you whine at the contact. "Fez please, no more teasing." He only smirked at that, enjoying the view of you sprawled naked on his bed. He's a bastard for making you beg.
You felt him pull away to stand. You watch him undress at the foot of the bed, leaving only his chain. One of his hands is wrapped around his cock, his tip red and leaking. You watch him pump his throbbing length before getting back on the bed and settling once again between your wide-spread legs. “Oh fuck,” Fez breathes, his face coming close to your glistening folds. “Look how fucking wet you are for me,” he rasps, the gentleness of his tone only causing you to bite your lip. A moan gets caught in your throat as he buries his face in your heat. You let out a small 'fuck' as you try your best not to close around his head. His long licks have you arching your back off the bed.
Fez watches you while he laps up your slick, dipping his tongue into you. It wasn't until he wrapped his lips around your little clit and started sucking that you let out a small scream, prompting you to cover your mouth with your hand. "Can't fucking keep quiet, can ya?" Fez takes his hot mouth off your pussy, replacing it with a thick finger. With his other hand, he grabbed your panties from the corner of the bed. He meets your face to kiss you. You taste yourself off of him, and you moan. When Fez pulls away, he stuffs your panties in your mouth. He smirks at you before going back between your legs.
Fez flattens his tongue over your cunt. You squeal through your gag as he continues slurping up your juices. You feel a familiar pressure spread in your belly, and by now Fez has his facial hair soaked. "Cum on my face, Y/N. C'mon." He starts fingering you, curling his digits to hit that patch within you. You let out a muffled scream as you squirt out against his awaiting mouth. You hear Fez groan before licking you clean, raising his head to watch your chest breathe in and out deep.
He meets your face again to take your panties out of your mouth. "You did so good," he mumbles as he kisses you. Fez then moves to kneel on the bed, grabbing your shaking legs in each hand and shoving them back to bend your knees. He runs his cock up and down your slit, watching your eyes roll back. Fez lines himself up with you before sinking in. You gasp at the stretch. His cock stretching you good. He hooks his arms under your legs to open you up even more to him before pounding into you. He thrusts into you, his tip going so far that your mind goes blank and you go dumb on his cock.
"Look at you," Fez groaned. "So fucking pretty under me." You whimpered at that, unable to do anything but moan his name. A particularly deep thrust of his had you crying out, making him stuff his fingers in your mouth. The way you were clenching around his cock told him you were close. He took his fingers out of your mouth to rub them harshly on your clit. You caught your mouth in your hand before you let out a scream. He was fucking you so good you swear you might pass out.
Your release hits suddenly, and Fez fucks you through it, before following soon after. He came with a groan, chest vibrating as his cum pours into you. Fez thrusts a few more times causing you to mewl because you're so sensitive, pussy tingling. He pulls out with a groan, watching his cum leak out of you. You don’t know how long he stares between your thighs as you try to catch your breath. You meet his gaze a few minutes later and give him a tired smile. Fez returns it, crawling over to kiss you again.
"Lemme get something to clean you up," you watch him put his boxers on before heading to the bathroom. Fez returned a moment later with a cloth, using it to wipe between your thighs. You gasped as he brushed over your sensitive clit. “My bad, baby," he apologized. You only hummed in response as you felt your eyes get heavy with sleep. You felt yourself drifting off as Fez pulls you to his chest, his heart thumping beneath your head. "Get some rest, Y/N," Fez mumbled before kissing your head.
࿐ ˚ . ✦ summary: fez had to work, and you had to tease him while doing so. and when you tempt fez… retribution ensues.
࿐ ˚ . ✦ warnings: slight mention of alcohol & drug consumption, cursing, pda, grinding, dirty talk, thigh riding, manhandling, fez being horny & mad ig
࿐ ˚ . ✦ word count: 3.5K
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"No, sorry." Fez's voice was soft, yet firm. He didn't want the rejection to sting, but he didn't want to encourage you either.
"Please, just 5 more minutes." you said, holding on to him, trying to keep your boyfriend in bed.
"Sorry baby, can't," he denied, trying to break free from your hold as you peppered kisses down his neck, a sigh leaving his lips mid sentence. "Gotta go, I've got lotta clients tonite."
"I know..." you trailed off, the tips of your fingers caressing his skin as your lips pressed soft kisses down his neck. "But five minutes won't make a difference, will they?"
"If we do this, it ain't gonna be ‘just five minutes’," he closed his eyes and groaned, feeling the blood rushing down to his dick. "and I really gotta go to this thing ma, gotta earn my money and shit."
"Fine," you agreed in a half-defeated tone, leaning back on the bed, removing your body from on top of his. "Go."
Fez hurried to get out of bed, if he spent any more time with you, hearing your voice and touching your skin, he'd stay. And as much as he wanted to, he really needed the money.
"Look," he spoke, putting on his clothes as you stared at him from between the sheets. "Imma come back in a few hours, and promise Imma spend the rest of the nite between yo' legs. Doin' whateva you want me to."
That was a fine proposal, you couldn't lie. The idea of Fez spending hours between your legs sounded promising, even more so as he knows what he's doing.
"Fine..." you said, folding your arms in front of your chest to pretend you were still mad, but Fez wasn't blind, he saw how flustered you'd gotten.
Once he got dressed, he picked up his phone and other stuff, before leaving the room, he walked back to the bed.
"Imma be back later," he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your lips, lingering closer there. "Don't get dressed, want ya' naked when I get back."
You huffed in amusement, Fezco smiled softly and quickly got out of your shared bedroom. Once he was gone, you threw your head back in the pillow and groaned.
He always said you were the tease. But what about him? The cheesy mf knew exactly what to say to get you wet way before touching you.
