⊠premise ... đ đđđđ đđđđđđđđđ đđđđđ â after returning home to neverland, michael is greeted with an unexpected surprise: food, a new family movie, and an evening with the only person who makes the mansion feel like home.
⊠contains ... ( fluff )ălovesick puppy!michael, cuddling, kisses, romance, slight yearning, no use of y/n
⊠adoreâs note ... i wrote this drunk, still am drunk. i could only fufill this req when i wasn't in my head. not proof read bc mama's tired. so, goodnight and enjoy !
requestedăïčăanon âĄ
The late afternoon sun filters through the grand, arched windows of the entry hall at Neverland, casting long, dancing shadows across the gleaming marble floors. Michael is sitting on a long, ornate bench, its dark, carved wood a stark contrast to the bright, airy space. He's wearing a simple, white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of black, tailored trousers. His feet are bare, a small, uncharacteristic act of casual comfort that speaks to the quiet solitude of the moment.
He's fidgeting. His long, elegant fingers tap a restless, syncopated rhythm on the polished wood of the bench. He checks his watch, a sleek, gold Cartier, then immediately regrets it, a small, frustrated sigh escaping his lips. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous, agitated gesture that is so unlike his usual, polished poise. He's waiting.
And then, he hears it. The crunch of gravel on the long, winding driveway. The low, familiar rumble of an engine. A slow, bright smile spreads across his face, a genuine, unguarded expression of pure, unadulterated joy. He's on his feet in a single, fluid movement, a graceful, almost dancer-like burst of energy that is full of a boyish, impatient anticipation.
The heavy, oak door swings open, and you step inside, blinking against the sudden shift from the bright California sun to the cool, dim light of the hall. The door swings shut behind you with a soft, solid thud, and before you can even take a proper breath, he's there.
He wraps you in a hug that is so tight, so fiercely possessive, it almost knocks the breath out of you. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, a contented, sighing sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.
"You're back," he murmurs, his voice a muffled, happy rumble against your neck. "You're back."
"M'back," you echo, your words a soft, breathy laugh as you wrap your arms around him, your hands splayed across the warm, solid expanse of his back. "Miss me?"
He pulls back, but only just enough to look at you. His face is a beautiful, brilliant smile, his dark eyes sparkling with a light so bright it could rival the California sun. And then, he starts kissing you.
It's not a passionate, demanding kiss. It's a barrage of soft, sweet, impossibly warm kisses, a joyful, chaotic celebration of your return. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your chin. He's a flurry of affection, a human hummingbird, a whirlwind of happy, welcoming kisses. You're laughing, a loud, unrestrained sound that is full of a deep, abiding happiness, trying to duck and dodge his playful assault.
"Michael!" you gasp, between fits of laughter. "Stop! I can't breathe!"
He finally relents, pulling back with a final, soft kiss on your forehead. He's still holding you, his hands gentle, firm on your waist, a happy, contented hum vibrating in his chest.
"Sorry," he says, but he's not sorry at all. His smile is a full, brilliant, megawatt thing that makes your heart do a funny little flip. "I jus' missed you."
"I missed you too," you say, your voice a soft, affectionate murmur. You reach up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. Your fingers linger on his skin, a soft, familiar caress.
"I have a surprise f'you," you say, a playful, mysterious glint in your eye.
His own eyes light up, a childlike, eager curiosity that is utterly endearing. "A surprise?" he repeats, his voice a low, intrigued whisper. "What is it?"
"You have to wait," you say, pulling away from him and taking a step back toward the door. "I have t'go back to the car t'get it. Don't peek."
You turn and disappear back through the heavy oak door, leaving him standing in the middle of the grand hall, a look of happy, confused anticipation on his face. He paces, a slow, restless circuit around the marble-topped table in the center of the room, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He's like a kid on Christmas morning, a bundle of excited, nervous energy.
The door opens again, and you reappear, your arms laden with goodies. You're holding a large, familiar red and white bucket, the glorious, greasy aroma of fried chicken filling the air, a stark, delicious contrast to the usually pristine, scent-free environment of the house. Tucked under your arm is a black plastic DVD case, the colorful, cartoonish image of a giant, floating baby on the cover.
His eyes widen, a look of pure, unadulterated delight on his face. "Is that�" he asks, his voice a hushed, reverent whisper.
"Is it what?" you ask, a playful, innocent smile on your face. "This old thing?"
He closes the distance between you in three long, eager strides, his eyes fixed on the bucket. "KFC," he breathes, the word a happy, worshipful sigh. "I was just thinking about how good KFC would be."
"And that's not all," you say, presenting the DVD case to him with a flourish. "I present t'you, the cinematic masterpiece of our time: 'Honey, I Blew Up the Kid'."
He lets out a loud, delighted laugh, a beautiful, uninhibited sound that echoes in the vast, empty hall. He takes the bucket from you, his fingers brushing against yours, a warm, electric spark. He peeks inside the bucket, inhaling deeply.
"Oh, you're a saint," he says, his voice full of a grateful, almost tearful sincerity. "A true, honest-t'God saint."
"I try," you say, a self-satisfied smirk on your face. "Now, I'm going t'go change into something a little less⊠public. I'll meet you in th' theatre."
You give him a quick, mischievous wink, then turn and head for the grand staircase, your footsteps a light, happy sound on the marble.
You find him in the private theatre, a space that is less a room and more an experience. There's no stadium seating here, no sticky floors or overpriced popcorn. Instead, a single, plush, red velvet armchair sits in the center of the room, an oversized, decadent throne that is big enough for two. It's facing a massive, wall-sized screen, the soft glow of the menu screen for the DVD casting a warm, cinematic light across the space.
He's already in the chair, looking small and almost swallowed by its plush, velvet expanse. He's kicked off his shoes and has the bucket of chicken balanced precariously on the wide armrest. He's already wearing a pair of soft, grey sweatpants and a faded black Motown t-shirt, a comfortable, casual look that you rarely see him in outside the privacy of your shared spaces. He looks up as you enter, a soft, welcoming smile on his face.
You've changed too, swapping your jeans and t-shirt for a pair of your own soft, worn-in pajamas. You climb into the chair beside him, the velvet cushioning sighing under your weight. You snuggle up against him, your head resting on his shoulder, your legs tangled with his. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, a gesture that is as natural and as essential as breathing.
"Ready?" he asks, his voice a low, soft murmur against your hair.
"Ready," you say, your voice a happy, contented sigh.
He presses a button on a small, remote control, and the theatre lights dim, the room plunging into a soft, velvety darkness. The screen flickers to life, the familiar, boisterous theme music of a 90s family comedy filling the silence.
He reaches for the bucket, pulling out a piece of chicken. The crispy, golden skin glistens in the light from the screen. He breaks off a piece, holding it to your lips.
"Open up," he says, a playful, commanding tone in his voice.
You obey, your lips closing around the piece of chicken. It's glorious. Greasy, salty, a little bit spicy, a forbidden, delicious treat in this temple of health-consciousness. You moan, a low, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
"Good, right?" he asks, a proud, triumphant smirk on his face as he takes a bite for himself.
"Amazing," you say, your mouth still full.
You settle in, a comfortable, happy silence falling between you, broken only by the sounds of the movie and the occasional, happy sigh as you both devour the chicken. You pass the bucket back and forth, your fingers slick with grease, your hearts full of a simple, profound contentment. It's these moments you cherish the most. Not the grand, public spectacles, not the dazzling, sold-out concerts, but these quiet, private moments of pure, unadulterated normalcy.
The movie is exactly what you expected it to be: ridiculous, heartwarming, and utterly delightful. You find yourselves laughing at the same silly jokes, your bodies shaking with shared amusement. He's completely engrossed, his dark eyes fixed on the screen, a look of childlike wonder on his face. He's humming along to the soundtrack, a soft, tuneless murmur that is more endearing than any symphony.
About halfway through the movie, he shifts, reaching for the thick, fleece blanket that is draped over the back of the chair. He shakes it out, a billowing cloud of soft, warm fabric, then drapes it over the both of you. It's a cozy, intimate gesture, a small, simple act that makes your heart swell with a love so fierce it almost takes your breath away.
You snuggle deeper under the blanket, your body pressed against his. The warmth of him, the softness of the fleece, the delicious, greasy remnants of the chicken, the silly, comforting drone of the movieâit's a perfect, self-contained bubble of happiness.
You can feel yourself starting to drift, the events of the day, the contentment of the moment, a warm, heavy blanket pulling you down into a soft, welcoming sleep. Your head is still on his shoulder, your breathing starting to slow, to sync with the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
You're vaguely aware of the giant baby on the screen causing some kind of chaos in a shopping mall, the familiar, boisterous sounds of a cinematic climax. But it all seems very far away, muffled and distant, like you're hearing it from underwater.
You feel him shift again, a slow, deliberate movement. His arm tightens around you, pulling you even closer. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, a gesture that is so full of love, so full of a deep, abiding tenderness, that it makes your heart ache.
"Love you," he murmurs, his voice a low, sleepy mumble against your hair.
You try to respond, to tell him that you love him too, but the words won't come. You're too far gone, already floating in that warm, hazy space between wakefulness and sleep. You manage a soft, contented sigh, a nonverbal response that you know he will understand.
He shifts again, his own body starting to relax, to soften. His head droops, resting against yours. You can feel the soft, tickling brush of his hair against your cheek, the warm, steady rhythm of his breath, a slow, calming cadence that lulls you deeper into sleep.
The movie plays on, its bright, flashing lights a silent, colorful spectacle in the darkened room. The bucket of chicken sits forgotten on the armrest, the last piece of chicken getting cold. Outside, the sun has set, the last of the day's light fading from the sky, plunging Neverland into a deep, peaceful darkness.
But in here, in this oversized, velvet throne, there is a different kind of light. There is the warmth of the blanket, the warmth of his body, the warmth of a love that is as simple and as profound as this. There is the quiet, rhythmic sound of two hearts beating in perfect sync, a steady, unwavering rhythm that is the only soundtrack that matters.
You fall asleep, a deep, dreamless, peaceful sleep, your body curled into his, your head on his shoulder. He follows you moments later, his own breathing deepening, his body going slack with sleep.
And there you stay, a tangled, sleeping heap in the middle of the private theatre, a silent, still portrait of a perfect, ordinary, extraordinary moment. A king in his castle, and you, his queen, asleep on a throne, wrapped in a blanket, with the faint, lingering scent of fried chicken in the air. A strange, beautiful, perfect fairy tale.
you watched quincy wave a dismissive hand, tossing his heavy headphones onto the mixing board before pushing himself up from his chair. âalright kids, m' stepping out to have a smoke.â
his voice echoed through your headphones before he reached down to adjust the console. âbut.. m' leaving the tape rolling and the mics live. give me some raw adlibs while m' out.. yeah?â
your eyes instantly widened at the thought of being locked inside a soundproof box with michael while the microphones remained on. you knew that every conversation, every breath, and every sound would be caught on the tape forever.
âwait, q.. how long you gonna be?â you blurted out, your voice rising in pitch as you stepped closer to the glass. your fingers digging anxiously into the edge of your lyric sheet, leaving a crumpled dent in the paper.
beside you, michael leaned his shoulder back against the studio wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. your panicked question brought a slow smirk to the corner of his lips, his head tilting slightly as his eyes focused, tracking your nervous movements.
quincy shrugged, adjusting the collar of his jacket, oblivious to the thick tension behind through the glass. âdepends on how good the air is out there, daughter. ten, maybe fifteen minutes.. who knows?â with a loud laugh, quincy turned on his heel and walked out, his silhouette disappearing down the hallway.
the silence inside the booth turned distinct the moment the door clicked shut, the weight of the isolation becoming overwhelmingly suffocating. you let out a long sigh, your shoulders dropping slightly as you slowly turned around on your heels to face michael.
âyou're singing beautifully, y/n.â michael complimented, his smooth voice slicing right through the air as he left his side of the wall. he stepped closer, forcing you to look up at him. âso much passion... where did all that emotion come from, ma?â
the slip of that specific nickname, the private word he would moan against your skin while he buried so deep inside of you, when the blankets were tangled around your ankles and his body was pinning you into the mattress, made your breath hitch.
âi already said... m' just feeling the music, mi-chael.â you warned, a knowing tone to your voice as you deliberately dragged out the syllables of his name.
âjust the music?â he raised his eyebrows, a daring spark flickering in his eyes as his hand slid slowly out of his pocket, his fingers reaching forward to trail along the edge of your lyric sheet where you had dented it.
he leaned in closer, shifting his weight until his frame blocked you against the wall, trapping you in the corner of the booth. âyouâre not feeling me?â
your eyelashes fluttered, your gaze dropping instinctively to his lips before you let out a soft scoff. âstill so full of yourself, huh?" you crossed your arms, even though you knew he was right.
a quiet chuckle left his throat, his breath fanning hot against your cheek. âand you still got that smart mouth, huh?â he tilted his head, a slow smile pulling at his lips as his eyes crinkled deeply at the corners with amusement, captivated by you entirely.
your gaze flicked toward the glowing red light of the recording equipment, which remained to be a warning of caution. but the memories of his hands on you, the warmth of your skin against his, and the flashbacks of what you had just been visualizing while singing those lyrics rushed back all at once.
you looked at up at him with a small smile. âdon't lie. you used to love this smart mouth.â you bit your lip, your tone turning flirtatious as you leaned closer into his space. you let your palm rest against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his racing heartbeat beneath his shirt.
michael's eyes darkened, dropping to track the movement of your fingers as they lightly curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. âwho said i still didn't?â he asked, his hand instantly leaving your lyric sheet to form a path up the curve of your waist, his thumb pressing possessively into the skin just above your hip.
a sudden noise from the hallway outside broke the trance as michael's gaze moved towards the studio door, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.
âwe don't have long before quincy gets back..â he whispered, his thumb giving one firm squeeze to your hip before he reluctantly stepped back, giving you just enough room to breathe as he nodded toward the microphone. âyou better finish your adlibs, mama.â
âyou gonna help me feel the music again?â you asked innocently, your eyes dropping to his hands with a small smirk before you stepped up to the microphone.
michael didn't hesitate once the invitation left your lips, he closed the distance immediately, his chest pressing against your back. the intoxicating weight of his frame trapped you, pinning you forward as his hands slid down to hold your hips.
suddenly, the playback of your own main vocals filled your ears. âah, i get so excited when i feel you touch my thighs...â you heard your vocals as you leaned into the microphone, michael's hand bunched the fabric of your skirt upward, gathering the material in his fist until his fingers found the skin of your inner thigh.
âtouch my thighs...â you adlibbed into the mic, your voice fracturing into a shaky sigh as you felt his thumb drag higher, teasingly parting the damp lace of your panties.
it didn't take long before his fingers slid inside of you, the sudden warmth of his hands filling you making your knees buckle as your hands grappled onto the edges of the microphone stand to keep your balance. michael caught your waist with his other hand, holding you against him as his fingers began to move in a curling rhythm.
you gripped the mic stand tighter, trying to steady your breathing as the cue for your next line approached. but with michael's fingers moving inside of you, driving any thought of timing right out of your head.
he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the sensitive skin right under your ear, his breath hot against your neck. âkeep going, ma..â he whispered as you bit your lip.
âbaby, slow down cause imma be late for my ride...â your next line was right there, the beat dropping perfectly for it, but your hips twitched helplessly against his palm as his fingers curled deeper, finding the aching spot that made you gasp.
you were too lost in pleasure.
âi wanna ride...â you managed to choke out, the words trembling into the microphone as you bit your lip to hold back a moan. you tried desperately to catch the rhythm again, but he held you firmly by the waist, his thumb pressing right against your clit. âi... i wanna ride...â
âi'm feelin' faded out my mind...â your pre-recorded vocal played back through the headphones. you parted your lips, forcing your chest to breath steadily to do the upper harmony. âmy mind...â you sang shakily, the high note fracturing as a helpless whimper escaped your lips straight into the microphone.
michael let out a low chuckle against your neck, driving his fingers deeper and sending a wave of pleasure through your center. "doing so good..." he praised you, pressing a small kiss against the skin of your neck.
his thumb kept a heavy pressure against your clit, his fingers curling inside you with a rhythmic movement that had your head rolling back against his shoulder as you fought desperately to catch your breath.
the next line needed a higher harmony, and you knew that. you tried your best to focus but michael could feel the trembling of your inner muscles gripping his fingers. he knew exactly how close you were. instead of slowing down to help you sing, his thumb rubbed faster against your clit while his fingers drove inside you in deep strokes.
you opened your mouth, desperately clinging to the melody just as the orgasm took over you. your walls tightened, convulsing around his fingers as an the intense rush of pleasure vibrated straight through your vocal chords.
âa little morning dew...â
your voice came through as you harmonized, but the note was warped by the climax. you managed to reach the high register, but the melody stretched and broke into a breathless vibrato, the lyrics wrapping around a raw moan of release. you held the pitch through desperation, but it was beautifully ruined, a cry of pleasure that the microphone captured instantly.
the track looped back into a soft bridge, but you couldn't even hear the music anymore. the intensity of the climax had left you completely raw, your brain only focusing on the pleasurable sensation between your thighs.
you were consumed by the need for him, the lingering ache inside you begging for something much thicker, much heavier than just his fingers.
âmichael...â you whimpered, your voice a desperate whisper. you didn't care about the recording anymore nor the track, you were so overwhelmed that all you needed was him inside of you, needed that feeling that he gave you when you sang. âi need you.â
michael let out a low groan against your neck, as his thumb gave one last rub across your overstimulated clit, making your back arch as a needy gasp echoed through the empty studio.
"you want it that bad, mama?" he mumbled, his voice thick and undone by the sound of you begging. he unbuckled his pants with one hand, his chest pressing heavily into your back as his length brushed right against your opening. âneed me to help you feel it again?â
âyes.â you sobbed out, the sound raw and unfiltered as it hit the microphone. your hips rolled back against him in a pleading motion. âplease.. please make me feel it.â
he didn't make you wait anymore after hearing that. michael's hand gripped your hips with force, holding you in place as he guided his length inside of you, being careful despite how badly he wanted to lose control.
a breathless moan tore from your throat, the microphone capturing the second your voice cracked under the intensity of him filling you completely. your legs leaned forward, his chest pinning you against the mic stand as he began to move in a driving rhythm.
the track looped seamlessly into the chorus, the bass bumping as the cue for the melody hit your ears. michaelâs hips kept up a relentless pace, burying himself deep inside you to claim every part of you once again.
âmissed you so bad, ma.â he growled against your ear, his thumb digging into your hips to hold you steady against the force of his thrusts.
âkeep singing.â he whispered, the raw tension in his voice matching the desperate strain in yours.
you gripped the microphone stand for dear life, your knuckles hurting from how strong your grip was as you forced air into your lungs, trying desperately to lock onto the pitch despite the overwhelming waves of pleasure rippling through your core.
âi-i can't...â you whimpered, your voice fracturing into the microphone as your eyes rolled back to the back of your head. âmichael, i can't...â
âyes, you can.â he said hoarsely against your ear, stroking the sides of your hips reassuringly as he continued to pound into you. âsing for me, wanna hear that beautiful voice of yours.â
you bit your lip, trying to steady yourself as you took a deep breath. âit's something... 'bout that look you give me...â you started, your voice instantly catching on a high register. you tried to stabilize the notes, but the moment michael delivered a hard stroke, the melody broke. âmakin' me feel... that young love inside- ah!â
the unscripted moan cut right through the track, perfectly aligning with the beat. you swallowed hard, blinking through the haze of pleasure as he rocked against you.
âmm, it's something 'bout that... feeling you give me...â you pushed the words out through clenched teeth, your hips twitching back against him. âi can't resist... them butterflies...â
michael let out another low groan, his pace quickening as he felt your walls squeezing tight around him. he was consuming you from behind, his larger frame pinning you forward as his heavy pushes forced helpless whimpers from your lips. âso good, baby. keep going.â
âmm, you need a woman... holdin' you down...â you gasped into the silver mesh, your hands gripping the stand lower down to steady yourself as you leaned heavily forward, your back arching deeply into him.
âwhenever... wherever... howe-... i'll be right by your side...â you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the words out through your breathless throat, unable to do anything except hold your weight forward.
âsee, i just wanna love you, boy... if you don't mind...â you whimpered, the melody dissolving into a sweet whine as he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again with depth. âjust kickin' this little-... and he said...â
the rhythm reached an unmanageable pace, michael's thrusts became deep and desperate, his hands locking onto your hips with a bruising grip as he buried himself inside of you over and over. âgonna fill you up now, mm?â he whispered, his voice raspy which only pushed you more to the edge.
your walls squeezed down in a spasm, clamping tightly around him as a loud whine tore from your throat straight into the live microphone. the intense squeeze broke him completely as michael let out a raw groan, his body shuddering slightly against your back as he poured himself inside you.
the headphones fell dead quiet as the track finally timed out, leaving nothing but the sound of your heavy pants echoing in the small room.
the acoustic door clicked, the sound of the handle turning sending a jolt of adrenaline straight through the booth. in a blurred second, you both scrambled, michael pulled away with a sharp sound, swiftly tugging his jeans up and fastening his belt while his other hand reached out to smooth down the crumpled fabric of your skirt.
you barely had time to slide back into a normal standing position, your hands instantly clamping onto the cold metal of the microphone stand to look like you were just reviewing the lyric sheet.
âalllright, mâ ready to hear it.â quincy walked in, flipping through a stack of track sheets, focused on the papers in his hands as he moved closer to the recording booth.
quincy finally looked up from his papers, glancing over at the two of you. he didn't say anything at first, his eyes just scanning the booth. you looked a complete mess, your cheeks were flushed a deep red and your lips were swollen from biting them.
both of you were still visibly breathing too hard, the heavy silence of the room punctuated by your shallow pants.
quincy paused, his eyes lingering on the both of you as he slowly raised a single eyebrow, a knowing look crossing his face, but he chose to keep his mouth shut. âwell..â quincy said smoothly, tapping the papers against his thigh as if he hadn't noticed a thing. âletâs listen to those adlibs, huh?â
bad ! era synopsis â the rivalry between you and michael runs deep until one hotel mishap brings you two closer than ever.
content â porn with plot, forced proximity, mean dom! michael and mean switch! reader, cursing, smut, p in v, aphrodisiac, hate sex, dry humping, unprotected, spanking, backshots, choking, riding, lowk brat tamer mike
As the industryâs queen, you didn't just top charts, you made them.
If you wore a certain outfit, it was gospel. If you gave an artist the cold shoulder, their career was essentially on life support. You were charming, yes, but it was a calculated, lethal kind of charmâthe kind that youâd lose your mind trying to detect.
And then there was Michael.
For years, the two of you had been locked in a cold war that played out in the headlines. It was a cycle of petty war.
During a Rolling Stone interview, when asked about his latest hit, you hadn't even looked up from your manicure. "Oh, Michael's great," youâd said with a bored, sharp smile. "Heâs doing a really impressive job of mimicking the production style I debuted two years ago. Itâs sweet, like a little tribute act."
At the Grammys, youâd walked right past his table, deliberately spilling your champagne so that his handlers had to scramble to clean it up, offering nothing but a dead eyed, "Oops, my bad."
Michael didn't play nice, either. In a broadcasted acceptance speech, heâd thanked his team for keeping his music about "real soul" and not just "a pretty voice and PR stunts," a jab so blatant it made the morning headlines the next day.
The night of the International Music Awards, the tension was suffocating. You were draped in a beautifully tight dress, Michael across the aisle in a tailored suit that cost more than a house. You spent the entire ceremony trading glares; every time he caught you looking, heâd just raise a brow, or roll his eyes, completely unimpressed, which only made you want to scream.
By 2:00 AM, you were on your way to the hotel. Your team was exhausted, and you dismissed them with a flick of your wrist. "Go away. I need to sleep for a week."
You swiped your keycard, the light chirped green, and you kicked the door shut behind you, ready to peel off your makeup and collapse. But you stopped dead.
Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket discarded on the floor, rubbing his temples as if he had the world's worst headache. He looked up, startled, his eyes wide.
"What the hell?" you breathed, staring at him like he was a roach in your kitchen.
Michael stood up, looking just as confused as you were. "Whatâre you doing here?" he asked, his voice rough. "This is my room."
"In your dreams, maybe," you snapped, waving your keycard at him. "This is my suite. I booked the penthouse. Get your shit and get out before I lose my mind."
"I booked the penthouse too, lady," he said, gesturing to his own room key on the nightstand. "Iâve been here for an hour."
You stormed toward him, your heels stabbing into the carpet. "Oh my God, I have absolutely zero desire to be breathing the same air as you right now. Get out you disgusting creep."
"Creep? Are you kidding me?" Michael walked over to the desk, his voice rising in genuine annoyance, dropping all that 'mean' act for a second. "I got here before you, Y/N. I didn't steal your fucking room."
"Iâm not spending ten seconds in this room with you."
"You think I want to be stuck with you? Youâre the last person I want to see after that shitshow of a ceremony."
You both stared at each other, the annoyance quickly curdling into genuine frustration. "This is a joke, right? Some kind of sick, twisted prank by the hotel?" You marched over to the bedside phone and slammed the receiver off the hook, dialing the front desk with aggressive, angry jabs.
"Yeah, hello?" you barked into the phone, not even waiting for a greeting. "There's a man in my room. A very annoying, very uninvited man. Fix this. Now."
You listened for a moment, your expression twisting into a mask of pure fury. You slammed the phone back down. "Theyâre 'lookin into it,'" you hissed at him. "Which means they have no clue whatâs going on."
"Great," Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just great."
"Weâre going to the front desk before I burn this entire Goddamn building down."you hissed, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him toward the door.
Downstairs, the front desk clerk looked like he wanted to jump out of a window. He frantically tapped at his computer while you paced in front of the desk, heels clicking hard against the marble floor.
"Iâm so, SO sorry," the clerk stammered, his voice shaking. "There was a mishap in the reservation book. The entire hotel is booked for the award show. I have absolutely nothing left."
"I donât give a shit if you have nothing left," you snarled, your patience completely shredded. "Find me a room, or Iâll have this hotel torn down by morning."
"The only other option is the Riverside Inn," the clerk whispered. "Itâs... itâs a two-star motel on the edge of town."
Michael let out a dry, humorless laugh. "A two-star? Youâre joking."
"Iâm not staying in a dump like that," you snapped, turning to Michael. "Fix it. Youâre the 'Global Icon,' right pretty boy? Use your influenceâŠor dance or something. Whatever it is you do to get us a real room."
"Oh, sure, let me just snap my fingers and make a room appear," Michael shot back, his voice starting to lose its patience. "Don't act like this is my fault. Iâm just as annoyed as you are, brat."
"Don't call me a brat, asshole," you hissed.
You both stood there, glaring at each other, the lobby staff watching in terrified silence. It was clear: you were too vain to leave, he was too exhausted, and both of you were too stubborn to admit that the only option left was to tolerate each otherâs presence for the night.
You looked at Michael, then back at the terrified clerk, your jaw locked. "I hate you," you growled. "I hope you know Iâm going to make this the most miserable night of your pathetic life."
Michael just sighed, turning toward the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. Save that bullshit for the cameras, princess."
The ride back to the penthouse was a study in controlled rage. You stood in the far corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, vibrating with the kind of cold, sharp anger that usually sent assistants into early retirement. Michael stood by the doors, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at his own reflection with a jaw so tight it looked like it might shatter.
When the doors slid open, you didn't even wait for him.
"I take the bed," you said, not looking at him. "You take anything else. If I even hear you breathing, Iâm calling the front desk and telling them youâre harassing me."
Michael walked past you, throwing his own jacket over the back of a velvet armchair. "Thatâs fine by me, Y/N. Just keep your stuff on your side of the room. I don't want your designer nonsense touching my things."
"My 'nonsense' is worth more than your lousy ass career, so keep your crusty hands off my stuff," you snapped, tossing your heels aside and watching as they narrowly missed his feet.
You were mid argument, deep in a heated debate over who got access to the walk in closetâ"I need it to curate my looks," you argued, to which he replied, "I need it to actually unpack, not play dress up"âwhen a sharp knock echoed at the door.
It was a waiter, looking terrified as he wheeled in a silver cart laden with an extravagant spread of pastries, chocolate truffles, and exotic fruits drenched in thick honey. He stammered a frantic apology from the manager, desperate to appease both of you. You scoffed, eyeing the spread. "Tell them to keep the bum ass bribe."
Michael, however, stepped forward, offering the waiter a warm, polite smile that made you want to gag. "Thank you. This is very kind of them," he said smoothly, before the guy practically sprinted out of the room.
He picked up a small, honey glazed pastry, turning it over in his fingers. It smelled intoxicatingâdeep, floral, and strangely heavy. He took a bite, his expression shifting from polite to genuinely impressed. "You should try this, actually. It's not bad."
"Iâm not gonna eat from a hotel that can't even book a room correctly," you said, but the smell was starting to worm its way into your senses, making your mouth water against your will.
"Suit yourself," he murmured, his voice sounding weirdly satisfied as he reached for another, smacking his lips as he chewed.
"Can you stop?" you groaned, leaning against the marble counter. "The smacking. Itâs like listening to a wet sponge. Itâs fucking repulsive."
"Shut up and try one," he countered, holding the plate out.
You grabbed a honey covered strawberry, mostly just to get him to shut up, and took a reluctant bite. The flavor hit you like a physical force. Sweet, intense, and wildly addictive. You hated it. You hated that it was the one of the best things youâd ever tasted, and you hated even more that he was watching you, waiting for your reaction.
"Good?" he asked, his voice low and smug.
"Fuck off," you muttered, though you were already reaching for another one.
An hour later, the room had gone quiet. The suite felt differentâwarmer, the air thicker. Michael had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running providing a steady, rhythmic background to your boredom. You were sitting on the bed, robe pulled tight, watching a documentary on the television, but your focus was shattered.
A strange, prickling heat began to crawl up your spine. It was a slow, creeping tingle that made the fabric of your robe feel like sandpaper against your skin. Your heart rate spiked, a frantic, thumping rhythm that wouldn't slow down, and your hands felt unsteady as you reached for another fruit from the nightstand.
When the bathroom door finally opened, the tension in the room snapped into focus. Michael walked out, dressed in plain cotton pajamas that did nothing to hide the fact that he was looking just as frayed as you felt. He walked over and sat on the very edge of the bed, his back to you, his shoulders visibly tense.
He let out a long, ragged sigh, his head dropping back.
The sound irritated you to your core. "Whatâs your problem now?" you snapped, sitting up and pulling the robe tighter around your burning skin.
He didn't turn around. He just stared at the wall, his breathing noticeably heavy, his voice a low, strangled rasp. "Nothinâ."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room. You watched him, your own breath hitching as a wave of heat flooded to your stomach, your thighs clenching together, desperate for relief. He shifted, his posture suddenly rigid, and you caught the flash of a distinct, thickening bulge in his pajamas that he was clearly struggling to hide.
He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a hazy, dark intensity. "Are you... are you feeling kinda hot?"
You tightened your grip on the blanket, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "A little," you lied, your voice breathless. The silence in the room was heavy. You went to the bathroom, your hands pressed against the cool tile, trying to wash the heat from your face. It was no use. Every shallow breath you took felt like you were inhaling honeyâthick and intoxicating.
You walked back into the bedroom, your robe feeling like a weighted shackle. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed. He didnât look up, but the way his hands gripped the edge of the mattress told you everything.
"I canât take this," you breathed, your voice trembling. The air felt thin. "Iâm so hot."
"Me too," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, raw and jagged. "We need to fix this."
He slowly looked up. His hair was a damp, messy wreck, and his eyes were dilated, black holes swallowing the dim light. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the way his gaze dragged over the slip of your robe made your stomach flip. You felt a deep, aching throb pulling at your core everything to do with the man sitting three feet away.
You didn't answer with words. You crossed the room in two strides, your movements fluid, and loomed over him. You reached out and shoved his chest, not hard, but enough to make him stumble back onto the mattress. "Move," you ordered.
He didn't fight you. He fell back, propping himself up on his elbows, watching you with a dangerous, hungry expectation. You climbed over him, the scent of the honeyed aphrodisiac radiating from his skin acting like a magnet. You straddled his hips, feeling the thick straining of his dick through his pajamas, and began to press down. You started moving against him, a slow, torturous grind that made his breath hitch.
âI canât believe im doing this,â You gasp out, feeling his hands come up, gripping your waist with bruising force, his thumb digging into your hip as he moves you against him faster. âThis is so gross.â
He let out a frustrated grunt as his hips stuttered forward, a clumsy, needy twitch, pressing his firmly against the center of your panties. He looked up at you, his eyes glassy and needy, his face a messy, dark crimson where a deep blush had spread over his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked completely undone by the simple feeling of you against him. "Shut the fuck up," he grits, though he didn't stop, his hips rolling forward seeking the heat and friction you offered. You let out a small, breathy sound he leaned into it, another buck of his hips sending a jolt through both of you.
His hand slipped between you, fingers finding the edge of your panties. You held your breath as he traced along the seam, teasing without entering. Teasing you before his fingers slid beneath the lace, finding you slick and ready. A low groan escaped his throat. "God, youâre s'wet for me."
"Donât flatter yourself." But the heat on your cheeks betrayed you. His touch was skilled, knowing exactly where to press, how to curl. Your hips began moving against his hand, chasing the friction with uncontrollable hunger.
But it wasnât enough to calm the heat. You grab his wrist, stilling his movements. His eyes widened in surprise. His pants came off in a tangle of fabric and impatience. He lay beneath you, fully exposed, letting you drink in the sight. Lean hips. Defined stomach. The way his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he watched you with anticipation.
You positioned yourself above him, feeling the tip press against your entrance. "Last..chance to back out," You pant.
He just smirked, hands resting on your hips as you slowly sinking down, every inch making your head fuzzy as you struggle to fully take him. The feeling was so overwhelming. His hands move to your thighs as you began to move, finding a rhythm that drove him deeper with each roll of your hips.
He threw his head back, a string of curses falling from his lips. He looked up at you with wide eyes, big hands moving to grip at every inch of your waist and hips.
You bit your lip, fighting back a smile as you look down at him, hands on his chest as you lazily roll your hips on his cock, his thick tip leaking deep inside your pussy.
"God... feels s'good," He babbles, voice shaky and lashes fluttering with every movement. His words encourage you to roll your hips faster, grinding his fat dick right against your cervix, wet squelching sounds harmonizing with his now louder whimpers.
His arms pull you down onto his chest, wrapping around you as he stuffs his face into your sweaty shoulder. His hips buck upward, creamy slick coating his length with every rut. The mixture creates an obscene glide between your bodies.
âLook at youâhaahâmoaning like a little bitch in heat.â You mock in between moans, letting out a small laugh as you grind against him, watching as his face scrunches up in pleasure, biting his lip to hold back from moaning. âOh, you think that shit funny?â He grunts, letting out a frustrated, guttural sound and in one fluid motion, he flipped you, pinning you on your stomach beneath him. He was actually strongâterrifyingly so. He didn't waste time. He shoved his knee between your thighs, forcing them wider, his eyes burning with that familiar, hateful intensity.
"Awww, look at you. Such a mess fâme."
Michaelâs hips rock forward, driving his dick as deep as it would go into your tight walls, you claw at the blanket every time he even pushes an inch further into your cunt, fucking you into the mattress with slow and purposeful strokes until you swore you felt him in your throat.
This man is must be trying to kill me, you think to yourself as you clutch the pillow beneath you, it slowly becoming stained with sweat, tears, smeared with your mascara and lip gloss, you're becoming a complete mess yet he shows no sign of letting up soon. He was having sweet revenge. Your arms started to waiver, no longer able to support your weight as Michael continued to pound into you from behind, one hand molding the flesh of your ass while the other hand rests at your waist, tugging you back against his hips, slender fingers splayed across your curves, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Another high pitched whine leaves your lips as the tip of his cock nudges right against your sweet spot, dropping your head against the pillow as pleasure ignites every nerve in your body till you felt as if you were burning. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest and you swear you could just feel his stupid fucking grin tugging at his lips as he watches you slowly but surely lose every coherent and bitchy thought in your mind.
"Fuck," he curses lowly, his hand gripping your ass a little tighter, his eyes glued to the way your cunt clenched around him, sucking him right back in whenever his hips drew backwards. "Ainât got nothing to say now do you? Creamin' round me like a good girl. My dick that good, huh?" His hand moves to your throat, gripping it tightly, watching you gasp for air.
There's a sharp reply sitting in the back of your throatâGod knows you wanted to get him off his high horse so badly â but even if you could talk, there's no point in arguing. No one has ever fucked you like this and he knows this. He had you hooked. There was no escaping for you now.
You honestly shouldâve felt embarrassed by the sounds you were making, clenching around him like you don't want him to leave, to stop just yet, and Michael only feeds into it, leaning his body over yours, giving your ass a good couple of hard smacks before planting both of his arms at the sides of yours til you could feel the sweaty heat of him on your back.
A whimper bubbles up on your barely glossed lips, the rest of it smeared across your face from where you've been writhing against pillows and blankets. Michael grins against your skinâ the feeling of his lips on you causes goosebumps to rise across your neck and shoulders before he plants wet kisses along them until he reaches your lips.
Michael pulls his chest away from your sticky back, his hand pushing down on the small of it while his other finds your puffy clit between your dripping folds. A scream tears in the column of your throat as he simultaneously pumps his throbbing cock into you and draws his name across your clit in tight movements. The combination has your mind in a frenzy, clouding with visions of lust as your thighs tremble and struggle to keep you up.
Juices roll down you thighs in thick waves, gathering around Michaelâs cock in a frothy white mix the more he fucks into you â the wet pap, pap, pap of his balls against your cunt echoing throughout your bedroom. You glaze him in your arousal, smearing it up his pelvis and the fronts of his toned thighs. you make him a complete mess. "ffuck sâtoo much," you babble out, eyes rolling to the back out your head as you reach your hand behind you, finger tips pushing against his pelvis in a desperate effort to slow him down.
"Youâre doing so well, though. Keep singing for me, mama, lemme hear you." He praises over your loud tune of kitten mewls, breathless pants and soft hiccups, feeling him reach for your arm and tossing it off him. You can feel yourself getting closer and he's not even fully inside of you. He can feel it too. But Michael doesn't falter, placing his foot on the bed as leverage to move his hips faster, harderâ groaning deep between bared and gritted fangs while he watches your ass jiggle against his pelvis, shining with your slick. "You gonna cum, baby?"