You did intend to wait for him to get back, but the hours felt like whole days. You were growing bored by yourself, the idea of going out was getting dangerously tempting.
After a quick shower, you had been torn between getting dressed up or not wearing anything at all like Fez asked.
Before you chose anything, your phone vibrated on the night stand. You hurried to grab it, hoping it would be Fez to let you know he was on his way back, but it wasn't him.
madz: bitch where r u?
You raised an eyebrow to yourself before replying to her, wondering what she could want. You two were friends, so it wasn't weird of her to text you, but the hour was.
you: fez's, why?
madz: there's a full on party why r u at ur bfs
What were you supposed to say to that?
you: idk
madz: *sent location*
madz: come here 2 have some fun
You were already writing a text to excuse yourself from going, but since Maddy knew you well, she added another text.
madz: if u say no u r a pussy
you: i'll be there soon
madz: k bitch
A rush of excitement washed over you, and in no time, you were wearing a tight red silk dress, finishing up your makeup and thinking about the heels you'd be wearing.
You were supposed to wait for Fez, yes, but he was at that party, you two could just meet there. He wouldn't be able to get between your legs there, but it would be nice to spend some time together.
An uber later, you were finally at the party. The music could be heard from far away, and it was at its peak. People inside the house seemed like they were having a good time, and it encouraged you to go inside.
You saw Maddy and Cassie dancing in the middle of the crowd, Jules and Kat were doing shots by the side and the rest... you had no clue, but they were there, of that you were sure.
After greeting some people, downing some shots and doing small talk, you began your search for your boyfriend. Although it probably wasn't a 'search' at all, since you knew exactly where he'd be.
There he was. Sitting down on a couch on the edge of the dance floor, with a blunt in his hand, smoke leaving his mouth and an empty stare.
He seemed to be high as a kite, as usual, but he also looked bored as hell, sitting alone on the couch, waiting for someone to buy something.
He had no idea you were there, you could surprise him, convince him that having fun with you at parties isn't a crime.
He had a perfect view of the dance floor, but didn't seem interested in it at all. Maybe, if he saw you dancing amidst the crowd tho...
With a plan in mind, you approached Maddy, who danced with a stranger as Cassie talked with McKay on the side.
"Finally!" Maddy cheered, moving her hips at the rhythm of the music. "I thought you'd gone to get dick from your ginger or something."
"That's the plan." you admitted with a mischievous smile as you swayed your hips at the beat of the song.
She laughed and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you close to her so you two could dance, leaving the boy she'd been dancing with on the side.
At first, Fez thought he was higher than normal. That he must be hallucinating you in the crowd or something, remorse for leaving you back on his bed.
He was almost sure you weren't real. There was no way someone could look so fine and not be a piece of a fantasy. The way your hips moved, your soft skin, your smile, your legs... there was no way you were real.
But then, you locked eyes and sent a wink his way. That's when Fez knew you were real.
Fez sat straighter on the couch, wetting his lips as his blue eyes trailed over your body from head to toe, and back again to your face, holding eye contact to make it clear that you had his attention.
Every single one of your movements was with the purpose of teasing him, the way you moved your hips, bit your lip and threw your head back were enough to send Fez's mind to the gutter.
"Hey man, can I get..." He heard the customer, but couldn't care less. Why now and not earlier? "Man? Hey."
Fezco removed his attention from you and placed it in his drink client, who could barely speak.
When you noticed Fezco was distracted, you felt a little discouraged. You were showing him your best dance moves and it still hadn't been enough to make him stand up and walk to you.
You weren't exactly proud of the tactic you were about to follow, but truth is, you were horny as fuck and needed Fez. And you knew for a fact that this would get a reaction out of him.
Still dancing with Maddy, you turned your back to Fezco and shrugged, a little down. Her brows furrowed in confusion, but then she looked over your shoulder to where Fez sat, talking with a dude, and quickly caught up.
In no time, Maddy pulled the boy in, so you three were dancing. Although the boy kept getting closer and closer to you, placing a hand on your lower back, sliding it to your waist, you removed it from your body and took a step back.
After some seconds, you turned your back to them, locking eyes with Fezco.
Now you've done it.
That's the first thing that crossed your mind as soon as you saw his expression. Furrowed brows, locked jaw, tense shoulders, and his eyes burning holes in your skin.
The boy pulled you closer to him and Maddy, getting in between you two, his hands getting dangerously close to the edge of your dress, and even though you tried to sneak away, his hold was firm.
That was Fezco's last straw.
You saw your boyfriend stand up from the couch, and couldn't help but feel a little excited. His eyes were fixed on you as he made his way through the dancing crowd to where you stood.
Slowly, you inched away from Maddy and the boy, pushing his hand away from you for the last time.
Once Fezco was in front of you, you looked up at him and gifted him the most innocent smile you could give.
"Hey baby."
Fezco didn't verbally reply, he just clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Fez placed a hand on your hip and quickly spun you around, pressing his chest against your back, all while you kept moving your hips to the beat.
His strong hold had your knees weak in wanting, but now that you had him, you wanted to enjoy it a little longer, it's not often when Fez decides to join you in the dance floor.
You threw your arms up in the air, completely getting lost in the music and letting your hips move freely, and yes, against Fez's body too.
Thinking 'fuck it', Fez placed his other hand on your hip and pulled you even closer to him, so his dick would be pressed against your ass as you danced.
And just like that, what seemed to be just a dance, turned into a teasing game.
You were grinding on him, and Fez was shamelessly grinding on you too, making sure you felt how hard he was from all this little game you had going on.
Lost in the music, you threw your head back, placing it on Fez's chest/shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment.