âD-donât fucking call me that,â you grit out, though he doesnât really care for what youâre saying for the musician is already playing with your sensitive clit once again, drawing electrifying shapes against it and rubbing your juices back into your sex while you clench around his sloppy cock. The hotel mix up had to be one of the best accidents you've ever experienced, you think as you fall apartâ eyes rolling far back into your skull while you clench and cream on him.
"Atta girl," Michael coos as you come down from your earth shattering high, a mess of weak bones and jelly legs in his arms. "You're so fucking disgusting," You pant, though your body says otherwise, clenching his dick with a vice like grip. "Get off me."
"Cant when you're dripping down my⊠and..., fuck," His words struggle to come out of his mouth as he cums hard, his entire body shuddering, pumping his thick load into you while you groanâ partially at his audacity, but mostly at how full you feel.
The aftermath was a slow descent. You lay there, tangled in the disheveled sheets, your limbs feeling like weights. The room was deathly quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized gasping that filled the space between you. You were a messâsore, flushed, and utterly breathlessâyet your body was still humming with the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac.
He slowly pulls out, flipping you on your back so he could see your precious face, but his eyes drift back to your leaking pussy, watching a mix of your releases seep out of you and onto the starch sheets. You scrunch your face up at the feeling, your chest heaving, trying to gather the shredded remnants of your pride. "That," you rasped, your voice cracking as you struggled to sound dismissive, "was a disgusting mistake. I don't know what came over me, but it won't happen again."
Michael let out a low chuckle. He propped himself up on one elbow, his hair wild and his gaze dark with a triumphant, knowing amusement. He didn't say a word; he just leaned down, captured your chin in his hand, and tilted your head back. He kissed youâslow, deep, and impossibly possessiveâuntil your stubborn resolve crumbled into nothingness, your fingers curling into his damp hair to pull him closer.
Just as you were spiraling back into his orbit, a sharp, polite knock rapped against the suite door.
"Maâam?" a muffled voice called out. "I just wanted to inform you that weâve managed to open up another premium suite if youâd like to relocate?"
You pulled back, chest heaving, and looked at Michael. You both went silent, staring at the door. You looked at each otherâat the wreck of the room, the clothes strewn everywhere, and the heat still radiating off your skin.
"We're... we're fine," you called out, your voice sounding breathless and shy, a far cry from your usual cold, untouchable persona. "We'll stay here."
"Very well," the worker replied, their voice tight with suppressed excitement.
As the workerâs footsteps receded, they tiptoed down the hall to where a group of hotel staff had been huddled, holding their breath in the corridor. As soon as the worker rounded the corner, they let out a jubilant, hushed cheer.
"They totally fucked," the worker whispered, grinning at the manager, who was practically vibrating with relief. "The honey worked."
The manager leaned against the wall, fanning their face with a clipboard, a smug, brilliant smile spreading across their lips. In a desperate, high stakes gamble to save their jobs from your wrath, they had concocted the perfect dishâa blend of rare, potent ingredients they hoped would finally break the tension between the two most difficult stars on the planet. It hadn't just saved their jobs, it had changed the entire industry's dynamic overnight.
Back in the suite, you had no idea about the little plan. You just glared at Michael, who was currently pulling you closer to him as he laid back on the pillows, his smirk wider than ever.
"I still hate you," you mumbled into his chest.
"I know, baby," he murmured, his hands wandering back down to your waist, his eyes darkening as he was about to remind you once more why you weren't leaving that room. "I know."
đđ đđ+ â Mature!Michael and his lovely wife who leaves photos in his iPhone. Poor Michael struggles with phones, but, strangely enough, when it comes to finding your pictures, he tries to turn into the biggest tech there is. If this man could have your pictures plastered everywhere, he would, and has. Michael keeps different photos of you in beautiful frames you picked out all over his office, in your shared bedroom, and everywhere else in the house. His phone had no choice but to be a victim of it.
Youâve found yourself holding his phone more than he has, it always ends up in your hands and you never realize it until Michael points it out with a cheeky smile on his face.
Youâll end up taking pictures of Michael, heâll pose for you, and as much as he loves it; the selfies you take are his most cherished. The pretty fits you wear with your cleavage showing, bad lighting, and camera quality that somehow enhances your looks.
You, of course, send Michael risky pictures of yourself with a text saying: âCareful where you look at this from.â Then a spam of pictures of you in different lingerie and dresses he loves to see you in. Heâll bite his bottom lip, his finger running over his lips with a boner slowly rising, and his mind quickly forgetting heâs in public before someone calls his name.
Michaelâs favorite pictures of you are the ones where youâre in a white lacy bra and panties, with a white lacy blindfold on to match, and white red bottoms on. Your pretty wedding ring is somehow the star of the show with your mouth wrapped around your ring and middle fingers in one pose. Then, in the next picture, your panties down to your heels as you sit on the floor in front of the mirror that faces your bed with your fingers pressed on your folds, displaying your swollen clit to show Michael what heâs been missing.
His camera roll is full of you, selfies, and all. Which is why heâs a bit overprotective of who gets to use his phone because heâs scared someone will find them. They never do. Itâs for his eyes anyway, and when heâs away too long, heâll use them as a quick relief but nothing is better than the real you.
Nothing compares to hearing your sweet moans and whines muffled against the microphone as the sounds of your dildo pushes in and out of your squelching pussy while your hand mimics his thrusts. Michael yearns for those calls, because while youâre busy pleasuring yourself for his ears, heâs busy staring at your pictures.
Michael loves his beautiful wife and your addiction to his phone. Everyone complains about how he canât handle new technology and he should change it, yet, that smirk he gives them and tells them he has someone at home who can, lets them know to mind their business.
Being young, free, in your early twenties, and just starting your modeling career made you do stupid things. Especially now that your past was coming back to bite you in the ass, and now it was everywhere and people were talking, like really talking. Every newspaper featured your story on the cover, and everyone was tuning in to see the latest scoop about your life, which had become a complete mess.Â
Your stomach twisted with anxiety that almost made you dizzy as you bit onto your nail nervously. The once pretty polish that sat perfectly manicured onto your finger was now chipped from how long you sat nibbling at it. Suddenly the thought of Michael walking through that door made you anxious. You knew he would be angry, especially with the fact that you never mentioned it, and if it weren't for whoever dug that up, you would've been in the clear, but you should've known. God, it had been so long since that shoot you nearly forgot about it, well, until you got that harsh reminder.
"Pissed" wasn't even the word.Â
In fact, he was beyond that; he was furious. He was furious at the fact that you wouldn't tell him about something like this, furious at the fact that now the world had seen your naked body.
He sat quietly in the back of the car, arms folded to his chest as his hand grasped the paper, gripping so hard that his fingers began to hurt, and his heart raced as he took a deep breath to get his feelings in check. He didn't want to yell at you. Truth be told, he didn't even want to argue about this, but thinking of you keeping this a secret and now everyone seen it made his blood boil as his fist clenched onto that paper with pure anger.Â
The sound of the front door snapped you out of your daze. Your teeth stopped nibbling on your manicured nails, and your stomach did at least three more flips and not in a good way, and your palms seemed to constantly sweat from the uneasiness that settled in your body as you nervously bounced your leg. It felt as though the bedroom was too hot; despite hearing the AC running throughout the house, it never seemed to cool the room.Â
His shoes clicked against the smooth marble of the floor as he made his way towards the stairs. It was the calmness in his steps that made everything seem more eerie because deep down you knew he was angry. Michael was never one to raise his voice when he got upset. Instead, his anger seemed to show more through the calmness in his voice, the way his tone carried that hint of anger, or the way his facial expressions told it all.Â
The sound of the door creaking against the wooden frame as he pushed it open, revealing his large figure in the doorway.
âMichaelââÂ
âWhat is this?â The thick stack of paper slapped against the floor as it slid closer to you, making your eyes snap in the direction of it.
âLook, I forgot about it; it was so long ago. I'm sorry, Mikey."Â
He wasn't necessarily upset at the fact that you had done the shoot; well, maybe he was, but more at the fact that it seemed like the whole world had seen it and now all eyes were on you.Â
âDo yâknow how many people probably have this picture saved, lookin at every inch of your body?â he started, his tone completely fading from the soft tone and signature smile he usually used to a tone that was stern, like he was giving you a good talking to. "Are all the people now looking at me to do something, say anything about this? The filthy guys are probably drooling over this."
âI know, I know, my team is already working on releasing a statement. " You stood up in an attempt to soothe the situation, but Michael wasn't having it.Â
"Sit" That one word was enough to make your whole body go cold as you quietly obeyed, your eyes falling over his large frame, the way his fists were clenched in a tight ball, the way there was the slight movement of his jaw because he was pressing his teeth together so tightly.Â
âOn the floor, on your knees."Â
You obeyed. I mean, what else were you supposed to do? You knew exactly what was coming and knew exactly what kind of treatment youâd be getting tonight. You watched as he loosened the belt that had been constricting him all day, finally unbuttoning his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing throughout the room as he tugged them down, finally taking a seat on the edge of the bed in front of you.Â
"You know what to do, right? Show me how sorry you are." His hand ran from the top of your head down to the soft skin of your jaw, tilting your head upwards to face him.Â
"Mhm, I know, Mikey. Let me show you I'm sorry," you cooed, finally taking the opportunity to let your hand run up and down his cock in a slow, almost soothing motion, earning a sigh that slipped past his lips before you pressed a kiss to his tip, your tongue slipping out to lick the slit that dripped with precum before letting your lips form that familiar âoâ shape, taking as much length as possible, using your hand to stroke what you couldn't fit.Â
A groan trickled out from his throat as he let his fingers tangle in between your strands, letting his hand gently guide your head. The feeling of your mouth wrapped around him and the suction from your mouth paired with the way you swirled your tongue made his hips instinctively buck upwards, hitting that sweet spot in the back of your throat that created the lewd sound of gagging.
âThatâs it, take it." His voice was stern, sending a cold shiver down your body as you let your head dip down again, the spit that pooled at the corners of your mouth dribbling down his length, making him toss his head back as you attempted to take him deeper, your hands stroking the rest, your eyes looking up at his facial expressions, fluttering lashes, and brows knitted tightly. That look when you're too far gone in bliss that the only thing you can think about is the intense feeling you're receiving.
âThatâs enough." His words stopped you in your tracks, pulling away with a gentle pop.
He laid you down on your back, clothes scattered in a pile with his own, legs spread so that he could see that perfect core that sat untouched and leaking just for him, and despite the fact that millions of people had seen your bare body, he knew he was the only one who'd get to really feel you, feel your gummy walls flutter against him, and feel the warmth from your body; the thought of it made him groan as he gripped tightly onto your hips like it was the last thing he'd be able to feel, lining his tip with your entrance and sliding it in.Â
His pace didn't start off slow; it was brutal, anger leaking out in the form of his thrusts.Â
âMikey, s-slow down, it's too much," you babble, your voice shaking from the sheer force of each thrust that made your tits bounce and your head fly back into the pillows as your teeth bit down on your bottom lip, a sting of pain shooting through it from how hard you were biting down.
âYou got it, baby. Take this dick." He was breathless, heavy breathing mixed with the sound of skin slapping and sex filling the room as he leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to your neck that contradicted the way he was thrusting into you. Your whines sounded like sweet music to his ears as the feeling of your walls sucking him in and the warmth made him moan against the damp skin of your neck.
"FuckâI'm sorry," you cried out, feeling his tip repeatedly hitting that sweet spot as you let your fingernails dig into his back, earning a wince from Michael, but considering the circumstances he was under, he didn't really care; it only seemed to add to the intense feelings that were shooting through his body.Â
âI know, baby, itâs okay," he cooed, his thrusts becoming sloppier and a huge contrast from brutal, yet controlled thrusts, a telltale sign that he was on the verge of release, basking in the feeling of your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your fingers that dug into his back, creating that familiar stinging sensation, and your sweet moans that rang out, falling onto what seemed like deaf ears.
"Gonna cum," you whined, back arching off the mattress, the thin layer of sweat that veiled over your body now mixed in with Michael's own as your body convulsed in waves of pure pleasure. His hips bucked into you as his mouth fell open, giving you another sloppy thrust.
"That's it, so good," he whispered, kissing your collarbone, the warmth from his breath only making your skin feel hotter and sticky, and for a moment, the room fell into this kind of rhythmic silence, light sounds of heavy breathing as you tried to collect yourself.Â
âAre you still mad at me?â you whispered through heavy breaths.Â
âI was never mad at you," he started, his fingers brushing the skin of your cheek. âI was more mad at the fact that so many people had seen it." His eyes darted away.Â
note: i could never handle being fwb with michael. like nooo mooore big daddy !! anyways sorry it took me so long to drop sumn new..been busy giving my acct a bbl.
"M-Michael!" you yelled out, your voice fracturing into the heavy, heated air of your bedroom.
Hearing you scream his name was his absolute favorite sound, and it instantly made him work even harder, his hips driving into yours with a frantic, desperate rhythm because he knew that was exactly what would get you there. His large hand was tangled fiercely into your messy curls, while his other hand was gently but firmly wrapped around your neck, anchoring your body entirely to his. Sweat glistened over your beautiful brown skin, making you look like youâd been sun-kissed by God Himself as the explosive wave of pleasure finally crashed over you both.
You came down breathless, tangling in the messy sheets. For a few fleeting minutes, you just lay there together, desperately catching your breath in his heavy, safe embrace. But then, you glanced at the clock on the nightstand, and sheer panic set in.
You pushed gently against his chest, breaking the embrace, and immediately scrambled out of the bed. You grabbed your clothes from the floor, frantically rushing to pull your outfit together. "I'm going to be late," you muttered, aggressively fixing your hair. "I have to rush and meet a potential client to show that new property downtown."
Michael sat up slowly, the sweet, post-intimacy haze evaporating into a cold, thick tension. The longer this friends-with-benefits arrangement had progressed, the more intensely jealous both of you had become, and he absolutely hated seeing you with anyone else.
"A client?" he questioned, his jaw clenching tightly as his dark eyes critically tracked your every movement across the room. "Are you sure it's just a client, or is this a date? You're rushing out of my bed awfully fast just to go play realtor."
You stopped dead in your tracks, staring at him in utter disbelief. "Are you seriously doing this right now?" you shot back, frustration boiling over. "It is my job, Michael! Unlike you, I'm not actually out going on dates with other people!" You grabbed your purse and stormed out, leaving a heavy, unresolved tension suffocating the bedroom.
A few days passed without a single word between you two.
Then, you saw the tabloid photos onlineâMichael had been spotted out at a restaurant on a date with someone else. The jealousy completely burned a hole through your chest. Furious, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed his number.
He picked up on the second ring, answering with that same sweet, soft tone he always used for you. "Hello, beautiful."
"Mm mm, miss me with that 'hello beautiful' bullshit!" you cussed into the receiver, completely enraged. "You did all that questioning when I had to meet a client yet, here you are out parading around on a date?! You are out here making me look fucking stupid, Michael!"
Instead of getting defensive, Michael let out a low, cheeky chuckle on the other end of the line. "Why don't you come over here so I can fix that attitude of yours?"
His cocky response instantly set you off. "Donât play with me right now!" you practically screamed. "Lately I gotta watch what I say 'cause you take things personal nowadays, but you think you can justâ"
"I'm joking, baby, I'm joking! Relax," he quickly backpedaled, his tone softening as he realized he had pushed too far. "I promise you, the date wasn't anything serious. We both thought it was cool to cross the line, and I was convinced it would be alright, but you're making this so hard."
"Because nothing's the same anymore!" you yelled, hot tears blurring your vision. "We used to laugh and joke, we used to tell each other all our secrets! Honestly, I just want my friend back!" You hung up the phone before he could respond, sinking onto your couch.
Another few agonizing days of radio silence passed.
Then, late at night, there was a soft knock on your door. You opened it to find Michael standing in the shadows of your porch.
"I was in the area," he murmured, his dark eyes looking down at you.
You actually let out a dry, breathy laugh, leaning against the doorframe. "Michael, you live almost an hour away," you scoffed. "You were definitely not 'in the area.'"
Despite the obvious lie, you stepped aside and let him in, locking the door behind him. You didn't want to argue anymore. You just wanted to feel him. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips hungrily against his and trying to pull him straight into what you usually did when he came over late at night.
At first, Michael completely fed into your advances. He had come here with a speech prepared, but the second your soft lips crashed against his, his resolve instantly shattered. You were entirely irresistible to him; he had never been able to tell you no. You backed him aggressively against the heavy front door, jumping up so your legs could wrap tightly around his waist as he instinctively caught your thighs.
But the moment you ground your hips down against his, the agonizing reality of his pain crashed through the intoxicating haze.
He came violently back to his senses. This wasn't enough anymore. He suddenly broke the kiss, gasping for air. His large hands moved from your thighs to firmly grip your wrists, gently but firmly pulling your arms away.
"Stop," he commanded softly, setting you down on your feet and taking a definitive step back. He looked completely exhausted, stripping away all his pride. "I can't handle this arrangement anymore. My mind's gone crazy, I can't leave you alone."
He stepped directly into your space, his tall frame towering over you. "I want you to be with me officially. This friends with benefits thing is done. I'm giving you an ultimatum: we are either together for real, or we stop this completely. I want you, or I want nothing."
"Michael, noâ"
"I mean it," he interrupted, his voice a raw, gravelly vibration. "I went out the other night. The other girls... they are okay. But they're not you. I keep searching for you in every single one of them, and I can't find it. Because they aren't you."
Your heart hammered violently against your ribs, terrified of the risk. "How can you be sure things won't end up bad?" you pleaded, pushing back against his ultimatum. "If we do this for real and we fail, I'd hate to walk away from you as if this never existed! Iâm not ready to lose my best friend!"
"I don't want to hear that!" he demanded, refusing to entertain your doubts. But right now, with his chest heaving inches from yours and his masculine scent wrapping around you, you couldn't process the heavy ultimatum. Your body was aching for him.
"Michael, please," you begged, your hands sliding out of his firm grip to desperately grab the waistband of his trousers, pulling his hips closer. "I promise weâll talk about this. I promise weâll figure it out as soon as we're done. But please... just not right now. I need you right now."
He stared down at your beautiful, sun-kissed skin, his jaw clenching tightly. He had come here entirely prepared to put his foot down, but the absolute truth was, he could never tell you no.
"Damn it," he cursed in a low, defeated, gravelly vibration, completely surrendering as his lips crashed fiercely back onto yours.
Because he had given in, the encounter wasn't the slow, sweet lovemaking you were used to. It was much rougher, fueled entirely by his built-up frustration, the jealousy of your phone call, and the agonizing days of silence. His large hands gripped your waist tight enough to bruise as he backed you forcefully against the heavy wood of the front door again. He didn't even bother making it to the bedroom. One of his hands tangled fiercely into your messy curls, tilting your head back, while the other gripped your hip as he drove into you with a frantic, punishing rhythm.
He was pouring every ounce of his pent-up anger and deep, unyielding passion into the way he touched you. He was usually so controlled, but because it had been quite a while since you had been together like this, he was entirely at your mercy. The intense emotional friction pushed him over the edge incredibly fast.
"I can't get enough of you," he groaned roughly into your neck, his voice breaking as he hit his limit much faster than usual. His hips drove into yours with a final, desperate urgency, a heavy shudder ripping through his tall frame as the explosive wave of pleasure crashed over him, pulling you right over the breathless edge with him.
You both came down panting, his broad chest heaving erratically against yours as he kept you pinned flush against the door. The heat between you slowly began to settle into a heavy, suffocating reality.
As his breathing steadied, he didn't put an inch of space between you. Instead, he rested his forehead heavily against yours, his thumbs sweeping firmly across your collarbones. He hadn't forgotten your promise.
"Now talk," he breathed, his voice a rough whisper against your lips as he brought the ultimatum right back to the surface. He looked deep into your eyes, terrified but entirely resolute. "Are you mine, or am I walking out that door?"
đৠmichaelâs wife is a bitch but fine as fuck (18+ blurb)
đৠâč àŁȘ Ë you were a handful to say the least. michael doesnât even know how he manages to handle you. you never fail to make his life very interesting. everyday is something new, and something eventful. you always say whatâs on the mind and michael loves it, he loved your attitude. most importantly he loved the way your ass looked in those juicy couture tracksuits and how your curls bounced when you were throwing a fit about something random. with each pout or snarly remark you made resulted in michael getting turned on and michael was always turned on because you were always bitching about something.
âstupid fucking press.â your tone was sharp, louis vuitton bag swinging as you paced through the living room as michael watched you through his sunglassesâfrom his spot on the couch. his eyes would occasionally trail down your body, particularly your ass with the word 'juicyâ written in rhinestones.
âplease donât curse, honey.â michael breath out, calm and quietâletting a soft grin appear on his face. you huffed, ignoring him and rolling your eyes at his response.
âdonât tell me what to do.â
âdonât be like that, babylove. i donât like that kind of talk from you.â
your eyes narrowed. â n' i donât like that gucci bag you bought me, so i guess weâre even.â and just like that you stomped your way to the bedroom you and michael shared and slammed the door. michael being michael, he just smiled and shook his head. he was immune to your attitude by now, too obsessed with you to care.
đৠâč àŁȘ Ë as far back as michael could remember you were always like that. you were at the local park when he saw you, dressed up in a short sundress with heelsâwalking your tiny pomeranian. he remembered they was way your glossy lips moved while you were on the phone with one of your home girls. you were a playboy bunny at the time, living with the rest of the bunnies at the mansion. michael spotted you from across the grass and frozeâyou were hands-down the most beautiful woman heâd ever seen. that deep brown skin, those curves, the confident switch in your step. he approached you, you canât remember everything he said but the one thing that stuck with you was:
âiâll call hugh right now and tell him that youâre mineâ
you laughed, kissed your teeth, and rolled your eyes but gave him your number anyway. heâs been wrapped around your finger ever since.
đৠâč àŁȘ Ë Fast forward to now, you two have a an beautiful home and along down the road you let michael knock you up with a beautiful daughter, whoâs 16 and just like youâto michaelâs dismay. when you had her you gave her the name star because you always tell her:
âyouâre gonna be a star, just like mommyâ
đৠâč àŁȘ Ë you never fail to uplift your daughter and michael loves it. you also never fail to spoil her, so much that michaelâs pockets gets flimsy in result of her constant need to take star to get some ânew bling blingâ as you and star would say but michael never understood.
đৠâč àŁȘ Ë star was sometimes the main reason you and michael had argumentsâif you consider you yelling and michaelâs calm and collected demeanor a argument (more like a one sided fight). it was always about clothes but most of all, low rise jeans. low rise jeans is a huge trend that star wanted to be apart of. there was one particular style that all the girls were rockingâthe zodiac jeans. they were dangerously low with a zodiac sign on the butt of the jeans with rhinestones and they had a cute little flare at the ends. star made the mistake of asking michael first.
star had spent hours imagining herself in these jeans. she even would act as if she had them on, practicing her strut for the school hallway. soon she would build up the courage to ask her father for the jeansânot that she needed courage to ask for money because has no problem asking for money but it was the simply fact she might hear the worst word in history: no
star strolled along down the hallway, en route to michaelâs private studio, within the house. star pushes open the studio door quietly. the room smells like warm wood and faint cologne, monitors humming low while michael works at the boards in a simple button-up and sweatpants. michael hears the sound of feet along the floor and instantly lifts his head. his eye met his daughterâs, giving her a warm smile.
âoh hey, sweetheart.â he waves her over, opening his arms wide. she waltzed right into her fatherâs arms, feeling his lips on her forehead.
michael sensed that she was going to ask something, mentally preparing his wallet. âwhatâs up?â
star chewed the inside of her mouth, fidgeting with her bright, glittery pink nokia. then she just spewed out, âdaddy⊠can I please get some money for these new low-rise jeans? theyâre so cute and everybody at school has them.â she shoved her phone in his face, showing michael a picture.
his eyes squinted at the picture but eyes suddenly widened. michael looks up, that gentle smile softening his face before the dad mode kicks in. âoh honeybee, those are entirely too much for your age. I donât think so, princess.â star pouted, getting ready to rebuttal. âbut daddd, please? mama lets me wear stuff like that all the time.â he shakes his head firmly but lovingly: âbut nothing, twinkle. my answer is no.â she huffs dramatically, braids flipping as she turns on her heel to leave. as she reaches the door he calls after her softly, âlove you, baby girl.â she pauses, still upset but not cold-hearted, mumbling âlove you tooâ before heading out.
star comes straight to you in the kitchen, pout still on her face. youâre leaned against the marble island looking like the reason why michael can still get it upâ baby blue tracksuit zipped low to show cleavage, curls up in a bun, glossy lips shining, french tips tapping away on your phone while the pomeranian naps nearby. âmama, dad said no to the jeans⊠he said they too much for my age.â you set your matcha down, popping your gum loud. âwell let me go talk to him. you shouldâve just asked for the money straight up, star. havenât I taught you enough about handling your daddy?â you winkâswitching out the kitchen, bare feel against the tile with purpose.
you stroll into the studio like you own the whole estate (because you basically do). michael looks up from the boards, already sensing the storm. âbaby, before you startââ you cut him off, hand on your hip, âmichael, about those jeans for star. sheâs sixteen, not six. let her feel cute.â he stands, trying to stay firm: âthey show way too much waist, darling. Iâm trying to set boundaries.â you kiss your teeth loud, glossy lips pursed in that signature pout. âboundaries? ya know what? fine.â really? did michael finally win?
you turned you heel and strutted out the room with a sway of your hips. michael smiled to him with triumph, thinking he actually won a argument. usually the arguments end in you getting your way but it was finally time that michael got his way, or so he thought.
later that afternoon you slip star some cash (plus extra for shoes to match). âgo handle that, baby. mama got you.â star squeals and hugs you tight, âyouâre the best mama ever!â when she comes back strutting through the foyer in the low-rise jeansâwaistband sitting dangerously low on her hips, her zodiac written on the backâshe looks every bit the stylish princess you raised. michael walks in from the studio, with a smile on his faceâstill thinking he won the argument from moments ago but once he approaches the living room he stops cold. ââŠstar, those are the exact ones I said no to.â youâre lounging on the nearby chaise in your tracksuit, legs crossed, smirking. âand? if you think i was gonna let my baby be the only one without something, you were surely mistaken.â
at least you were coming from a good place in your heart.
đৠâč àŁȘ Ë it didnât matter how many times you gave michael a headache, you always made up for it in bed. light dim, clothing set long discarded, your deep brown skin warm and glowing against the silk sheets while michaelâs big hands explore every curveâlong fingers gripping your thick thighs, sliding deep between your folds until youâre crying out, trembling. âyouâre impossible⊠my impossible wife,â he groans, thrusting into you with that perfect rhythm, one hand gently around your throat. you moan loud, nails raking down his back, curls messy across the pillow. âbut you love when I get my way, daddy.â he does. from the park day he claimed you till now.
đৠi had a taste of the mj mature era smut anddd i understand now⊠he was sooo yummy during that era! this has been my drafts for a whileeeeeee also pls interact with this, donât be a stranger đ
"He had spent years learning the shape of your hurt. When you needed words...when you just needed him to hold you and say nothing. Nowâ he had become the thing you needed protection from."
SYNOPSIS: Michael cheats and is struggling internally with the consequences. To make things worse, you have no ideaâ yet.
CONTENT: heavy ANGST, 18+ due to mature themes, dangerous era!Michael, era 1991, hurt no comfort, emotional trauma, cheating, big panic attack, wife!reader, mike is lowkey toxic and a drama king
Author's Note: I've never written an angst/hurt/no-comfort so I hope this scratches the itch cause I was trying to find some fics like this and there's not many. THIS ONE'S GONNA HURT, Y'ALL. Not a request but for my bby @dre6ming since you were craving angst while waiting for more of somebody else's đ
Michael sat on the edge of the hotel bed for a long time after the woman left. She had gathered her things quietly, giving him one last look before closing the door after heâd asked her to leave. His elbows were braced against his knees and he had both of his hands pressed over his face. Like maybe he could hide from what he had just done if he stayed that way long enough.
The room was eerily quiet now. Nothing but the distant hum of traffic and horns from impatient cars down below.Â
Just an hour before, music was playing from the stereo on the dresser and the curtains were pulled back wide revealing the glittering city below. Somebody was laughing at something Michael had long forgotten now.Â
Now, the glasses on the dining room table were half empty. The sheets behind him were rumpled and smelled of an unfamiliar perfume. And the gold wedding band around Michaelâs finger felt like it had doubled in weight.
He twisted it back and forth on his finger. Then he raised his hands back to his face.
âOh God⊠what did I do?â he whispered into his hands. The words sounded so small in the expensive suite.
Then, his stomach rolled in an awful way and he rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before losing the contents of his stomach.
He had spent most of his life surround by chaos and noise. People screaming his name, cameras clicking and flashing, executives talking over one another because they all wanted to be right. He had learned out to tune out the noise over the years to find a quiet place inside his own mind when the world became too much.
But now, there was no quiet place deep enough to protect him from himself.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. It wasnât angry either. That wouldâve been easier. Instead, you were smiling.Â
The same way that you had when heâd left for this business trip a month ago. You were standing barefoot in the foyer, arms wrapped tightly around his waist with your cheek resting against his chest. You had asked him to let you know when he landed. Reached your hand up to straighten the collar of his jacket that was turned up, because somehow Michael always managed to leave something out of place when he was tired. Then you had kissed him slowly and told him you loved him.
He had said it back without hesitation. He kept replaying it in his head. That was the part he couldnât understand. He loved you. Truly. With every inch of his being.Â
He knew that with the same certainty he knew the first note of every song heâd ever written, the exact number of steps between the wings and center stage. The way your body fit against his like a puzzle piece when you slept.Â
He loved the sweet warm scent that clung to your skin after a shower. The tiny line between your eyebrows when you were reading something very carefully. He loved how you talked to yourself when you were cooking and trying to figure out a recipeâ and denied it when he caught you, and the way you reached for him in your sleep without stirring.
He loved you, all of you, and he had betrayed you anyway.
The thought made him bend forward until his forehead nearly touched his knees, stomach still churning.
It wasnât planned. Never. That was the excuse waiting closest to the surface. The one his frightened out of its wits mind kept offering him as if it would soften what happened. Truthfully, he was exhausted and lonely. Frustrated after a long night of industry obligations he didnât want to attend. Those events were always full of people who treated boundaries like something temporary.
He drank more than usual, but not nearly enough to erase the choices he made that led him here. The woman made him feel admired without asking for anything complicated from him. And for one shameful, shameful hour, he had stepped outside of the life that belonged to him and pretended there would be no cost.
Then that moment came to an end, and there was still you. His mind kept drifting to you. Your clothes in his closet, the books stacked beside his bed that you had started but never finished. The handwritten notes youâd snuck in his luggage when he wasnât looking. Your voice on his answering machine, asking him if he remembered to eat.Â
By morning he had already decided he had to tell you. But then you called. Your voice was warm and sleepy because it was still early back at home where you were. You teased him about sounding completely miserable, told him he shouldâve brought you for company. Said you missed him.
Michael sat on the hotel sofa gripping the phone so tightly his tendons ached.Â
âI miss you too, baby.â He whispered. He almost confessed his sin to you right then and there. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.
He couldnât bear the idea of telling you like that. Not like that. You deserved more from him. From your husband.Â
Michael was disgusted with himself, and it showed in the way heâd been sick twice the night before. Now, sitting in the ruined hotel room, His eyes fell to the wedding band on his hand and he began to cry until the sobs crescendoed violently through his body.
The tears slipped between his fingers and fell silently onto his slacks while the world carried on outside. Completely indifferent and undisturbed by the fact that somewhere in it, a man had just shattered the most precious thing heâd ever been trusted to hold.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
It was sunrise when you woke up on the morning Michael returned home. The estate was still dark and its long hallways were silent  except for the occasional creak of the home settling around you. Outside, the sky was turning from black to a deep blue and mist drifted over the lawn.
You stayed in bed a little longer, curled in the sheets on Michaelâs side of the bed. It was a habit youâd developed over the years whenever he was away from home. Pressing your face into the pillow, you inhaled deeply and sighed contently. It still carried a faint trace of your husbandâs cologne. Warm, sandalwood, clean linen, and something sweet you couldnât quite pinpoint.
A month had never felt so long
Michael and you had been married long enough to survive separations much longer than that. World tours had taken him across oceans. Film shoots and recording obligations swallowed whole weeks sometimes. There were too many birthdays and anniversaries celebrated through telephone wires than you cared to remember.
But lately, even when Michael was home, youâd missed him. And that bothered you. A lot. He was physically there. Eating dinner with you, sleeping beside you, every now and then resting his large palm on your thigh as he did his reading. But something felt off. His smiled came slower and his kisses were softer, but shorter too. And every now and then, you would look up and see him watching you closely with an expression you couldnât read. Sadness flickered across his features before he tucked it away, but you didnât know.
It must be the album you thought. Dangerous was due to release soon, so there was always a deadline or a room full of people waiting for Michael to decide whether the bassline needed to be heavier or if the strings needed another layer.
Michael carried his work inside his body until it reflected in his posture and the hollowed skin beneath his eyes. Over the years, you learned how to recognize the signs before complete burn out.
That was why this morning, you decided to take care of him. You yawned and stretched as you finally climbed out of bed, the cold air of the room hitting you quickly. You pulled one of Michaelâs sweatshirts over your head and twisted your hair into a bun to keep it out your face before padding downstairs.
You only turned on the light above the stove, preferring more darkness as the sun slowly rose. Then you mixed pancake batter and started brewing your coffee. By the time the sun had fully risen, the kitchen smelled like butter, bacon, cinnamon, coffee, and maple syrup. You hummed to yourself quietly as you arranged fruit and powdered sugar over the pancakes. Then, you set two mugs on the table.
His car was in the driveway just after seven. You recognized the distinct engine humming in the distance and the faint voices from his security team. Excitement coursed through you so quickly that you nearly forgot to shut off the stove. You rushed into the foyer just as the front door opened.
Michael stepped inside wearing dark slacks, a black sweater, sunglassesâand the exhaustion of a man who had slept little to none. His curls were tucked beneath a hat and his leather overnight bag hung from his opposite hand. Still, he looked beautiful to you.
His head lifted when he saw you, and for a second his whole face changed. Relief, love, and something more dark passed through his expression in a frenzy. You quickly closed the distance between the two of you, and he dropped his bag to catch you.
âHey handsome. There you are.â You murmured against his neck, leaving soft kisses. Michael melted into your touch and held you tightly. A little too tight.
He pressed his face into you, breathing you in. You laughed softly as you ran your hands over his back in that way that always grounded him.
âYou act like youâve been gone a year.â He didnât answer, but his arms tightened. The force of the embrace surprised you enough to make your smile fade a little.
âMikey?â
âJust missed you. Thatâs all.â He whispered His voice was strained though. You turned your face and kissed his temple.Â
âI missed you too, babyâ
When he finally pulled away, his eyes were wet behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He removed them quickly like he forgot he was wearing them before looking over your face with a tender gaze.
âYou okay? Whatâs up?â You asked.
He nodded too fast. âYeah mama, just tired.â
âMore like exhaustedâ
âIâm alright.â
Still not convinced, you reached up and pushed a curl out of his eyes. He leaned into your hand instinctively. Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and you kissed him. He kissed you back, but something about it felt hesitant. It lasted just a second, almost so quickly you didnât notice.Â
When you pulled away, he gazed at you like you gave him something he didnât deserve. The expression made you uncomfortable in a way you couldnât put words to. So you changed the topic.
âI made you breakfast. Your favoriteâ A shy smile tugged at his lips despite the way he felt inside.Â
âOf course you didâ That was the thing. You were always taking care of him. Making sure he had what he needed, sometimes at a cost to yourself. He followed you to the kitchen, wondering how many more acts of love he could survive before the truth broke him.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
Unfortunately, the distance didnât disappear when Michael came home. It got worse.Â
He was attentive in weird, uneven bursts. One afternoon, he just appeared out of nowhere in the doorway of the library carrying your favorite flowers for no reason. Then he stood watching while you arranged them in a vase, eyes following every movement of your hands. And then that night, he held you so close that you woke up feeling suffocated and sweating against his chest.
The next day though, he barely spoke at all during breakfast.Â
He started bringing you gifts after long rehearsals and recording sessions. A new book he thought you might like, a silk scarf in your favorite color, and a small bottle of perfume he had smelled somewhere and immediately associated with you.Â
The gifts were appreciated. But they frightened you. Now Michael had always been extremely generous with his time and money. He loved to give, much more than receiving. But you couldnât help but feel like these offerings werenât just spontaneous affection, but more so an apology for something you had never accused him of doing.
If you asked if something was wrong, he would just say it was work stuff.Â
âThis mix isnât right yetâ
âJust not sleeping well, thatâs allâ
âManagement's been on meâ
And every time, you believed him. Because you loved him and trusted him. The alternative never entered your mind.
In the past, there had been rumors about your marriage.
Women constantly claimed things and headlines manufactured affairs from various photographs Michael had taken with fans. Every friendly conversation and smile he gave became evidence for the press to declare he had a new secret lover.
Michael was always more hurt by these stories than you were. âHow can they say that about us?â He would ask, genuinely distressed. âThey donât know meâŠUs.â You always reassured him.
The trust was so deeply ingrained in your marriage that you didnât even consider the possibility of unfaithfulness even while standing in its shadow.
Instead, you turned inward and blamed yourself. Maybe you had gotten too comfortable. Or maybe the marriage was less exciting to him now that the honeymoon phase was long gone.
You wondered whether your complaints about his long nights at the studio had added more pressure on top of the weight he was already carrying. And as embarrassed as you were afraid to admit, you had even begun studying your own reflection more closely when getting dressed.
On date night, you changed your hair twice. Bought a new nightgownâ that never got worn because Michael came home at 2am and fell asleep before you could show him.
You tried hard. So much harder.
And thatâs what haunted you later.
You cooked more of his favorite meals and waited for him to come home to enjoy them, even though you never knew when heâd arrive. Kept leaving handwritten notes for him to encourage him. Sometimes if you had time, youâd stop by the studio with lunch for him and massage his shoulders while he listened to the same run over and over again, trying to pinpoint how to improve it.