You couldn't see it, but Fez was smirking. You'd just placed yourself in a silver plate for him to do his bidding— and you didn't even know it.
As soon as you felt Fez's lips on your neck, you opened your eyes, your hips stopped moving for a few seconds too.
Knowing what he was up to, you didn't let him know how turned on that got you, instead you just kept grinding on him, feeling him leaving a trail of kisses from where your shoulder met your neck and up to your jaw.
No shame at all.
Fezco and you had never been the type of couple to show PDA, it was mostly small kisses, or you sitting on his lap if you were feeling bold.
Which explains why when your eyes found Maddy's, she looked genuinely shocked at the scene. You simply shrugged slightly, placing your hand on the back of Fezco's head as Maddy gave you a thumbs up and mouthed 'catch that dick!'
It didn't take long for him to notice you were distracted, and for sure, he wanted all your attention back to him.
He knew your weak spots like the back of his hand. So he quickly pressed his lips against the sweet spot on your neck and sucked, bit slightly and then ran his tongue over it, making sure to leave a hickey.
That made you gasp and almost moan, pressing your body impossibly closer to his, his hand sliding down your body, caressing your leg and toying with the hem of your dress; his other hand pushed your hips back, as he moved his to the front.
"You wanted my attention," he said directly in your ear. "Can you keep up with it, ma?"
You felt a tug on your lower stomach, basically, your pussy in distress cause of how badly you needed Fez.
You turned around to face your boyfriend, your lips crashing with his immediately, both of his hands were back on your hips, your arms around his neck.
You didn't know you had that in you, the ability to drive Fez crazy like that. From that kiss, things had gotten more heated, Fez proposed going to the bathroom for some relief; but you denied, only to start grinding on him again.
When he was sure that he was going to explode, Fezco asked/ordered you to go home with him, and you said yes, knowing that you two would probably fuck to sleep once you made it back to his place.
But oh boy... no one said it would be easy.
On the drive back home, you attempted to sneak a hand in his pants, but he moved your hand away rather harshly. He wasn't even looking at you, which meant he was mad. Really mad.
His hand was still on your thigh, though. It moved high enough to make you squirm, but Fez always moved it away just when it seemed like he would just give in.
Once back at home, he still didn't talk. He just sat down on the edge of the bed and lit a blunt, acting like you weren't even there.
It was all part of his little game, you knew, and you fully intended to play along; Ashtray wasn't home, so you didn't have to worry about the noise.
You walked to the bed and sat next to him, staring at the wall, letting the silence settle down.
You'd been almost shy, inching closer to him. He didn't move away, so it was a good sign. Slowly, you started kissing his neck, taking your time.
A groan wanted to escape his lips, but he was too stubborn to let it out. Instead he played it off by placing one hand on the mattress.
Your lips were restless as you moved closer, kissing along his neck, up his jaw and straight to his lips. Fezco immediately kissed you back, removing the hand from the mattress and placing it on your hip, holding the blunt with the other.
He bit your lower lip, making you open your mouth enough so he could slip his tongue in, his hand lowering to your ass, while you held onto his shoulder as your other hand slipped under his shirt.
Blindly, he put the blunt on the ashtray placed in his night table, hurrying to put both hands on your ass, pulling you closer to him, swallowing down your moan.
Still kissing him like your life depended on it, you found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, Fez complied by taking his shirt off, his lips going back to yours immediately.
Sneakily, he began to slide his hand between your bodies, his fingers rubbing your clit just enough to make you squirm on top of him.
Hoping this would be it, you quickly stood up, Fezco sneaked his hands under your dress and pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them across the room, letting his hands slide up your legs, pushing your dress up.
You felt almost vulnerable under his hot stare, his blue eyes were nearly black with lust, and his jaw was so clenched you thought his teeth would crack.
Leaning down, your hands moved to his jeans, and you were trying to pop the button open when he moved your hands away. You tried again and he moved your hands away again.
You raised an eyebrow, not understanding the game. His hands were still roaming over your legs, softly though. His eyes were dark with lust and his dick was clearly hard. What was he playing at?
Fez pulled you down so you straddled his clothed thigh, letting you know what he wanted you to do. "Go on."
Knowing it could lead to an endless amount of teasing, you stood up and raised an eyebrow at him, testing him.
"You wanted to play dirty back there? Teasin me and shit?" he questions, pulling you back down on his thigh. "I know how to play too, mamas."
"Fez," you said softly. "Please..."
"Please what? Get off on my thigh, since you so good at grindin' and shit."
The way he spoke had you weak as hell, biting your lip and all, he gave you a small smirk, as a way to let you know he wasn't that mad, just wanted to fuck with you, in every sense.
You began to move your hips against his thigh slowly, mostly doing a show for him. Fezco picked up his blunt from the ashtray and took a drag from it, his blue eyes trailing over your body.
It was obvious that you were just playing around; Fez didn't like that. He tensed his thigh and began bouncing his leg up and down, getting a couple of moans out of you immediately.
"Go on," he encouraged you, using the hand on your hip to guide you. "I ain't gonna do nothing else to you ‘till you cum on my thigh."
"But Fez..."
"Actin like a brat and shi'? You get treated like a brat."
He was gonna be the death of you.
Now you really started riding his thigh in search for your own pleasure, and to Fez, that was the real show. He relaxed and leaned back, still using his hand on your hip to guide your movements, but mainly focusing on your pussy grinding against his thigh, and the way your tits bounced on the confines of your dress.
With how turned on you were, it didn't take long. You placed a hand on his shoulder for support and moved your hips until you finally reached your orgasm, Fez helping by bouncing his leg.
Time seemed to stop as you came down from your high, Fez being nice enough to let you get back to normal.