Every act of love you offered made him quieter and pushed him farther away.Â
Then one night, you found him standing by himself in the bathroom with the water running endlessly. He was facing the mirror, both hands gripping the sink as his head hung low.
âRunnin' up my water bill, boyâ You had said jokingly. But he startled so violently that your stomach clenched. Immediately your face changed when he met your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. You stepped inside immediately.
âWhat is it? Is something wrong?â
âNothingâÂ
âYouâve been in here forever, Mike. What're you thinkin' about?â
He stared at you through the reflection instead of turning around. For a moment, it looked like he might tell you. His mouth opened and his eyes filled, but then he dropped his gaze.
âJust that record. Thatâs all.â
You exhaled softly and moved behind him, shutting off the water and wrapping your arms around his waist. His body went rigid under your touch. You felt it immediately.
âBaby,â You whispered, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. âYouâre carrying too much again.â
Grace he didnât deserve.
Michael closed his eyes as guilt washed over him, nauseating him.
âYou donât have to be perfect all the time. You can just be you with me, you know that right?â A tear slipped down his cheek and disappeared before you could see it.
âI knowâ He said quietly.
âYou can talk to me. Whatever it is.â
His hands came down to where yours were resting against his stomach, holding you too now.
âI know, baby.â
He turned in your arms and held you with his face buried against your neck. His body was trembling, and you mistook it for exhaustion. So you stroked his curls like you always did and told him it would be okay.
You always made him feel so safe. He nearly confessed right there. He inhaled sharply. âI have to tell you somethingâ he whispered.
You pulled back to look at him. âWhat is it?â His eyes moved over yours. Fear entered them so suddenly that you went totally still. But then, he shook his head and said it was nothing.
He didnât have the courage yet. He wanted to tell you. So badly. But he couldnât bear to put you in that type of agony. Heâd rather die. And thatâs why he hated himself in this moment. In every moment youâd overextended yourself or did something just because you loved him.
He didnât deserve it, and he knew it. He was devastated.
Later, you would replay this memory until it felt like punishment that you couldnât see things for what they were.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
You learned the truth at a charity luncheon six weeks after Michael came home.
The day was unremarkable. You picked out a cream suit and wore a silk blouse underneath. Gold hoops adorned your ears with your hair swept back away from your face. Michael was supposed to be attending with you, but a scheduling conflict came up that morning. He kissed your cheek while you got dressed and apologized, promising he would make it up to you.
It was no big deal it happened a lot. So, you went alone.Â
The luncheon was in a private ballroom that had been decorated elegantly with white flowers and soft, gold fabric. Wives of people in the industry, performers, executives, humanitarians, and philanthropists moved about the space while photographers hovered near the entrance. Being Michaelâs wife, you had attended enough events like it to smile through small talk without thinking.
Halfway through the event, a woman from Michaelâs label approached you at the refreshment table. You knew her vaguely, sheâd always been friendly and talkative. And today, you noticed she was on her second glass of champagne, which meant she was sure to be extra chatty.
âItâs sooo good to see you. You look beautiful!â She said, kissing the air beside your cheek.
âThank you, so do you.â
âWe missed you sooo much in New York.â At first you just blinked. The sentence didnât register initally.Â
âExcuse me?â You smiled politely, trying to get clarification.
âThe Mercer dinner. Michael was basically hiding in a corner all evening, you know how he gets at those things.â
A cold chill washed over your body. Michael wasnât in New York. He was in Chicago.
At least thatâs what he had told you.Â
Still, you maintained your smile, even as your right eye began involuntarily twitching and your heart rate picked up.Â
âAnd when was this?â
The woman gave you the date. It was the exact night Michael had called you from what he claimed was his hotel in Chicago.
He claimed rehearsals ran late. He sounded really distracted and then he ended the call early because he said he was tired and needed some sleep.
Your fingers tightened so hard around your wine glass you thought it might break. âOhâ was all you said, like the wind had been knocked out of you.
Instantly, the woman knew she spoke too much. You saw it in her face. âWell maybe I just have the dates wrongâŠâ
You continued to smile politely, at this point it was frozen on your face despite the rage you felt internally. You felt like you were in the Twilight Zone.Â
âYou donât.â you said simply. The activity in the ballroom continued around you. Silverware scraping, laughter and music. But at this point it all seemed far away, and you had tunnel vision.
âWho was he with?â you asked. The woman looked toward the crowd, desperate for an escape.
âThat isnât my business.â At this, your heart rate picked up even more.
âWho was he with?â You asked again calmly, this time your voice took on a covert threatening tone.
She lowered her voice as her eyes darted nervously around the room hoping no one was watching.
âLook, I didnât see anything happen, okay? Iâm sorry. I thought you knew. Please donât say you heard anything from me! I really need this job, I canât afford to lose it.â You stared at her unblinking now. That was not an answer. But it was confirmation.
She reached for your arm, but you stepped away before she could touch you. The room tilted and you placed your wine glass on the table before it slipped from your hand and shattered, exactly like you felt you were right in this moment. The truth entered your body slowly, then all at once.Â
New York.Â
The lie.Â
How distant Michael had been.Â
The endless gifts.Â
Him crying in the bathroom.Â
The way he kissed you like he was apologizing.Â
You felt sick.
You left the luncheon without saying goodbye to anyone. Outside the afternoon sun was still hot and bright. Papparazzi called your name as you walked toward your car, but you barely heard them over the chaos inside your head. Your mind was racing.Â
On the way home, you didnât cry. Not yet. You sat completely still as if you were having an out of body experience as the city moved past. Your mind began recalling memories with cruel precision. Michael coming home and showering immediately before heâd let you touch him. He claimed it was grime from the plane and he wanted to be clean for you.Â
Him pulling away when you touched him. Bringing you flowers with tears in his eyes.Â
And then, him whispering, âI have to tell you somethingâ.
Realization settled over you, slowly, coldly. The first tear fell before you reached home.
For weeks, you believed him when he said it was just work. You thought the distance meant you were failing him. You stared at yourself in mirrors wondering if he still thought you were pretty. Dressed more carefully. Tried to cook better, even asking his mother for tips. Swallowed your complaints and loneliness.
And all this time. He knew exactly what he had done. He watched youâallowed youâ to chase him while he held the truth in silence. The humiliation of it all made your face so hot it burned to the touch.
When you entered your shared home with Michael, you walked straight upstairs without saying a word to any of the staff. In the bedroom everything was indifferent. His book rested on the nightstand, turned upside down on the last page he read before his eyes got too tired to continue. His sweater was strewn across a chair from him leaving in a rush that morning.
Then, your eyes landed on a picture of you both, taken during the first year of your marriage. Michael was smiling at you instead of the camera.
You picked it up and threw it across the room, feeling satisfaction as the frame struck the wall and shattered into pieces. You sat on the edge of your bed and cried until your chest ached.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
Michael felt the change before you said anything. He came home that night expecting the familiar sounds of you moving through the house, playing your favorite music from the stereo. Maybe your voice on the phone talking to one of your girlfriends.Â
Instead, everything was silent. He found you sitting at the dining room table with an untouched plate of food in front of you.
You had cried until there was nothing left before you cleaned up the glass from your outburst. Your eyes were swollen, and the sight made his heart lurch.
âBaby?â You looked up. Youâd been so deep in your thoughts, wondering where you went wrong, that you hadnât noticed his presence. âWhat happened?â He asked.
âNothingâ The word was eerily familiar in your home. Michael swallowed and moved closer, reaching for your shoulder. Sensing his touch impending you rose to your feet suddenly. âIâm tired, Iâm going upstairs. Goodnight.â
He watched you leave, and panic began as a faint pressure under his ribs. After a long moment, he followed you and willed himself not to overreact. Maybe the luncheon was exhausting, or paparazzi had said something cruel. Maybe you just didnât feel good.
When he found you, you were in the bathroom washing your face and completing your bedtime routine.Â
âWhat happened today? Did somebody upset you?â Michael stared at you through the reflection, watching every single movement carefully like doom was soon to come.
Casually, you continued smoothing cleanser over your skin, watching it foam in the reflection. âI said Iâm tired.â
Still Michael didnât depart from the doorway.
âAre you feeling alright?â
âYes.â
âDo you wanna talk about it?â
âNo.â
Michael shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet like a child pestering their mother with a million and one questions. He knew he should probably leave you alone, and usually he would have given you your space. But the guilt of knowing what he had done, paired with your reaction, forced this awkward response. Your answers were too calm.
So Michael stepped closer. âLook at meâ. You rinsed your face and reached for a hand towel. He caught your wrist gently. You froze under his touch, eyes lingering where his hand was.
For one hopeful second he thought you might turn into him. Let him hold you, or even ask the question heâd be dreading for six weeks.
But instead, you looked down at his hand and said simply, âLet goâ. His fingers opened immediately. The words were not loud at all and thatâs what struck him much harder than if you had yelled at him.
You walked past him. He remained next to the sink, gazing at the empty space where youâd stood.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
That night you slept on the far edge of the mattress with your back to Michael. He laid awake behind you, watching you since heâd gotten in bed. The distance between your bodies was short but it felt impenetrable.
He reached towards your waist once during the night. He stopped himself before he could reach you.Â
âBaby?â You didnât answer, but your breathing pattern told him you were awake. âCan I hold you?â More silence. Michael lowered his hand, and the simmering panic he felt tightened.
Over the next three days you became polite and that terrified Michael more than anger would have.
You had stopped waiting for his presence after long workdays. You didnât accompany him when he watched television. And most painfully for him, when he kissed your cheek before leaving in the morning you stood still and allowed itâ but you did not turn your face toward him.
You started calling him Michael.
Not Mike.
Not Mikey.
Not love.
Just Michael. Every withdrawal felt like punishment to him. And he tried everything. Everything except the truth.Â
He brought you more flowers. You thanked him and left them wrapped on the table. He ordered you take out from your favorite restaurant, and you said you werenât hungry. When he asked if youâd take a walk with him you declined, stating you had more work to finish.Â
At night he craved your touch. He laid beside you aching to confess, but fear kept closing around his throat.
If you didnât know, telling you might destroy the marriage. But⊠if you did knowâ then the marriage might already be over.
Michael existed in limbo between these two options and it petrified him. He wasnât able to choose either option. He was too scared.
The fourth evening, he came home early. The house was unusually quiet again. He called your name from the foyer and received no answer. His heart started beating faster before he had even reached the stairs.
He told himself not to panic. You couldâve been in the bath or reading with the bedroom door closed. Maybe you fell asleep early after another long day of barely speaking to him. There were dozens of harmless explanations, but none of them quieted the dread that had been building inside him since you stopped reaching for him.
When he found you, you were in the master bedroom. You were standing with your back to him and your suitcase was open on the floor. For several seconds, Michaelâs brain couldnât register what he was seeing.
He saw the suitcase and the neat stacks of folded clothesâand the empty spaces and hangers starting to form on your side of the closet. But he refused to connect them. He stood there, frozen and helpless in the doorway with one hand wrapped around the strap of his bag. He watched you place items inside the luggage, like maybe the room might reorganize into something less scary if he blinked enough.
Then he forced a nervous smile. It was born out of habit, not natural emotion.Â
âBaby?â
You placed another sweater in the suitcase, not answering him or looking at him. The small movement pulled his attention to what was already inside the suitcase. Your jewelry. A soft blue blanket your late grandmother gifted to you. The same one you carried from room to room whenever you were sick or sad.
Quickly, Michael realized these were not items someone packed for just a weekend. They were pieces of your life. A life you shared with him. His smile disappeared.
His hand loosened around the bag strap until it slipped from his fingers and landed softly against the carpet. The soft thud made you pause for just a moment even though you didnât turn to him.
âWhatâre you doing?â He asked. His voice was quieter than he intended it to come out. There was already fear laced through it, although he pretended he didnât understand.Â
When you reached for another blouse, he took one step into the room, then another. His eyes moved frantically between your face and the suitcase.
"Where are you going?â You kept folding. The lack of an answer made the pressure in his chest deepen. He could feel his pulse beating hard and uneven under his skin. His mind raced through possibilities. Maybe you were just gonna stay with your mom for a few nights for some reason. Or you needed space?Â
He thought if he stayed calm and chose the right words, he could keep the situation from becoming what it already was coming to.
âBaby, look at me.âÂ
You smoothed your hands over the blouse you had just folded. Michael moved around the bed until he was closer to you. When you still didnât look at him, he reached out and took the next piece of clothing from your hands. Not roughly, but because he couldnât bear to watch you continue.
You stared at the empty space between your fingers where the jacket had just been.Â
âI found out.â You said.
The room started to close in around Michael, and suddenly he felt like his worst nightmare was coming to life. His hand went slack around the fabric, and the jacket slid from his fingers and fell to the floor. He didnât ask you what you meant, and that was most damning.
The silence lasted for only a few seconds, but in that time his breathing had stopped. His lips parted and the terror he had spent weeks trying to escape had finally caught up with him.
âWho told you?â He whispered. A sad laugh escaped you.
âWhat do you mean who told me?â
Michael closed his eyes the minute he heard disbelief wound tightly through your question. He knew instantly heâd said the wrong thing. But panic had pushed him before he could stop it.
âThatâs what you wanna know?â You asked. âYou donât wanna know how I feel? Or what I heard? You wanna know who said what so you know how much I know? Are you fucking kidding me, Michael?â
âNoâ he shook his head quickly and reached toward you before he could think otherwise. âNo, thatâs not what I meant.â
âSo what did you mean?â You turned fully to face him now, arms crossed and lips pursed. His mouth opened, but fear crowded every answer he could think of out of him. He looked at you helplessly, eyes starting to fill with tears. The absence of an explanation only made your expression harden.
You nodded slowly as tears stung your eyes.Â
âExactly.â
Michaelâs stomach dropped when your first tears fell. Tears that had always pulled him closer to you without thought. He stepped closer, his hands rising toward your arms because his body believed he still had the right to soothe whatever was hurting you.
âPlease let me explainâ he said softly, voice trembling. You moved away before he could touch you and the rejection stopped him in place. His hands remained suspended in the air between the two of you for a long moment before they fell awkwardly to his sides.
Something heavy settled in his chest, heavier than the guilt he had carried for weeks. This was the first time you were in pain and wouldnât allow him to get near it.
He had spent years learning the shape of your hurt. When you needed wordsâwhen you just needed him to hold you and say nothing. Now, he had become the thing you needed protection from.
âExplain what?â You seethed, angrily wiping away tears that had slipped despite your best efforts to contain them. âExplain to me why you told me you were in Chicago and you were in New York? Or why some random bitch from your label knew where my husband was, and I didnât?â
Michael flinched at your words and his throat tightened.
âIt was only one night.â The words escaped him before he had a chance to think about how they sounded. Your entire face changed and instantly he felt dread.
âOne night? Michael, Iâm your wife.â You said in disbelief, voice choked with grief.
âBaby, I didnât mean it like thatâ He said quickly, voice cracking through tears. âI swear, thatâs not what I was trying to say.â
âHow many nights would make it matter to you?â
âIt matters to me. It matters so much, this has been killing me.â He pleaded.
âWhy, because I found out?â
âNo, god noâ He shook his head frantically, words failing him completely.
âThen why didnât you tell me Michael? Why did I have to find out from someone else?â Your eyes were locked on him now, unblinking with blatant disbelief.
âI was scared. Iâm so sorry.â Michael didnât know what to do except be honest now that the weight of his decisions had come crashing down on him. You scoffed in disbelief.Â
âYou were scared?â
âI didnât know how to tell you. I didnât want you to hate me.â Tears were spilling freely now as Michaelâs hands dangled at his sides. He didnât know what to do with them, and he was fighting the urge to reach for you after your previous reaction.
âBut you knew how to lie to me, right?âÂ
He physically drew back, one hand moving toward his chest like your words hit something tender under his ribs. The truth of them hurt because there was nothing he could say to defend himself.Â
He had arranged his flight, and divulged a false schedule, called you from one city and said it was another. Every lie required effort and thought.
The truth he claimed he couldnât manage only required courage.Â
You stepped toward him, angry now.Â
âYou knew how to call me from New York fucking City and tell me you were somewhere else. How to come home and kiss me like you hadnât touched anyone else.â Now your voice choked, âHow to climb in our bed like you didnât break our vows, and let me touch you like nothing had happened.â
Michaelâs face fell more with every sentence. He wanted to interrupt you so badly, tell you that none of those moments were false. Loving you had never been the lie, but unfortunately he understood how paradoxical and cruel that sounded now. You would find no comfort in knowing he had loved you while betraying you. If anything, it would just make what he did seem more senseless.
âEvery single time I asked you what was on your mind you looked me in my face and told me you were tired. What the fuck, Michael?â
He flinched again as you swore at him, something you never did. âI knowâ He said, barely above a whisper.
âAnd I really thought it was me.â
Michael shook his head immediately, eyes widening. âNo baby, it was never you. Youâre perfect. Always been so perfect for me.â Your heart sank to your stomach.
âIf Iâm so perfect for you, why would you do this to me? To us?â
The words silenced him. Your face twisted with disgust as the anger finally gave away beneath the full weight of the humiliation you had felt for the last three days. âI kept trying to figure out what I needed to change. I stopped complaining when you werenât here when I needed you. I made your favorite foods and waited until they got cold, hoping youâd come home early. I even bought new clothes because I thought maybe you didnât want me anymore. Oh god, Michaelâ your hands came to your face as the grief overtook you, no longer able to retain it.
âBaby, Iâm so sorry. Please donât ever thinkââ His voice cracked heavily as he spoke through tears, stepping toward you before he could stop himself.
âItâs too late. I already did.â A sob tore through you involuntarily before the last word had fully left your mouth. Michael moved on instinct. The sight of you breaking apart in front of him erased every thought except the need to catch you.Â
His hands closed gently around your arms as he tried to pull you toward his chest, desperate to offer you the same comfort heâd given you throughout every pain you had endured togetherâ throughout his time loving you.
The same comfort heâd given you when you when your childhood dog passed away. The kind heâd given when you decided to walk away from a career you loved with your soul because it wasnât right for you anymore. The same comfort heâd provided when you cried quietly at night, wishing he was there more.
You shoved him away, and he stumbled backward. He was completely stunned into silence. His hands remained raised for a moment, fingers still curved around the shape of you even though you werenât there anymore.
The rejection drove the weight in his chest deeper, your tears had always been something he was allowed to soothe. Heâd never needed permission to hold you before. Now the distress on your face only sharpened when he came near you. He lowered his hands slowly, afraid of agitating you further.
âDonât touch me.â You cried. Michaelâs lips parted, but no words followed. His gaze moved helplessly over your face as another tear slipped down his own. That was when the truth settled inside him with unbearable clarity. He was not the person who could make this hurt better. Because he was the reason it existed.
Silence swallowed the room and stretched until it became unbearable for Michael. You turned away first, not angry or dramatically. Just⊠quietly. You reached for the zipper on the suitcase, and he watched your fingers wrap around the metal tab.
Something inside him screamed.Â
The zipper closed with one smooth, unforgiving sound, and to Michael it sounded like the end of every future he had ever imagined with you. Like someone closing one chapter of their life before they began another. The realization made the room spin for Michael.