He put out his blunt on the ashtray, both of his hands on your hips now, his eyes trailing over your face and body.
"You did so good," he praised you, his voice low. "so good..."
Out of nowhere, he wrapped an arm around you and turned you both around, pushing you down to the bed as he towered over you.
And that's when he lost all his composure, pretending to be mad at you and restraining himself from touching you wasn't working for him any more.
The kiss was intense, heated, and lustful. He nearly ripped the dress away from your body, desperate to feel your skin against his. You felt like you were melting into the kiss, barely knowing what to do with yourself other than kissing him back.
His lips moved down to your neck, your clavicle, the valley of your breasts, and even lower, all over your belly, the top of your thighs, your inner thighs, kissing his way up desperately.
And as much as you loved when he went down on you, you needed him inside you now.
"Fez, I need you now, please." you begged, your hand softly pressed against his back.
That was all he needed. Fez took off his jeans and boxers at once, getting on top of you quickly, kissing the hell out of you again, entering you with a single thrust.
"Oh fuck..." you moaned, clenching at the feeling of Fez filling you up so perfectly.
"You so tight," he mumbled in your ear as he started to thrust deep and slow. "you feel so good, baby."
You couldn't even speak, he was just moving so fucking good that only moans and whimpers left your lips. He placed his hand on the leg you had wrapped around his waist, moving it higher so he could lean in more; getting a new angle.
“Fuck, fuck…” your hand trailed down his back, you were probably scratching his back, but he didn’t mind. He never did. “Just like that, Fez.”
He stopped after a couple thrusts more. You moved away to try and look at his face, but he didn’t even let you, as soon as you moved back, he pulled out, and used the grip he had on your hips to turn you around.
The strength that man has is underrated.
He thrust back in and in no time, found a rhythm good enough to have you moaning his name like a prayer. He hit the spot with every thrust, with a hand on your hip, the other one he used to wrap it around your neck and press your back against his chest.
“I’m gonna cu—“
“Nah you ain’t, hold it.” he said firmly, making his pace faster.
He could be such a teasing bastard sometimes.
He kept up the relentless pace for a while, his hand sliding down between your legs, rubbing on your clit. He was doing every single thing he knew drove you insane, and yet, he said you couldn’t cum yet, not until he said so.
Fez really isn’t half as innocent as he looks.
“Cum.” he all but ordered with a hoarse voice. “Go on, princess.”
As if your release had been literally waiting for confirmation, it washed over you like a wave of pleasure, making your legs shake and all your senses to just… not work. He fucked you dumb. Literally. Fezco’s release followed shortly, accompanied by a hoarse groan of his.
You fell to the bed, utterly spent, and Fezco carefully pulled out and laid next to you, tiredly admiring you.
“Didn’t know you had that in you.” you said with an amused smile.
“Me neither,” he chuckled, brushing some strands of hair away from your face. “Got what you wanted?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, I want my girl happy,” he said with a lazy smile. “Even if she acts like a fuckin’ brat.”
Jokes aside, you knew he meant that. All these little games were part of your relationship, and at the end of the day, Fezco loved you as much as you loved him.
Although, you made a mental note to tease him more often, especially if it lead to nights like this one.
we know finn is clingy, like a baby we know!!!! so needy and greedy for you but also such a goddamn loser, like he talks about you all the time in that pathetic tone of his, always whimpering whenever someone talks about you in ways he believes only he can. sometimes during interviews he lowkey just geeks out about you and starts dropping random facts about you as if you’re a fucking figurine. like the hell? whatever like i said, loserrrr
there was this one time on a press tour in between interviews where he was talking about how amazing you were and how much he misses you to his fellow cast members and they were so out of it, like babes you’ve been saying the same thing for the past week! during interviews he would just point things out or say things that only you would know, you know trying to make himself known to you through the media as if he can’t just pick up the phone and call you, sir pick up that goddamn phone and call your lovely girlfriend
okay but one time you two were out with a bunch of friends and naturally you aren’t just going to pay attention to finn, like honey we’re out with friends right? so he’s being such a dick in the corner, watching you with such a sad expression on his cute little face while you just continue to stay in your conversation that has nothing to do with him. he’s pissed off and on the verge of just coming up to you and hugging you from the back and whispering in your ears that he wants you. in finn’s head that’s the perfect thing to do but sometimes, sometimes, he knows that it’s overboard
well fuck that he does it, literally a fuck it we ball moment. so while you’re talking with your friends and listening to this drama with deep passion he wraps his arms around your belly and rests his chin on your shoulder, you place your hands on him giving him what he wants, but you’re still not giving him your undivided attention! like mama can you take a hint! surely you know what you’re doing to him. he maneuvers his head so that’s his mouth his positioned in a good place that he can whisper in your ear, fuck those whispers turn into whimpering words, ‘baby…please i need you’ it doesnt annoy you it makes you giggle, ‘pleaseeeee, i can’t stand listening to another word if isn’t yours’ gosh like i kid you not a whimpering mess
and when you finally give in after like what? ten whimpering seconds, which is so long for him, his sweet mouth is on yours. passionate pecks turn into a heated makeout sesh and suddenly you’re away from your friends and in the corner fully devouring this man. ugh so hot!!!!!! he’s still whimpering in your mouth and humming into each kiss, his hands are roaming across your whole body as if he hasn’t touched you in ages and then he gets a boner and it’s all over for him. you stop kissing him and see that his lips are almost purple and his boner very much erected and just leave him like that. oh fuck his poor little life right. well now finn has to go to the bathroom and fend for his life all by himself, yes he moans your name and wishes it was you jerking him off but whatever
summary: a summer fling when you were working on the set of the shannara chronicles turned your life upside down with a positive pregnancy test after austin returned to the united states. a pregnancy test, and a daughter that you never told him about. until the elvis biopic found him back in your orbit and forced you to face the music.
chapter summary: no multi-chapter fic is complete without the ‘male love interest does some severe ball fumbling’ chapter. *drops this and runs*
word count: 2500
authors note: rated m for explicit smut in the 2nd chunk/day.
i live for comments and love talking about my writing, feel free to pop me an anon anytime!
xxx
June 21st, 2020
Cora was excited to see that Austin was there in the morning, though as you expected less excited by the fact that you had to take him to the airport to go around the globe for a week. She was quiet for the entire car ride, until you pulled around to the gate he needed to be at.
Baz had arranged for him to go through a private terminal after Austin told him you’d be bringing Cora to drop him off, the four year old in question bursting into tears as soon as the car stopped.
Austin got out to grab her while you opened the trunk to get the duffle bag you’d made a pit stop to pick up. And when you peeked around from around the back of the car you found him sitting on the curb, Cora on his knees.
“Gonna go to America and forget ‘bout me again,” She said through hiccups, wiping her nose on her sleeve. You winced and saw Austin do the same, what you thought had been a fine explanation of his four year absence coming back to bite him in the ass.
“I didn’t forget about you baby, I didn’t know about you. And those are different things, right?” He replied and she nodded her head, still in tears.
Me too kid, you thought.
You’d gotten so used to having him around, especially recently, that a one week absence was taking you back to 2015 in some ways. When you’d dropped him off at this very airport not knowing if you’d ever see him again, unknowingly already a few weeks pregnant.
Cora calmed down after a few minutes, and Austin pressed a kiss to both of her cheeks before he stood up to get her back in her car-seat. “I’m gonna miss you so much Cora Jean, could never forget about my favorite girl.”
“P’omise?” She asked, and he linked their pinkies together. “Promise.”
He slid the door halfway closed before going around the backside of the car to you, glancing around to make sure you were alone before pulling you into his arms.
Hell- what was breaking another rule anyways?
Austin kissed the side of your head and you couldn’t help the content sigh that it got out of you.
“Gonna miss me too?” You said as you pulled back to tilt your head up at him, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mm, ask Baz how much I argued with him about needing to go do this.”
Austin laughed lightly, biting loosely on his bottom lip. And if you weren’t still so paranoid about the paparazzi you would’ve kissed him senseless right there on the sidewalk.
“Text when you land in one piece.” You said instead and he promised he would, giving you a tap on the hip as he let you go to grab his bag.
He stopped by the passenger side door to say one last goodbye to Cora, and walked backwards with a wave as he went inside, your gaze following him until he turned and disappeared through security.
---
June 23rd, 2020.
You knew you were going to miss Austin. You just didn’t expect it to ache. And it was to an extent that you didn’t know if you’d be able to enforce the ‘no sleepovers’ rule when he came back.
How much you could break the rules without needing to revisit your (not) relationship status wasn’t lost on you. But it wasn’t something you exactly wanted to think about either, not that it stopped the thought from swirling around your head as you tried to sleep.
You almost jumped when your phone started buzzing and you saw that it was Facetime from Austin as though he could’ve been reading your mind.
A little puzzled as you clicked the answer button because of how early you knew it was in California, a sleepy smile greeted you on the other end.
He was sitting up in bed and you didn’t think he’d left it yet judging by the state of hair, which he pushed out of his eyes lazily.
“Mornin’” You said softly. “What time is it there?”
“5:30.” He replied through a yawn.
You were about to say something about how he sounded like he needed to go back to sleep, but he just kept talking.
“You were in my dream, woke up thinkin’ about how much I miss you.”
That was sweet, you thought, only realizing what he’d been implying by it when his face faltered and he let out of a harsh breath.
Oh.
“Austin,” You started and he let his gaze fall back to you, face growing flushed. “Are you touching yourself?”
He swallowed. “You alright with that?”
“Show me.”
There was some shuffling as he set the phone on his nightstand and sat up more, his lower half coming into view. He was stroking himself, and the little sounds you could hear him making under his breath made you press your thighs together.
“What are you thinking about?” You asked, and moved to hold your phone with one hand as you tugged down your pajama shorts.
“You,” He said gruffly, reaching for his phone to flip the camera and give you a closer view of what he was doing. “How beautiful you look when you’re straddling my lap and I can feel how turned on you are.”
The closer view of his dick, leaking precum that he swiped over and smeared down the shift made you feel damp, your center throbbing as you tugged your panties down.
Circling your clit slowly, you didn’t make a scene of announcing what you were doing. But a little moan escaped and you could sense when Austin heard it.
“Yeah yeah, touch yourself for me.” He mumbled and you squirmed as you circled your bundle of nerves faster, loosening up in regards to the sounds leaving your mouth.
“The noises you make are so pretty. Miss hearing them in my ear when you’re all filled up with my cock.”
Finding your senses enough to flip the camera off of your face, the low “Shit baby.” you heard when he saw the view went right at your arousal.
You pumped two fingers inside of yourself, but couldn’t go long without needing stimulation back on your clit.
Slowly pulling them out, you dragged the wetness up your slit back to the bundle of nerves where you went back to rubbing yourself off.
Austin’s voice shook when he started talking again, his tell for when he was getting close. Managing to talk through it, he blabbered incoherently about how much he missed you and couldn’t wait to be home.
And the use of home would’ve been something you gave more thought if you weren’t edging up to your orgasm, chest heaving.
“Aus, I’m gonnna-” You choked out, your own words cut off with a whine as you tried to hold back.
“Lemme see that pretty face when you come.”