No.
This wasnât happening. It couldnât be.
Then, you reached down and grabbed the handle of your suitcase. His body moved before he had ever made the decision to. Two hurried steps carried him around the bed until he stood directly between you and the bedroom door.
His chest was rising and falling unevenly, his expression somewhere between terror and disbelief. The movement surprised even him. He was blinking rapidly like he was disoriented, like he didnât consciously decide to block your path.
He just couldnât bear the idea of watching you walk away. Not while there was still breath in his lungs.
When you looked up at him, your face was streaked with tears. His stomach twisted so violently he thought he might lose the contents of his stomach.
He had done that. Every single tear, every ounce of hurt written across your features. He put it there.
He hated himself with a depth he didnât know was possible.
âMoveâ Your voice wasnât angry anymore. Just exhausted. And that hurt Michael more than if you'd slapped him. His lips trembled and he shook his head.
âIâŠI canâtâ the words came out barely above a whisper. âI canât let you leaveâ
âYou donât get to stop me.â
âI know,â He whimpered helplessly. âI know I donât.â His eyes fell to the floor in shame before lifting back to yours. There was no defensiveness in them.Â
âI know I donât deserve a conversation⊠or another a chanceâ He rubbed his hands over his face, dragging them down until they rested over his mouth for a moment. His shoulders shook under the effort of trying to compose himself. When he lowered them again, more tears fell. âI know Iâm embarrassing myself. I knowâ A humorless laugh escaped him and his chin quivered. âI understand that you canât even stand to look at me right now, and I wouldnât eitherâŠâ his voice trailed off sadly, unsure where he was going with this. âBut⊠I donât know what else to do.â
The admission seemed to cost him something. Michael had spent his whole life trying to solve problems. If a certain dance move didnât look right, heâd rehearse till his feet were numb. Song wasnât right? Heâd rewrite it 50 times before it saw the light of day. There was always something to do, some way to fix things.
This was the first problem he had ever faced where his effort felt meaningless. There was no way for him to rehearse his way back into your trust, and he couldnât outwork the betrayal.
âI can fix it.â The words spilled out before he could stop them. His mind was racing miles ahead of him, desperately searching for anythingâanything that might convince you to stay.
âI⊠I wonât travel alone anymore.â He took another careful step toward you before stopping himself, worried of you recoiling from his touch again.Â
âIâll cancel trips if I have to, you come everywhere with meâ His breathing remained uneven. âIâll give you every itinerary before I leave. Every hotel, every phone number.â His words started tumbling over each other now.Â
âIâll tell you where I am before you even have to ask. IâllâŠâ he frowned in that same way he did when he was a little boy and an interviewerâs question perplexed him. He was frustrated that his own thoughts couldnât keep up.
âIâll fire people, Iâll stop going out. IâllâŠâ His voice broke under a sob. âIâll do anything. I mean it. There isnât anything I wonât change.â He searched your face desperately, looking for any tiny shift that would show him you were hearing him. His chest heaved as tears continued to fall. âI swear to God, Iâll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.â His lips were swollen now from how hard he was biting on them in between sentences, trying to stop himself from completely falling apart.
âIâll do anything to earn your trust back. I donât care how long it takes.â He shook his head frantically, voice dropping to a whisper so fragile it carried across the room.
âJustâŠâ he couldnât finish the sentence. This was killing him. His throat closed around the word so he tried again. âPlease donât leave me. I can fix it.â
Now your eyes filled with tears.Â
âThere isnât anything to left to fix, Michael. I canât do this anymore.â You said sadly.Â
Your statement settled over him with a chilling finality. He simply stared at you, blinking. For a minute, it seemed like he didnât understand what you had said.
âI have to go.â Your voice wasnât angry anymore, just tired. Like somebody who had spent the last three days crying until there was nothing left.
Michael felt his chest seize painfully. His hand instinctively pressed against it, trying to soothe the ache. He had never understood why people described heartbreak as physical until now.Â
And when he saw you reach for your suitcase handle again, his stomach dropped when he realized you were done listening. When you stepped toward the door, he moved instinctively, pressing his back further against it. His movements were frantic and clumsy now. His body had totally disconnected from the calm composure he usually carried. His curls fell into his face as tears spilled down his cheeks.
He looked at you the way a drowning person would a shoreline. âPlease⊠please donât do this to me. I love you.â
âI canât, Michael. I donât want this anymore. Not like this.â You said, shutting your eyes tightly.
The words hollowed him out, and he stared at you. Waiting for you to take them back. Or to say you were gonna stay at your momâs for a few days. But the words never came.
Michaelâs breathing quickened and his eyes darted around the room, his mind was betraying him. He could already see it. You carrying your things downstairs, opening the front door⊠the sound it would make when it closed behind you. You driving away. Never coming home.
His chest tightened so violently he had to press his palm harder against it to ground himself. He dropped to his knees when they buckled. He pressed his forehead against your stomach as his breathing refused to settle.
Every inhale came in sharp and frantic, not fully reaching his lungs. Each breath chased the last as if his body had forgotten how breathing was supposed to work.
His shoulders were trembling now, not from crying, but from panic. Pure, overwhelming panic. Your hand fell away from your suitcase as you dropped to your knees too.
âMichaelâ you said firmly. He didnât answer, lost completely in fear and his own thoughts. His fingers curled weakly into the fabric of your shirt, holding on to you like you might disappear if he let go. âMichaelâ you repeated, more sternly this time. You cupped the side of his face, and his whole body leaned into your palm. For a second, it felt like every other time youâd ever comforted him. After bad dreams, migraines. Whenever the world became too much to bear.Â
He was fully hyperventilating now. âLook at meâ you said. Slowly, his eyes opened and they were shiny and terrified.Â
âI canât⊠I..âÂ
âBreathe Michael, you gotta breathe baby. Youâre gonna pass out.â
âI donât careâ he said in between hiccups and breaths. âI canât⊠youâre leavingâ he gasped.Â
âIn through your nose, and out. Try for me, pleaseâ You deliberately kept your own breathing slow. His breath started to even, he tried but it kept catching in his throat. Then he looked toward the suitcase, and the panic doubled. His chest spasmed again and his hands slipped from your waist to the carpet beneath him.
ââŠYouâre really leavingâ he said, voice trembling as he tried to talk between breaths. It wasnât a question. It was a devastated man finally acknowledging the reality he had tried so desperately to outrun.
When you closed your eyes in response, Michael knew. And it hurt more than if you had just said yes. Because now, you werenât even trying to lie to him.Â
âNoâ The word dissolved into a sob. âNoâ His breathing had become so erratic that his entire upper body jerked with each failed inhale. Michael had panic attacks in the past, but never this severe.
Instinctively, you moved closer and your hands found either side of his face. He leaned into you again, desperately. The way a freezing person reaches toward warmth.
âI need you to breathe.â
He swallowed another sob, âI donât know howâ The confession broke your heart. This was a man who commanded stadiums and rehearsed until sunrise. And here he was, sat on the floor looking up at you like a frightened little boy. Totally lost. âI donât know what to do⊠how to make you stay.â
The room fell silent. There was still plenty to say, but there just simply werenât any words left. He searched your face anyway, looking for mercy. Or hope. Instead there was nothing. Just tears that flowed from a place that felt empty now.Â
âOh god, baby. Iâm so sorryâ he covered his face, the shame, burning through him full force now. What had he done? âIâll never forgive myself. I donât expect you to either.â
His eyes drifted to the wedding ring on your left hand. It was still thereâfor now.
His lifted his gaze back to yours. âAre you gonna take it off?â You were silent. He watched your face carefully for any sort of an answer. But all he got was fresh tears, and trembling lips. He understood without you needing to answer.Â
His own wedding band felt heavy now. He looked down at it, turning it slowly. The little gold band that symbolized forever with you. He had broken that promise. âI ruined everythingâ he said softly. Not dramatically or looking for reassurance. Just a fact.
For a long time neither of you moved. The room felt suspended in time. Michael remained on his knees at your feet, shoulders rising unevenly beneath shaky breaths. His hands had slipped from your hips sometime during the silence. Now they just rested against his thighs, palms open and empty. He didnât reach for you again. He wanted to. But he finally understood that wanting wasnât good enough anymore.
You looked down at him one last time. He had exhausted himself. Not physically, spiritually.
He watched quietly as you gathered your purse from a nearby chair. His eyes followed the movement automatically. His lips parted, but he was out of pleas, promises, and apologies.
He couldnât ask anymore. He had already offered you every version of himself he knew how to give. And there was nothing left. You had rejected all of them.
You walked across the bedroom floor, and the sound of your footsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the moment. This time, he didnât try to stop you.
His body wanted to. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to stand up. Run after you. Throw himself in front of any door he had to.
But he stayed where he was. He knew you deserved the freedom heâd stolen from you weeks ago.Â
When your hand settled around the door knob, you hesitated. âI loved you with everything I had to give, Mike. I really did.â
Michael shut his eyes, the sentence felt like a knife. Not love. Loved. As in past tense. His breathing faltered again. When he opened his eyes, you were already stepping into the hallway. He listened as your footsteps grew fainter. As the front door opened and shut. And then nothing.
It was the kind of silence that settles over a home after someone who once filled it with love is no longer there. Michael stayed where he was. His eyes never left the bedroom doorway, as if maybe youâd come back if he stared long enough. His hand drifted to the center of his chest slowly, right over his heart. The ache that had settled there was dull and heavy. He pressed harder, but it didnât help.
Hours passed. Afternoon melted into evening. Evening into night. The house darkened around Michael. Someone called the home phone, and it rang until the answering machine picked up. A car pulled into the driveway, then left. The world continued on outside with no reverence for how Michaelâs heart had been broken.
Every room suddenly held the shape of someone who wasn't there anymore. The mug you'd used that morning still sat in the kitchen sink. Your favorite throw still rested over the arm of the living room sofa. One of your hair ties lay on his nightstand. Little pieces of you remained everywhere.
Everything except, you. Michael blinked slowly, the reality still refused to settle completely. It felt impossible that a marriage could end in a single afternoon. That a person could wake up having a wife, and go to bed alone.
His thumb rubbed absently over his wedding band. "I did this." He spoke the words into the empty room. He lowered his head, shoulders sagging beneath a grief too large to carry.
And for the first time in his life, there wasn't a stage big enough, a rehearsal long enough, or a song beautiful enough to fix what he had broken.
He simply sat there in the dark room, one hand pressed over his heart, staring at the doorway long after the sun had disappeared, trapped inside the quiet realization that some mistakes don't end when the confession is over.
And this one would follow him into every tomorrow he had left.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
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Everything posted here is written
by @brownsugarletters. Please do not repost, copy, translate, claim as your own, upload to Al tools, or share my writing outside of Tumblr without permission.
 âê«áȘĘ âź AUTHORS NOTE: ANYB notice michael LOVED songs from other artists where they sung abt being the side piece/stole others girls like GOODNIGHT MICHAELLL. this was fun to write tho so lmk if we want a part two n comment. I love reading them.
 âê«áȘĘ âź SUMMARY/CW: theres this story about this lady who when to the dyrtt recording bc her bf was the producer and he went up n asked her boyfriend if he could borrow her for a movie date. SO I wrote about it. Fem!pov, sfw, w.c: 1.6k (I DO NOT IN ANY WAY ENDORSE CHEATING THIS IS FICTION GOSH) black!reader but anyone can read
The set was hectic.
People hurried from one end of the soundstage to the other carrying lights, cameras, costume racks, clipboards, anything that looked important. Makeup artists darted around with brushes in their hands while dancers rehearsed in little groups off to the side. It seemed like every five seconds someone was shouting for another take.
You, meanwhile, stood quietly near the producer, watching everything with wide eyes.
Your boyfriend had insisted you come visit the set, claiming you were always asking what he actually did at work. Now that you were here, you had to admit it was pretty interesting. There was so much happening all at once that you hardly knew where to look.
"...Hold still, Michael."
Across the room, Michael Jackson sat patiently while a makeup artist dabbed powder across his forehead. At least he pretended to be paying attention. His eyes had wandered, right to you.
He frowned slightly. He'd never seen you around before, you definitely weren't one of the dancersâŠnot crew either. His curiosity immediately got the better of him. The second the makeup artist stepped away to grab another brush, Michael slipped out of his chair before anyone could stop him.
"I'll be right back." Nobody questioned it, lots of people were always on set during Michaelâs recordings. He walked straight over to where you and the producer were standing, wearing the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. "Hi.." he greeted politely. "I don't think we've met before."
The producer chuckled. "Oh, right. Michael, this isâ" You introduced yourself before he could. Michael repeated your name quietly to himself, almost like he was making sure he'd remember it. "It's nice t'meet you," he smiled. He reached out to shake your hand.
You took it, his hand completely swallowed yours. Instead of giving one quick shake like a normal person, he held onto it for another second... then another... his thumb absentmindedly brushing across your knuckles before his hand slowly slid away.
"...Nice to meet you too, I uhm know who you are." you answered, trying not to overthink it. Michael grinned. "Oh," the producer added casually. "She's my girlfriend. I invited her to see the set." Michael blinked. "...Your girlfriend?"
"Yeah." There was the smallest pause. "...Oh." His smile never disappeared. "Well," he nodded politely. "Hope you're enjoyin' everything." Then he walked away, the producer didn't think twice about it.
He quietly repeated your name under his breath again. Girlfriend. Producer's girlfriend. That was... unfortunate, for the producer not him. About an hour later everyone broke for a short rest.
The producer had wandered off to discuss something with another crew member, leaving you standing by yourself near one of the massive lights. "...Hey." You turned around.
Michael, again. "So..." he smiled, rocking back on his heels. "Whaddya think so far? Like the music video?" "I do," you nodded. "It's really cool seeing how much work goes into all this."
He beamed. "I know, most people don't realize. Itâs really a lot." That somehow turned into a twenty-minute conversation. One question became five. "What kinda movies do you like?"
"Oh, horror mostly." His eyes lit up. "No way." "What?" "I love horror movies." "You do?" He nodded excitedly. "'Specially the old ones, I uhm â thatâs how Thriller got made." You hummed. The conversation kept going. It was surprisingly easy talking to him.
He was funny, awkward too. A little dorky, honestly. Then he made his move. "I actually..." He rubbed down his thigh, trying to sound casual. "I got a movie theater at my house." "Oh?" "Yeah."
He looked around before turning towards you more. "...You should come watch one sometime." You smiled politely. "That sounds fun." Before either of you could say anything else.Â
"Michael?" Your boyfriend walked back over. Perfect timing. Michael looked between the two of you. Then, without even the slightest bit of shame...
"Hey," he smiled at the producer. "I was wonderin' if I could borrow your girlfriend for a movie date." Silence. You stared your lips pressing into a flat line. Your boyfriend stared at you then at him a bit confused.
Michael stared right back like he'd said the most normal sentence in the world. "...A movie date?" your boyfriend repeated slowly. Michael let out the tiniest giggle. "Oh!" He waved his hands in the air. "No, no. I meant... like... invite her over t'watch movies."
Another pause. "...Not a date." He absolutely meant date. He hadn't stumbled over his words the first time. He'd said exactly what he wanted to say. Your boyfriend narrowed his eyes for a second before sighing.
"...I mean..." He looked at you. "You wanna go?" You shrugged, itâd be rude to say no. "Yeah." Michael smiled far wider than he probably should've. "Great." The rest of the afternoon somehow got even worse or better. Depending on who you asked.
Every chance Michael got, he wandered over to wherever you were standing. "Hows my makeup?" he'd ask after makeup artists had spent fifteen minutes fixing it. "It looks nice." "Really?"
"Yeah, it really does." Five minutes later:
"Did that dance move look okay?" "Well it looked difficult."
"It is! But I really wanna do somethinâ different" He laughed at almost everything you said and you knew damn well you werenât that funny. If he needed to guide you through a crowded part of the set, his hand somehow always found the small of your back.
If your hands brushed while someone passed equipment between you, he'd linger for just a second too long before pulling away. Whenever your boyfriend got called off to deal with something⊠Michael magically appeared.
Almost like he'd been waiting. The thing you noticed most, though...was the way he looked at you.
Those ridiculously big doe eyes never seemed to leave your face whenever you were talking. Most of the time they were soft and curious, but every now and then, usually after saying something that was just a little too flirty, they'd darken ever so slightly before he'd smile to himself.
By the end of filming, the crew had started noticing. Your boyfriend⊠was trying very hard not to notice. By the end of the recording, Michael had completely stopped pretending he was just being friendly.
The poor crew had watched him drift toward you every chance he got, whether it was between takes, while makeup artists fixed his hair, or when everyone broke for lunch. If he disappeared, someone usually joked, "Check wherever she is," because without fail that's exactly where he'd be.
Your boyfriend had started noticing too. He tried not to think much of it. Michael was naturally affectionate, everyone knew that. He hugged people, complimented people, asked a million questions. That was just... Michael.
At least that's what he kept telling himself. As everyone began wrapping up for the day, Michael wandered over once again, hands tucked into the pockets of his military jacket.
"So..." he smiled, looking directly at you. "Can I have your phone number?" You stared at him for a second. "My phone number?" "Mhm." He nodded. "I wanna call you." Your boyfriend looked up so fast he nearly dropped the clipboard he'd been holding.
"...Excuse me?" Michael glanced over at him with that same innocent smile. "I said I wanna call her." "I heard what you said." "Oh." Michael looked back at you. "We didn't get t'finish talking today." You laughed awkwardly, unsure whether he was joking anymore.
"I don't know..." "C'mon," he said, pouting just enough to be dramatic. "I still wanna hear about those horror movies you like." "Michael." "I'm beinâ serious."Â
Your boyfriend finally stepped closer, folding his arms. "...You're asking my girlfriend for her phone number while I'm standing right here."
"Mhm." He nodded once. There wasn't an ounce of embarrassment on Michael's face. In fact, he looked genuinely confused as to why that mattered.Â
"I'll probably be on the phone awhile too," he continued, reaching out for a pen, his staff handed it to him and he held it out to you. "So I'll pay your phone bill."
You blinked. "...You'll what?" "I don't want you gettin' charged because I'm usin' the phone." He said it so sincerely that for a second nobody spoke. Your boyfriend slowly turned to look at you, a brow raised.
" He just offer to pay your phone bill?" Michael nodded matter-of-factly. "It's only fair, I have a habit of talkinâ a lot." Against all common sense, you reached for the pen because you werenât going to say no! He was so kind today.
Your boyfriend watched in complete disbelief as you scribbled your home landline onto a scrap of paper before handing it back to Michael.
He looked down at it with the biggest smile you'd seen all day, carefully folding it before slipping it into his pocket like it was something priceless.
"I'll call soon." "Not too late," you teased. "I'll try." He looked at your boyfriend then, smiling just as politely as he had when he'd first introduced himself that morning. "Dont think I evaâ told you thanks." "...For what?" "For lettin' me borrow your girlfriend all day." Your boyfriend's eye twitched. "You weren't borrowing her."