Barely able to focus long enough to do so, you hit the button, Austin appearing to have the same struggle flipping his camera. You only got a brief glance at him before your head dropped back against the headboard, thighs shaking as you reached your peak.
“Iloveyou.”
He whispered those three words slurred together as one as his climax rolled through him and came in his hand, the phrase cutting through the overdrive your orgasm had sent your brain into like a knife. When you came back to your senses and looked at your phone you were met with a view of the hotel ceiling.
You cleared your throat and there was some shuffling before Austin came into view again, face flushed.
“Dropped my phone in all the excitement,” He joked with an exhale and you laughed softly.
You almost forgot what he had just said a few seconds ago until you didn’t, a remembrance which made you suck in a breath. But if he noticed he didn’t say anything.
“Go get some sleep and I’ll talk to you later ‘kay?” He said tiredly and you said your goodbyes.
Yeah, you thought, sleep was going to come so much easier now.
---
June 24th, 2020
“Okay whatever you’re hiding, out with it.”
You hadn’t seen Leah for longer than a quick coffee run the past couple weeks, a combination of both your actual schedule with Elvis and how much time you’d been spending with Austin. You knew she was smart enough to put together the pieces in regards to you asking her to come over for the night for the first time in weeks the second Austin was out of town. So really, you should’ve expected the interrogation.
“Are you pregnant?” She asked, voice serious, and you choked on the water you were sipping.
“No!” You said through a laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you plopped down next to her on the couch. “God no, you’d know if I was.”
“I mean I also thought I’d know if you and Austin were back together,” She started, and her tone was light but you could tell there was some degree of real hurt behind it, even if small. You’d told each other everything since you were in 4th grade. Except you hadn’t looped her in about Austin, her or your mother. It was embarrassing, but a part of you was scared the second you got too excited about it it would all come crashing down.
Not to mention you felt especially anxious about the fragility of it all after when he’d let slip on the phone. It hadn’t come back up, not yet, which you knew you should’ve been grateful for.
But the idea that he regretted it, or worse didn’t mean it all made your chest tight.
“It’s not personal,” You said to Leah and her eyes widened at the confirmation before you could finish your thought.
“Hey- I get that. But I also kinda wasn’t expecting to be right!”
She was damn near giddy, leaning forward with her hands folded under her chin.
“We aren’t in a relationship, just. Just friends with benefits,”
“And a four year old.” She supplied, and you gave her a half serious glare.
But before you could quip back your phone was ringing where it had been resting in your lap, Austin’s caller ID flashing across the screen.
Doing quick math in your head you realized with some concern that it had to be a little after two in the morning in California. So you picked up, gesturing at Leah something to the effect of “If you say a word I’ll kill you.”
You barely got out a “Hi” before Austin was talking, talking so fast he was almost stuttering. “You gotta listen to me, you’re gonna see something soon, probably, and I need you to know it’s not what it looks like.”
You hadn’t put him on speaker phone but Leah was sitting close enough to hear him, her eyes widening. She pulled out her own phone and started tapping it at, and you already didn’t like where this was going.
“What’s not what it looks like? I don’t understand,”
Your stomach dropped when you heard Leah gasp next to you, and she tried to turn her screen away when you leaned over to look but wasn’t fast enough.
There was a tabloid headline you couldn’t really process, eyes going right to the photos underneath it. You recognized Vanessa leaning against the wall just inside what looked like a hotel lobby. And then you recognized Austin in front of her, head tilted down in Vanessa’s direction with a hand on her upper arm.
He must’ve realized what your silence meant, clearing this throat before he started talking again.
“She wanted to talk, get the timeline of when Cora was conceived. I owed her an explanation,”
Blinking, you sat back against the couch arm, gripping your phone so hard your knuckles started going white. “In the middle of the night?”
“She’s been just as busy as me,” He supplied and that felt like a lie, but if it was that was the least important aspect of all this at least.
“Did you sleep with her?”
There was a pregnant pause, and your chest contracted even more than it already had, the rationale that you weren’t in a relationship so you couldn't be that hurt leaving your body.
“Iloveyou.”
“Iloveyou.”
“Iloveyou.”
“Hey- last time I checked you and me aren’t in a relationship, so-” Austin started again, voice growing tight.
You cut him off.
“The kid running around with your face is just a figment of my imagination then, yeah?”
Some part of you knew bringing Cora into it was low, but you also didn’t have it in you to care all that much.
Standing up off the couch because you couldn’t sit still anymore, you avoided Leah’s concerned look.
“She might as well have been to me for the past four years! You know what, sometimes it’s like you don’t even feel a little bad for what you did.”
He’d raised his voice and you raised yours right back, even though your hands shook as you did.
“And this is exactly why I don’t! Cora deserves better than someone who freaks out and full 180s the second things get a little too hard Austin."
“Whaddya mean by that?” He replied after a beat, voice lower. “I told you I tried to get out of this trip, Baz-”
“I heard you last night. “I love you.””
The line went nearly dead silent then and you only knew he hadn’t hung up by the sound of his breathing.
You waited a little bit for him to say something, anything. Until you felt tears pooling behind your eyes and knew you needed to get off the phone before this got even more embarrassing than it already was.
“But it’s good to know you didn’t mean it.”
“Y/N wait, please-”
You felt a sob bubbling in your throat and hung up three words into whatever he was going to say, dropping shakily back onto the couch.
You couldn’t make yourself meet Leah’s eyes and just stared at the ground, fidgeting with your hands as you tried to keep from completely breaking down.
“Oh honey,” She whispered, scooting closer and letting an arm fall around you. You let your head drop to her shoulder and one- two seconds passed before you were really crying.
About the fight, what you were sure it meant for Cora, alongside your job. And over how stupid you felt for thinking that maybe things would actually work out this time.
---
austin ⚡️
June 25th, 2020 at 8:05 AM
“Hi, it’s me. You already knew that I guess. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now but I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I hate fighting with you and I know you had your reasons for being pissed but I wasn’t bullshitting when I said there was more to it. Vanessa and I didn’t sleep together, we’d been drinking while we talked- and we made out. I know you’re not gonna like that either. But she wanted to go farther and I said I couldn’t, that even what we did was a huge mistake. She asked if it was because I was involved with you and I told her everything. About how it’s felt to fall back in sync with you after all these years, and the rules that we kinda stopped keeping and what I let slip on the phone- that bein’ a dad has given me a lot to think about.
I think we need to talk when I get back. About us, and about what I said and what you wanna do with all that. Give Cora a kiss for me, okay? I uh- I’ll see you when I see you. Bye.”
xxx
tag list (tags don’t always work, i do my best!): @chernayawidow @theinvisiblecapricorn @aalishifts @mavericksicybabe @cryingabtab @kittenlittle24 @invisiblee-smoke @mrs-munson-quinn @cevans-winchester @kikilovesdankmemes @oh-austin @chrissie-soula @starcatchxr @butlervol6 @thedeviltohisangel @redhoods-gf @gabrielajimenez @stlover288 @alqvarde @loudwombatmugkid @austinbrainrot @ab4eva @m0ndayagain @marlowmode @kingbouji3 @gardenavenue @yeonimii @eliseinmemphis @blurredcolour @tiddieshakeshownu @fallininlovewithurlove @briannaisanxious @amiets2 @karamelcoveredolicity @amnmich @mrsniallhoran505
I was wondering if u could do a kbd blurb with dustin and max and all the other kids? i just think the dynamic of the kids being all grown up and interacting with little steves would be hilarious
“Guess what, Lucas?”
Lucas tries diligently to swallow a bit of rotisserie chicken early. “What?” he asks.
Beth smiles at him adoringly. “Daddy says I can play basketball now ‘cos I’m six foot tall.”
“You are getting pretty tall,” he allows.
“Taller than Lucas,” Max says. “But that’s not hard.”
“Max.”
Max jostles Lucas’ leg under the table.
“I’m taller than Beth, so I’m tallest,” Avery adds. She’s opposite Beth, between the wall and Max, and she’s elbow deep in macaroni cheese.
Max grabs a napkin. “Here,” she says quietly, “you’ve got cheese on your nose, babe.”
Steve wrangles Dove into his lap. There’s so many of them at party dinner that they’ve split into two booths, and the kids have chosen their favourites of the bunch to sit with. Steve is lucky his Dove likes him so much —the rest of your brood have split. Even baby Wren sits pleased as punch in Dustin’s lap, barely visible over the lip of the table. Dustin feeds her spoonfuls of mashed up green beans but otherwise doesn’t pay her much mind. He’s a natural.
“Think Beth has a crush?” El asks. She, Mike and Will have shoved onto the end of Steve’s table with stolen chairs.
Robin shakes her head vehemently. “Beth is way too young for crushes.”
Steve thinks that to be obviously untrue, and it’s fine. Beth has a teeny tiny crush on her uncle Eddie, and maybe she’s got one on Lucas. It’s not like it does any harm. But he has to protect his girl’s street rep. “Beth hates boys,” he says.
El gets distracted by Wren in Dustin’s lap and attempts to steal her, which Dustin protests and Wren just loves, squealing in joy as El picks her up and holds her to her chest. “Hi, baby Steve,” she teases. “You’re so baby still.”
Wren gurgles a laugh.
“Where the hell is my wife?” Steve asks finally. He’s kept it in for the last half hour, but you’re late.
“Cheating on you with her soulmate.”
Steve rolls his eyes. You wouldn’t kiss Eddie if he was the last man on earth, and not ‘cos he’s not pretty, but you reckon Eddie kisses like a vagrant. Unlike you, Steve, you kiss like a prince. Some throwaway baby talk he didn’t deserve but keeps tight to the chest anyways.
“Daddy, can I have some of your soda?” Avery asks.
“How am I gonna get it to you all the way over there?”
“With your legs.”
Both tables erupt into laughter. Steve can’t hide his own grin as he gets up and holds his soda over her table for her, straw pointed at her mouth. “You’re a comedian.”
She sips a long pull and sits back. “Thank you,” she says breathlessly.
Steve’s still standing when the diner doors open and the missing adults from their party let themselves in. You, his beautiful wife, and Eddie, Jonathan, and Nancy. Suddenly, everybody he cares about is in one room again. It’s a strangely relaxing feeling.
“Where the hell have you been?” Steve asks.
You rush the last couple of steps and kiss his cheek. “Making out with my new boyfriend,” you whisper, something shiny about you as he softens and kisses your forehead. You turn one way to see the big girls. “Hello! How are you, honeys? How’s dinner, is everything okay?”
Dove cries out from where she’d been left sitting in the booth behind you. “Mom!”
You cross your arms over your chest and turn again. “Dove,” you say, disarmingly sweet, “baby, I didn’t see you there. What’s up, beautiful? What have you got? Ooh, are you sharing?”
Eddie seems to totally disregard Lucas’ personal space, leaning over him with his arms already open as Beth stands on the booth seat to be picked up. “Bethany,” he greets stoically.
Beth giggles as she gets cuddled.