Michael let out a quiet little giggle looking your boyfriend up and down before turning on his heels. With one last wave, he walked off toward his trailer, humming lyrics to himself like he'd just won something.
tw|| age gap, babies, michaelâs disguise skills, toddler babble, reader majors in psychology, mike lowkey plotting, he already has the vows and baby names in his head, we get to see a sillier side of reader, reader is mostly nice in this one actually, âŠ.mostly, she checks her upstairs neighbor
hehehe to you iâd get this out before i left! now! everyone say thank you again to @multifandomposts-blog for the mood board!!!! itâs so cute!! also I think mean!reader is taking over my mind cuz i can only think of ideas for her rn lol so ig im focusing on this for awhileđ€·đŸââïžand ive never really mentioned ages before but sheâs 25 and this is like right after lisa so mikeâs 37
comes after this but before this and this
The TV was muted while RnB softly played from the cd player that sat on the table next to your couch. You were sprawled out on the floor with text books, note books, and even a thick stack of note cards surrounding you. A Pack n Play taking up a corner of your living room where your neighborsâ twins, a sweet but chaotic boy and girl, were napping after tiring themselves out from playing earlier. Who were you to skip a chance to study? You had a huge test coming up and you werenât taking any chances!
You mumbled what you read to the tune of the song as you wrote on cards. Switching to a different colored pen depending on the section or text book you read from.
Knock!
Knock-Knock!
KnockâŠKnock!
Knock!
Knock!
Rapping on your door knocked you out of your focus. Maybe if your brain wasnât so frazzled from jumping between quantitative models and philosophical foundations you wouldâve paid more attention to the familiar rhythmic pattern of the knocking.
You got up with a small groan as your joints popped in such a satisfying way. But you let out a tiny curse as movement from the corner of your eye and the sound of tiny yawns and whines let you know your favorite nosey duo was up and curious about the knocking the door. Padding over in mismatched fuzzy socks you quietly peeked through the peep hole and saw an interesting looking pizza manâŠ.you didnât order a pizza.
You opened the door with a small knowing smile, âMichael?â
Your favorite pair of doe eyes lit up, âHowâd you know it was me?â Genuine awe in the fact that his disguise failed.
You laughed as you pulled him inside, âI didnât order a pizza for one and I know your eyes. Nobody else in the world has them.â You shrugged walking towards the living room with him hot on your heels, âI will admit the fake eyebrows and mustache threw me off a bit.â You glanced at him giving him props.
He smiled but held the box up before sitting it on the coffee table, âItâs half cheese, half pepperoni.â His eyes finding your pile of books and notecards. Before he spoke on that something else caught his attention.
âChee!â
He turned to see two little Afros with eyes peering at him from a play pen. One wearing pink overalls while the other wore blue. They had bright smiles and giddy shines in their eyes. Little feet stomping excitedly as they saw him looking them. âChee!â The one in blue repeated. He felt his heart squeeze from the adorable little duo.
You sighed but smiled, âYou said the magic word. Chance loves cheese.â You walked over pulling him out and setting him down. Doing the same to his sister before their excitement turned into frustration that turned into a tantrum. âChasity, Chance, say hello!â
Michael looked at them with a bright smile. Even crouching to be on their level as they toddled over. Chasity waving with one hand and tugging the strap of her overalls smiled back, âHi! Hi baby!â Her tone full of excitement as her brother busied himself with hugging Michael and practically climbing him. His small murmurs of âhi babyâ coming out.
Michael looked at you, âTheyâre so adorable and sweet!â You nodded with a soft smile. âAre they yours?â
You choked on a combination of air and spit. Your three guest looking at you confused and concerned. You turned away as you coughed, holding up one finger as you fought for your life.
When you caught your breath you turned back shaking your head, âN-no! Theyâre my neighbors! They work at the same place and their boss sucks so theyâre on the same shift.â You quickly clear up, âDonât get me wrong, I love kids but I donât think I could handle pregnancy. Iâm already moody, I donât wanna be even more moody with a belly so big I canât see my feet. Iâd make everyone miserable.â You giggled as you settled back onto the floor in your study space. Not noticing Michaelâs eyes run over you as you arranged things so the two curious babies wouldnât notice your colorful pens and highlighters hopefully. A smile slowly forming as his mind drifted off into a little fantasy.
âHmmâŠâ
A thick book as now in your lap and he was being used as a jungle gym. You glanced over at him, ââHmmâ what?â
He snapped out of his daydream as if he were caught, âI just wouldnât describe you as moody per se.â He made an excuse holding Chance steady as he moved from his crouched position to sit on the floor as well. Little Chasity instantly climbing into his lap while her brother clung to his shoulder and stood on his thigh babbling away.
You gave him a face, âI basically have an attitude all the time.â You easily admit.
âI find your assertiveness cute!â He defends you with the most optimistic take he could think of. Before you could open your mouth to argue he reached over and grabbed your textbook, âWhat are you studying?â His brows furrowed slightly as he looked down at the book.
You whined dramatically throwing your head back, âEverything at once!â You complained about your studying method as if someone forced you to do it this way. âI shouldnât have taken three gap years. Iâd be over this stuff by now.â You pouted and crossed your arms, resembling the children you were put in charge of watching.
His head was titled as he read, âWhy donât I help you study?â He asked earnestly. Eyes still trailing along the page like he was actually interested.
You beamed and your eyes shined. You wouldâve thought the heavens split and angels hand delivered you a gift with the way you look at him, âReally?! You would? Please donât be joking cuz I think I was one paragraph away from knocking everything over.â
He shook his head at your dramatics, âIâm not Iâll help!â He laughed which made Chasity laugh then Chance. He laughed again at them but passed the book back to you, âFirst letâs get rid of this studying more than one thing at a time method.â
âWhy? Itâs faster this way and Iâve got a lot to coverâŠ.â
âMama, sweet girl, prettiest baby, I mean this in the nicest way possibleâŠ.this method is stupid.â
âOh damn.â
The twins laughed making you side eye them, âWhatâs so funny?â
ïŸđ¶ïŸđ¶
You wouldnât admit it but after listening and focusing on one thing instead of trying to cram everything in at once, you didnât feel as scramble brained as before.
But as you moved to grab your other text book Michael spoke, âBreak time!â
You blinked, âWe still have another book and like five chapters for me to take notes on and study.â
Chance babbled loudly, taking a break from nibbling on the piece of cheese pizza Michael held. Michael nodded along as if he agreed, âYou heard him, you were already studying before I got here. You earned a break.â
You sucked your teeth, âHe did not say that.â
Michaelâs eye got wide, âTrust me. Iâm fluent in toddler and he said you need a break.â
You looked to Chasity baffled, âCan you believe this?â You asked her as she kneaded on a pepperoni.
She paused and looked up at you with big brown eyes. You were then promptly chewed out and had a soggy pepperoni pointed at you.
âWhat happened to sisterhood?!â You exclaimed throwing your hands up. With a sigh you admitted defeat and set your books, cards, and pens to the side before grabbing your own slice of pizza. âBetrayal taste so good.â You cried.
ïŸđ¶ïŸđ¶
After finishing your slice and talking awhile you notice the time and began gathering the twins things so they would be ready for their parents.
Used to the routine the twins bottoms lips began to wobble as they saw you putting things away in their bag. You sighed knowing where this was going and made your way over. Taking Chance while Michael held Chasity. A look or worry on his face.
âThey saw me getting their bag ready so they know itâs time to go home soon.â You explained as Chasity started off the crying fest. Her head on Michaelâs shoulder as she wailed, her brother following after her covering your neck in tears and drool. But there wasnât anytime to cringe as you rubbed his back and cooed to him, âOh I knowâŠyou donât want to leave. But mommy and daddy are coming.â You spoke softly.
Michael followed suit with Chasity who clung to him like a koala. He jumped as a loud thudding was heard from above. Neither you nor the twins seemed all that phased beside the look of irritation on your face.
The thudding and thumping continued as the two of you managed to calm the toddlers into soft hiccups and sniffles. A particularly loud one actually caught you off guard, âThis bitchâŠâ you mumbled softly under your breath glaring at your ceiling. âCover her ears.â You said to Michael while still staring at the ceiling. You did the same to Chance and once both twins ears were protected you went off.
âShut up! You live in a family friendly apartment bitch! Thereâs literally a fucking playground out front and itâs light outside! You donât wanna hear kids?! Get your fucking money up, move to a neighborhood with a damn HOA full of old people, and be miserable there dumbass!â
You shouted to your heartâs content. The twins none the wiser as they were busy trying to figure out why their ears were covered.
The thudding stopped.
You turned to Michael, âYou find that assertiveness cute?â one brow raised.
âI found it something that canât be discussed in front of children.â
SYNOPSIS: Reader joins Michael for his first time clubbing at Studio 54. After one too many puffs, lover boy Michael comes out and reader has to take him home.
CONTENT: smut, fluff, 18+, NO MINORS, oral f receiving, descriptions of female anatomy, weed use, needy!Michael, yearning!Michael, era 1979, otw era!Michael, overstimulation, girlfriend!reader
Author's note: Hiiii babies, I got two requests that were pretty similar so I combined them into one. Thank you to the sweet anons who sent in the requests, sorry it took me a while to get to them đđ also this is my first OTW era fic so I hope you guys love it đđ
Request 1: Could u pls pls write a fic where Michael and reader r smoking together and they start flirting and teasing each other and it leads to them getting high asf so he eats her out đ”âđ« thank u sm đ€
Request 2: plspplslla do mike sooo fixated on giving head reader has 2 push him off (slight overstimđ« !!!@!!)
Studio 54 breathed and pulsed like a living thing. The line wrapped around the block under flickering streetlights. It was made up of a sea of silk, sequins, and watchful eyes.Â
Inside, the energy was absolutely electric. Perfume and cologne layered on top of cigarette smokeâ and something darker and earthier clung to the curtains.
The bass from the speakers thumped so hard to the beat of Donna Summerâs âI Feel Loveâ that it moved through the floor right into your chest. Everywhere you turned, colored lights spun and fractured across the dance floor in waves of gold, pink, and violet. People were flush to each other, grinding and dancing to the beat.
Michael had never been here before. Heâd never stepped foot into a club before tonight. Stories about these environments always made him nervous. Too wild. Too exposed. Too easy for one little mistake to become a headline in tomorrowâs paper. But ever since the release of his Off the Wall album, it grew harder and harder to decline invites to go out without seeming rude. Tonight, you had agreed to accompany him, so he finally said yes.
You led Michael through the crowd, your hand pressed to the small of your back and laced with his as you guided him. His shirt was unbuttoned to right above his belly button and the chain around his neck glimmered under the flashing lights. His afro was perfectly picked, not a hair out of place.
In the middle of the chaos, Michael looked out of place. Like he belonged to a quieter, more private world. You giggled to yourself when you looked back at him and his eyes were wide behind his tinted sunglasses. He was taking everything inâ go-go dancers on raised platforms, famous faces tucked into every corner, and the way the music seemed to be hypnotizing the crowd.
Jackie was already there with a small group near the DJ booth. He waved you both over with a big grin. He pulled Michael in for a hug, dapping him up and patting him on the back. Then, he turned to you, his hand found the small of your back as he placed a greeting kiss on your cheek.
âAtta girl, finally got my boy to come out!â Tito massaged Michaelâs shoulders gruffly, hyping him up. Michael smiled shyly and chuckled at his brothersâ antics. No matter how old he got, he was still their baby brother.
It didnât take long for party favors to come out. A tall woman in a silver dress appeared at your side with a slim, elegantly rolled joint. She smiled at you like it was the most normal thing in the world.
âFirst time?â she inquired, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of you. When you nodded, she held it out. âJust a little puff. Itâll make everything feel groovy. One spliff a day keeps the evil away.â Michael glanced at you and you raised your eyebrows, shrugging at him. He nudged you with his elbow and tilted his head, his eyebrows raised too now. A whole silent conversation was had.
âFirst time for everything, right?â Who were you to be a party pooper? You accepted the joint from the woman and raised it to your lips. Michael raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didnât tell you no. He was too distracted by how your lip gloss slicked lips shone under the disco lights as you took a slow pull from the joint, your long lashes falling against your cheekbones as you watched the end of the joint ignite a deep orange. Two puffs. Then you handed it to Michael. The woman grinned, waiting patiently as she watched the tender moment between the young couple.
Michael glanced over his shoulder toward his brothers. They were still talking, laughing loudly over the music. Not paying attention to him at all. âWell⊠alright I guess. Just this once.â He bit down on his bottom lip and accepted the joint from you. Slowly, he imitated what heâd just seen you do. Except he coughed. Hard. He spluttered through coughs a quiet âthank youâ, attempting to give a polite smile as he returned the joint to its owner.Â
At first nothing. But within minutes, the change was obvious. His shoulders relaxed. The careful tension he held in his jaw melted. And his eyelids were heavy and doe eyed behind his glasses. A slow dreamy smile curved his lips. He turned to you, and suddenly everything was amplified and in slow motion.Â
âBabyâŠâ His voice was lower and raspier now, almost dazed. âEverything feels different. The music is inside me. I can feel it on my skin.â He reached out and ran his fingertips down your bare arms, the touch sending visible chills over your body. âYour skin is so warm. And soft.â
A smirk pulled at your lips as you scanned him, trying to assess the damage. âMikey baby, how are you feeling right now?â
âSooo good. He answered immediately, voice dreamy. âI feel sexy. My body feels like warm honey and everything is glowing. The lights are crazyâ He looked around at the club with fresh eyes. At this, you laughed out loud, arms wrapping around his waist.
âYou are sexy, Mike. Took a lilâ weed for you to see it?â he smiled and shook his head, swaying you back and forth with the music that was now pulsing through his body.Â
âThe music sounds heavier. I feel the bass in my chest. And youâŠâ He pulled you flush to him. âYou look like finest thing my two eyes ever seen.â His gaze kept dropping to your pouty lips as you spoke to him.
Jackie appeared at your side a moment later, eyes flicking between you and Michael with a knowing look. He smirked as he took in his brotherâs lovestruck expression. Then Jackie leaned in so only you could hear. âYou need to take him back to the hotel. He is on another planet right now. And heâs lookinâ at you like heâs gonna devour you if you keep touchinâ on him.â
Michael was swaying to the beat of the music, fingers snapping as he found his groove. One hand rested at your waist, and his eyes were heavy-lidded and blissed out. Every few seconds his lips would brush your ear as heâd murmur something soft and affectionate to you. âYour hair smells like coconutâ or âYour dress feels like clouds against my handsâ. The man was on cloud 9.
âMichael baby,â you turned to face him pulling him closer so he could hear you over the music. âWe should go, itâs getting late andââ
âNooooâ he whined immediately, drawing the word out in a soft bratty complaint that was so unlike his usual careful politeness. He pouted his full lips, the bottom one jutting out. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. âDonât wanna leave yet. It feels sooo good here. Like the musicâs hugginâ me. Donât make me goâ
His arms tightened around you and his cheek pressed against yours. âEverything feels so soft,â His voice was dreamy and a little slurred. âMy body feels like its vibrating and the lights are painting over me. And you smell so good. Please? Just a little longer, mamas?â
Jackie gave you a look that said good luck. He leaned in again, âGirl, you better get him out of here before he starts hugginâ strangers. Iâll cover for you.â You bit back a laugh and nodded in agreeance.
Gently, you turned in Michaelâs arms. His doe eyes were glassy, but they locked on you with helpless affection that you felt take away your wind a little.
You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. âMichael, weâre gonna go back to the hotel. Youâre very high, papa.âÂ
He made a small whiny sound and leaned into your palms like he couldnât help it. âBut I like it. Feeling like this. Feeling you.â His hand drifted to your ass, squeezing gently. âEverything is so much⊠but in a good way. The music feels like itâs in my bones. Donât take me awayâ
A smile broke through. You loved when he was so clingy, openly needy for your affection in a way he rarely allowed himself to do freely. His arms stayed wrapped around you as you guided him toward the exit, threading through the large crowd. He was still leaning in and whispering something new and sweet against your ear every few seconds.Â
Outside, the cool night air hit your heated skin. Michael immediately tucked himself against your side as the car pulled up. âThe air feels like silk, babyâ. One arm slid around your waist like he was afraid youâd disappear if he let go.
âBoy get your ass in the carâ You shook your head, playfully rolling your eyes at his inebriated state. You yelped in surprise when his palm cracked down on your ass with a sharp smack as you got into the car. âMichael Joe Jackson!â You exclaimed. A cocky smirk made its way across his lips before he licked them, climbing in the car behind you.
In the backseat he pulled you close. His head rested on your shoulder and he traced slow, absentminded patterns on your exposed thigh.
He whispered to you, almost to himself. âMy body is singing. I didnât know it would feel like this. Iâm so happy youâre here with me,â His eyes found yours. âI wouldnât want to feel this with anyone elseâ He leaned in, lips pressing a lingering, soft kiss to yours.
The entire ride back to the hotel he stayed velcroed to you. Kissing the side of your neck, your bare shoulder, the corner of your lips in soft lingering presses. His hands kept roaming in gentle touches, like he needed to make sure you were real.Â
âYouâre sooo prettyâ He murmured against your skin between kisses. âeven more pretty when I feel like this. Your lips look so soft.â At this, he pressed his lips against yours again. âJust wanna keep kissinâ you. You smell like vanilla, somethinâ sweet. I love how you feel against me...I love you.â The man basically had huge cartoon hearts in his eyes.
By the time you reached the suite, your high had shifted to something heavier and dreamier. But he was still floating. You changed into pjs, one of Mike's shirts and just your panties. You laughed to yourself when you came back in the room and Michael was still dancing, humming to himself. You steered him toward the bedroom.Â
âCâmon baby. Letâs get you out these clothes and into bed. You needa sleep this offâ
He stopped in the middle of the living room, turning to look at you with big eyes. Lower lips pushed out in a soft pout.
âIâm not ready for bed. I wanna spend more time with you, come talk to me.â He unbuttoned what remained of his shirt, removed his pants, and sat on the side of the bed. Immediately he reached for you to stand between his knees so he could rest his forehead against your stomach. Loosely, his arms wrapped around your hips.
For a while, you just stood there stroking his curls and letting him breathe you in. His high had shifted into something more talkative and affectionate. How soft his t-shirt that you were wearing felt against his skin. How the music from the club was still echoing in his chest. How you smelled like home.
Then his voice went soft. More thoughtful.
âIâve been thinkinâ about somethinââ He said after a long comfortable silence. His fingers were tracing lazy patterns on your back now as the two of you laid in bed. âAbout⊠bein' close to someone.âÂ
You looked up at him with confusion tracing your features. âClose? Weâre about as close as two people can be without being conjoined at the hip.â you joked. He laughed and shook his head.
âNo baby. Like really close I mean.â His eyes were still heavy lidded. âIâve never really done a lot. Like that.â Instantly you knew what he was trying to say. He paused and his thumb brushed over your hip. âBut with you, it feels different. Safe. I wanna learn how to make you feel good⊠what you like.â
You ran your fingers over his chest, touched by how open he was being with you. âThatâs sweet, Mikeâ Then he went quiet. The way he always did when something was on his mind but he wasnât sure how to say it.Â
When he finally spoke, his tone was shy but determined. âHave you ever⊠had someone make you feel good with their mouth?â he asked carefully. âLike⊠really good? The kind that makes your whole body shake?â
The question caught you off guard. But the way he asked it, so gentle and genuine, made it easy for you to answer.