There’s too much noise to sort out, then. Mike’s asking Nancy something in a scathing tone as Avery shouts about Uncle Jonathan, his croaky laugh quickly covered by a clatter of plates and cutlery. You steal Steve’s seat and he shoves in beside you, while El tries her best to soothe your baby who started whining the second she noticed your arrival. It’s loud, it’s chaos, but Eddie forces Lucas up to sit with Beth in his lap, Nancy squeezing in next to Robin while Jonathan goes to order another basket of curly fries, and it’s nice.
“Thanks, honey,” you tell El, accepting Wren from over the back of the booth. She got up to give her to you rather than pass her over all the boys, even though Steve tried to tell her she didn’t need to.
“When’s the next one coming?” she asks.
You tap your nose. None of them know you’re pregnant yet besides Robin, who shoves a forkful of food in before she can somehow spill the secret. “Sooner rather than later, honey.”
“A boy this time,” El says.
“You think?”
El smiles knowingly. “Yes.”
You touch Wren’s short hair affectionately. “I’ll trust your judgement.”
“Maybe two,” she says.
You go a bit wan in the face. “Oh, right.”
“Maybe,” El says. She looks tired and turns around to sit back in her seat.
You turn to Steve, and he withers under your eyes. “It better not be,” you whisper.
“Well,” he says. “Well, it’s probably not.”
You’re mostly teasing, a smidge terrified, but you like how he looks when he’s chastened and you lean in to give him a chaste kiss. It’s more for him than you, he can tell. “I’ll kill you,” you promise.
“And I’ll help,” Eddie says.
“Munson, can you shut the hell up?”
“Stop swearing around the kids!” Robin says.
Steve changes his mind. This chaos isn’t nice, it’s a headache, and Beth hasn’t eaten even half her dinner. “Eddie, stop eating Bethie’s fries, please.”
“I’m not,” he says. There’s so much potato in his mouth he can barely speak.
my dirty little secret, who has to know? ⋮ mike wheeler drabble , part two
content: loser × popular girl trope, kissing/making out, even more kissing, neck kissing, hickies, tad bit grinding/dry-humping, cheating, scrap but fuck it cuz im ovulating, (not proofread!)
to start off, michael wheeler is a nerd.
he's the geek that attends av every wednesday—the guy who makes announcements over the intercom telling everyone to attend the newspaper club meetings—the freak who plays d&d with the other outcasts of hawkins high.
while you're the cool girl; the girl that immediately got accepted into the popular clique through pretty privilege, the one that goes to parties every weekend. you've got the jock boyfriend and the cool convertible.
and in retrospect, mike wheeler and you have entirely nothing in common. so never did you think you would end up sneaking into the janitors closet every day with him.
how this all began was something out of mike's fantasies.
one day, one very life-changing day, you and him were put together as partners for an english project. and ever since then, it's been, well...
mike tapped his foot impatiently. you're always late. he really isn't a stickler on tardiness, but the bell was going to ring in twenty-five minutes and he wasn't finished with his lab yet.
small knocks on the door stopped his vibrating foot, and mike straightened himself before creaking it open.
"hi. sorry, sorry. someone was in the bathroom and i couldn't go—" you immediately dove in and draped your arms over mike's tall figure and pin your lips against his, engulfing him in a kiss before you could even finish speaking.
he's caught by surprise and quickly puts his hands on either side of you, stumbling back onto the shelf stacked with cleaning supplies. "going fast today," mike states, but not as a complaint. not even in the slightest.
you laugh onto his lips, trying to speak in between with each burst of oxygen you could get. "yeah, well i—" you kiss him again, "—i missed you." you smile, your hands move to either side of his head, locking your fingers around his curls of thick hair. you can feel him smile against your mouth.
he's out of breath. "i—can't stay too long," mike pants, his knee setting itself against the inner of your thighs to hold you in place (& because he knows you love that). you whine, "mmmmgh, wwwwhhy?" turning your lips into a pout.
"you were extra late, and i have chemistry." his hands travel all around your back and under your shirt, fingers ghosting your bra's hook. "fuck chemistry," you sigh out. your hips ever so slightly grind against mike, mewl-ish sounds escaping past your lips.
"hey," mike pulls back for a second. your faces are bare inches from one another. you can feel his steaming breath mix with yours. mike's gaze settles on your lips, he wants more.
"what? did i do something wrong?" you tilt your head even closer, the area between your eyebrows resting on the tip of his nose.
mike shakes his head faintly and curls his lips into a smile. "never."
you both stare at each other for what feels like a millennia, neither bodies moving not even an inch. you're scared to speak; to break the silence. he's scared to do something he'll regret.
mike tilts his head slowly and connects your guys' lips again. the soft pillow of your mouth is enough to make his knees weak. your tongues intertwine themselves together and he doesn't even dare to fight.
he's wanted this for too long, and he still can't believe he has you right here. but you're not his. and how he wish he could change that.
you want to speed things up, you want to savor every moment you have with him. your arms hug his neck, heightening the kiss. mike's grip on you tightens, his lanky fingers pressing into the plush of your skin. he wants to secure you so you'll never leave.
he wishes you could stay in this moment with him for eternity.
mike's head slowly crawls down to your neck, his swollen lips dragging against your skin. you recline your head and look up at the dim light bulb that illuminated the cramped closet before closing your eyes, consuming the darkness that let you focus on only mike.
he smushes his tongue onto your nape, wetting the area before pulling on the skin harshly, leaving faint red marks. his teeth picks at your sensitive spots, making your breath hitch ever so slightly. mike desired to leave them every where, to at least prove to someone—anyone—that you and him were... something.
he watches your neck, watching the red areas turn darker. his eyes then travel up to look at your expression, seeing the desperation on your face. your perfectly carved brows scrunched together and your cheeks were the pinkest of pinks.
no one could get you like this other than mike wheeler. not even your mouth-breathing boyfriend.