âNo,â You admitted quietly, âIâve never had an orgasm like that before. It's just⊠never happened for me. I just always thought maybe it wasnât my cup of tea.â
Michael went still. Totally still. His eyes searched yours for a long moment. âNever? Not once?â You shook your head, slightly embarrassed. He was quiet again. Processing. Then he brought your hand up to his lips for a soft kiss.
âLet me tryâ He said simply. His voice was still low and raspy, hazy from the high. But there was something steady underneath it. âPlease? I want to. Wanna learn what makes you feel good. Let me give that to you? I wanna make you feel what Iâm feeling.â
Your heart skipped a beat, picking up in pace. âMike youâre still high. You donât have to prove anything to me tonight.â
âGirl, I know Iâm high.â He said with a small, dreamy smile, fingers still tracing shapes on your hip. âBut I still want to. I want you. More than anything. Let me taste you, please?â His eyes were big and pleading. The gentle pressure of his hand in yours felt heavier now. He didnât look away. You nodded.
The smile that touched Michaelâs lips was slow and sweet. He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep. Your high made every touch feel amplified. His mouth moved over yours like he had all the time in the world. His tongue stroked yours gently, tasting you with soft little sounds of pleasure. When he pulled away, his eyes were darker and more focused. Like youâd ignited something in him.
He gently pushed your t shirt up till it bunched under your arms. He cooed at the sight of your nipples hardening against the cool air in the room. âYouâre so beautifulâ he whispered. âEven more now that I feel like this. Your skin is glowing.â He kissed his way down your body with an aching slowness. Soft kisses to your collarbone. The swell of your breasts. Your breath hitched when his tongue flicked gently against your nipple, slowly sucking it between his lips. He let it go with a wet pop before giving the same treatment to your other nipple. Soft moans fell from your lips as his lips explored you. When he pulled away, he blew a trail of cold air against each bud, eyes darkening with lust when they swelled, becoming hard again.
Then he kissed his way between your breasts and paused. He pressed a gentle, lingering kiss right over your heart. The sweetness of it made your tummy flip. His lips trailed down the soft center of your stomach, and he settled between your thighs.
He started slow. Agonizingly slow and exploratory.
He palms slid under your thighs, lifting them slightly so he could hold them in his hands. His thumbs stroked slow, soothing circles over your sensitive skin. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other with unhurried motions. He breathed you in like he was savoring the scent of you. To Michael, every touch felt magnified. The warmth of your skin, the way your muscles twitched under his lips. The soft sound of your breathing changing.
He started with slow, hot and wet, open mouthed kisses along your folds. He tasted you carefully, learning the shape of you with his tongue. He was gentle at first, tentative. Untilâ he felt your whole body jolt at the first careful lick over your clit.
A low pleased sound rumbled in his chest. So he did it again, slower this time. He flattened his tongue and dragged it over the sensitive bundle of nerves with deliberate pleasure. Your hips jerked and a soft whimper escaped you. Michaelâs eyes flicked up to your face and stayed thereâ dark, heavy lidded with lust, and completely focused on you even through his daze.
Your first orgasm built gradually in slow, rolling waves until you arched your back with a high pitched, cracked moan that spilled from your lips. Michael stayed with you through it, licking you gently through every pulse with gentle strokes until your thighs trembled around his head.
Only after you came down a little did he pull back slightly. He looked up at you and mumbled, âSo pretty like this, mamaâ. Then you nearly short-circuited as he held your eye contact and let a slow, glistening string of spit drip from his lips directly onto your entrance. The wet heat made you gasp, Michael watched your reaction carefully as the saliva dripped between your folds and mixed with your arousal. Then, he slowly dragged his tongue upward in one stroke from your entrance to your clit. He moaned into you like he was tasting something heâd been starving for.
Then, he got lost in it.Â
He sealed his mouth over you completely, and his tongue pushed inside your entrance, slow, deep and fucking into you gently with wet strokes before he dragged it to the underside of your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. He sucked gently, then harder. He flattened his tongue again and licked broad, messy stripes from your entrance to your clit like he was making out with your pussy. His saliva mixed with your arousal and dripped down to the sheets as he worked you with his mouth.
His eyes stayed on your face the entire time. Greedily taking in every ounce of pleasure, every time your lips parted or your eyes rolled back. You whined in overwhelmed pleasure, reaching down to push at his broad shoulders. Michael didnât budge. He reached up and laced his fingers through yours, gently, but firmly pressing your hands into the mattress on either side of your thighs. His thumbs stroked slow, soothing patterns over the backs of your hands while his fingers curled through yours.Â
He moaned into you again, deeper this time. He kept going, tongue relentless and tongue moving against you like he was trying to devour every sound and every drop you gave him.
âYou taste so sweet,â He murmured against your pussy between long wet licks. âSo warm and soft on my tongue. I love how you shake when I wrap my lips around your clit. Youâre so beautiful, baby...I love you.â
The second orgasm hit harder at the feeling of his tongue against you and the tenderness in his words. Your back arched sharply and a broken cry tore from you as your thighs shook around his head. Michael still didnât pull away. He kept licking you through it, slower now but still present. He drew out your orgasm in long rhythmic waves while he held your hands down, thumbs still stroking your hands.
By the time you felt your third orgasm washing over you, you were completely overstimulated. Tears burned your eyes as your body twitched with every pass of his tongue. Soft whimpers fell from your lips as you squirmed, but he didnât let you go.Â
âMichaelât-too much. Pleaseâ
He laced your fingers tighter with his and moaned into you again. The vibration sent a shock of pleasure through your already sensitive body. Still, he didnât stop. He kept going slower, deeper, completely lost in the taste and feel and sound of you falling apart for him over and over. His eyes stayed on your face as much as possible, dark and glassy and full of adoration.Â
Only when your body finally went limp beneath him, completely spent and trembling, did he finally pull away. He pressed one last, soft kiss to your oversensitive clit, then he rested his cheek against your inner thigh, breathing hard. He looked up at you after a moment, and was lovestruck.
Your chest was still heaving and your hands trembled slightly at your sides, head lolled to the side. Michael teasingly gently blew a trail of cool air against your oversensitive sex and your body involuntarily jolted.
He giggled to himself as he crawled up your body slowly. He settled between your legs, laying his full weight on top of you. Immediately you felt grounded, it was like a weighted blanket being placed on you. He rested his head on your chest, right over your heart. He listened contently to it drumming against your ribs.
Then, with a chuckle he said to you, âHad to make sure your heart was still there. I tried to suck it straight through your coochieâ At this you hard-belly laughed, slapping his arm.
âReally, baby. I love you. So much. I love making you feel like that, watchinâ you fall apart for me. I could stay between your legs forever and be happy.â
You giggled at him and rolled your eyes. âYouâre just high baby. And hornyâ
âMaybe a littleâ He nuzzled into your chest, pressing a soft kiss right over your heart before resting his head there again, arms wrapping around your waist as he held you close.
You stayed like that for a while, the high still humming softly between you. Michaelâs breathing had evened out, but he was still a little floaty, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. After a few minutes, he mumbled against your chest, voice low and a little whiny.
âIâm hungry baby⊠is that supposed to happen?â
You smiled, brushing his hair out of his face. âYeah, Mikey. Youâve got munchies.â
He lifted his head slowly, blinking at you with wide, slightly confused eyes. Then he sat up a little straighter and started looking around the room like he was searching for something important.
âOh noooo,â he said, voice soft and dramatic with disapproval in an adorable way. âI got to do something about this. My tummy is rumbling.â You couldnât help but laugh as he carefully climbed off the bed and padded over to the desk, still only in his boxers, afro smushed on one side. He picked up a take out menu and stared at it like it held the answers to the universe.
âWe need food,â he declared, turning back to you with a serious expression that quickly melted into a shy smile. âPizza? A really big one?â
You nodded, already reaching for the phone. âYeah, baby. Letâs get pizza.â A few minutes later, the order was placed â one large New York-style cheese pizza with extra pepperoni. While you waited, Michael crawled back onto the bed and pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you from behind.
When the pizza finally arrived, you both sat cross-legged on the big hotel bed, the box open between you. The high was still lingering in the soft edges of everything â the way the lights seemed a little warmer, the way the pizza tasted impossibly good, the way Michael kept giggling at nothing in particular.
He took a big bite and made a happy little sound, cheeks full. âThis pizza is sooo good, somebody put they foot in thisâ he said around a mouthful, eyes sparkling. â...Or maybe itâs just the weed talkinâ.â
You laughed, taking your own slice. âBoy, itâs definitely the weed. You over here actin' like you never had pizza.â
Michael gasped dramatically, clutching his chest with one hand while still holding his slice with the other. âDonât do me like that! This pizza is good! Itâs⊠itâs spiritual.â He took another dramatic bite, then pointed at you with the crust. âYou laughinâ at me like you ainât over there moaning every time you take a bite. I heard you. Donât act brand new.â
You almost choked on your pizza laughing. âMichael, please. You are too high right now.â He grinned, shaking his head. âI know. But for real though⊠my stomach was talking to me. I had to do somethinâ.â he insisted, leaning forward with wide eyes. âIt was sayinâ, âMike, you better get us some food before I start embarrassinâ you in front of your girl.ââ
You were laughing so hard now your stomach hurt. âYour reputation is already in the dirt after that little performance at Studio 54. You were over there telling me the music was hugging you.â
Michaelâs eyes went wide with embarrassment, remembering the comment. Then he broke out in that high, warm, infectious laugh that always made everything better. He reached over and gently wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, then licked it off his own finger without thinking.
âAlright, alright, you got me,â he admitted, still chuckling. âBut you gotta admit⊠this was a good night, mama. Even if I did get a little dramatic about leaving the club.â
You smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek, pizza grease lingering on it after. âIt was a great night. And Iâm glad you got your pizza.â
You both sat there for a while longer â cross-legged on the bed, sharing the last few slices, giggling when the cheese stretched too far or when one of you got sauce on your fingers. The high made the whole moment feel soft and warm and a little silly in the best way.
Eventually Michael reached over and laced his fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands up to rest between you on the pillow.
âNext time we go somewhere like that,â he said quietly, voice still a little dreamy, âIâm only taking one puff. Maybe half a puff. My body canât handle all that.â
You laughed again and squeezed his hand. âWeâll see about a next time, Mike.â
He leaned in to kiss you. It was soft and sweet, tasting like pizza and the lingering high and something that felt a lot like love.
Outside, New York kept moving. But inside this quiet hotel room, with the empty pizza box on the nightstand and Michaelâs steady breathing against your skin, everything felt exactly right.
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It all started with a plan to meet up with your sisters for some much needed girl talk and to catch up with one another since itâd been a while when all four of you had been together.Â
As the eldest you felt obligated to be the organizer and reached out to your siblings, coordinating each detail right down to the color theme for your outfits. Luckily enough as fate would have it, two of your sisters were available to fly into Los Angeles and the youngest in the crew was a resident like yourself.
The day started normal as usual, youâd told Michael of your plans a few days ago and he was excited for you to spend time with your sisters as he shared the same sentiments when it came to spending time with his siblings.Â
Watching as you placed a pair of teardrop diamond studs in your ear, Michael was lounging on the bed, head resting in his hand propped up by an elbow.Â
âI know youâve been looking forward to this brunch for a minute baby, so I want you to enjoy yourself and not worry about a thing. My card is on your night stand and youâre gonna use it.â He insisted affectionately.Â
A slow knowing grin tugged at the corner of your lips. Michael always wanted to spoil you, heâd made it known since the day you two officially became boyfriend/girlfriend and of course it was no exception that it continued when you two got married.Â
âOf course dear.â You teased sarcastically.Â
With a raised eyebrow and quirked lip Michael clucked his tongue.Â
âUnt unh mama, donât get cute. Now do the spin for me, Iâm really loving this dress on you.â Michael hummed appreciatively.Â
Slowly turning in a circle, you showed off the floor length white, fuchsia and goldenrod floral dress with criss cross halter neck youâd chosen for brunch. The back was cut low and showed off a portion of your lower back.
Youâd chosen to wear your hair in a braided bun at the nape of your neck and a few strategically placed strands of hair left out. Not doing too much, youâd opted for a more natural look today and went for a light beat with a sharp brow, lashes and a cute lip combo youâd seen on Youtube.Â
âMmmm, come here baby, let me talk to you for a minute.â Michael commanded huskily as he now sat up fully on the bed, long legs spread wide.Â
Propping a hand on your hip, you already knew the deal.Â
âNope, boy bye! You not finna mess up my hard work.â You lightly chuckled.Â
Anytime a man uttered those words, they definitely DID NOT want to talk.Â
Michael pouted and gave you the look, big brown doe eyes, downturned lip, fluttered lashes and just a sheen of wetness gathered in the corner of his eyes. He knew you couldnât resist and set you up every time.
Huffing with no real heat in the gesture, you slowly crossed the distance of your shared bedroom to rest between his legs. Skimming his hands up your thighs over your dress, Michael came to rest on your back, pulling you closer to lean his forehead against your stomach.Â
âYou look so damn good girl, maybe I should keep you in the house and all to myself.â He groaned.Â
Fingers stroking the strands of his layered tresses, you basked in the affection but only for a moment, lest you get caught in his web.Â
âSoon as I get home, Iâm all yours handsome and you can have your way with me.â You declared, hoping to placate him.Â
Clutching your back, you felt his fingers stroke the smooth skin and caress the slight rolls there. An almost purr like sound rumbled through his throat as he continued his ministrations.Â
âBaby, donât start something you canât finish now.â You warned shakily as you felt Michael pressing kisses to your stomach through the fabric of your garment.Â
Grinning impishly, Michael dipped his fingers into the low draping and skimmed the top of your bare backside. Pulling back in surprise, his eyes began changing right before you. Gaze now darkening with heated desire, he dipped his hands as far as he could and squeezed.Â
âSo you just got my ass out, uncovered girl?â Michael growled with thinly veiled arousal dripping from his tone.Â
Lightly shrugging while averting your gaze, you answered, âThis dress and panty lines donât mix boo.âÂ
Biting his lower lip, Michael was tempted to be petty and bend you over the nearest piece of furniture he could find and blow your back out, but he narrowly resisted temptation. Rubbing his elegant, talented and thickly veined hands over your ass, he loved how juicy and plump it felt.Â
Michael was definitely an ass man and you had plenty to go round. Slowly perusing your form until his eyes met your gaze again, he wore an offended pout on his lovely lips.Â
âBeauty, youâre lucky Iâm a sentimental family man, cause the way I wanna tear this dress off you and devour every inch of your body right now.â He released a wounded moan.Â
Shivers immediately raced down your spine and your hands clutched his shoulders. Like magic, a spell was cast over your body and the stir of arousal began to take root in your core. There was no resistance when it came to Michael, you could never put up much fight.Â
Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, your voice took its time finding the path to your mouth.Â
âBaby, you keep on and Iâm gonna be late cause you canât keep your dick in your pants.âÂ
âShoot girl, thatâs never stopped us before has it?â Michael replied with a wicked grin.Â
Hands sliding over broad shoulders, up the column of his strong neck, coming to rest at their destination, cupping his cheeks. Lowering your face until you could brush the tip of your nose against his, you breathed in his signature scent.Â
âBehave, you dirty old man.â You chuckled playfully and nipped at his bottom lip.
Pulling back appalled, in a show of faux shock, Michael removed his hands from your ass and clutched at imaginary pearls. Ever the dramatic one.Â
âOld?!â He huffed in protest.Â
âCome on drama king,â you grabbed his hand gently, but gave a firm tug to jumpstart his movement from the bed. âThe soon you get me out the door, the sooner Iâll be back in your arms.âÂ
Michael reluctantly relinquished his place on the bed and followed after you like a wounded puppy.Â
Grabbing your nude clutch, confirming you had everything of importance inside, including the now infamous black card that Michael never let you leave the house without, you were ready to meet your sisters and get brunch started.
Stomachs full, libations flowing and the keke session well underway, youâd call brunch a major success, especially by the way your loose lips were spilling tea all over the damn place.Â
âNoooo, but have you ever had your man eat it from the back, while havin a plug in ya ass?! Girl let me tell yooou!â You cackled with wide glassy eyes and a lopsided buzzed grin.Â
Shaniece, your middle sister tugged the champagne glass from your hand and safely tucked it away from you on her side of the table.Â
âIâd say Tweety done had enough. Just telling all Michaelâs business huh sis?â She giggled with a bit of side eye.Â
Alcohol always had a way of loosening you up and drawing out a freer, more relaxed you. On the flip side it also brought out your talkative, horny and sleepy side also, right now thoughts of Michael having his way with you and using your body for his pleasure were in the driverâs seat.Â
Pouting, you raised a single brow at your sister. âI know you ainât talking, Ms. Flash the bartender during her bachelorette party last year.âÂ
She opened her mouth yet quickly closed it because what could she say, you were speaking nothing but facts.Â
Feeling vindicated, you smirked and reclined back against the padded booth you sat in with your youngest sister. Bumping your shoulder against hers, you stole a pineapple from her plate.Â
âThanks sister, love you.â You poked your tongue out after swallowing the sweet morsel.Â
She winked, blowing you a kiss in acknowledgement.
The vibration from your phone caught your attention, blindly reaching into the side pocket, you pulled the device free. Glancing down you saw a text from your husband.Â
I wanna feel you. Taste you. Touch you. Enjoy yourself baby, I love you.Â
Sweat dotted your forehead and cleavage, the space around you felt warmer and your kitty jumped at the sensual words on the screen. Plucking a napkin off the table, you dabbed at the perspiration on your skin.Â
âDamn girl, that mustâve been some text you got. You good sis?â Danielle, the second oldest sister asked.Â
Flustered, you felt a warmth spread across your cheeks.Â
âHand me that damn glass, I need another drink, Neicy.â You blurted at your sister.Â
The table erupted in boisterous laughter and seconds later a fresh mimosa was placed in front of your awaiting hands.Â
You were officially gone off the mimosas and feeling too good. Every nerve in your body was sensitive and felt alive. Your desire and horniness were kicked into high gear and you wanted Michael RIGHT NOW!Â
âI gotta confess yaâll. Iâm hella drunk right now and ya big sister is feeninâ for her man.â You slurred with a silly lopsided grin.Â
Digging through your purse, you closed your fingers around your cell and bringing it up towards your face, squinting you pressed the #2 button speed dialing Michael.Â
Two rings later and the low raspy tone of your husbandâs voice filled your ears.Â
âHello my love.âÂ
âHeyyy babyy!â You giggled a bit too hard.Â
Michael shook his head and ran a hand over his face on the other end of the line.Â
âYou having fun Beauty, behaving yourself?â He chuckled.Â
âThe best *hiccup* time but Iâm so horny and I want to climb you like a damn tree right now.â You purred a bit too loudly into the phone.Â
Shocked gasps, cackling and catcalls rang out around the table.
âWhat am I gonna do wit câhu mama? You keep on talking like that and Iâm gone bend you over my knee.â Michaelâs voice dipped low and husky.Â
You could hear rustling papers in the background and a short moment later, a door closed.Â
Moaning, you replied. âIs that a promise sir? Gonna tie me up too?âÂ
âAht aht, what have I told you about talkinâ like that in public âround other people?â Michael scolded.Â
Looking around the table at your sisters, two of them were just as drunk or buzzed as you were, one was just barely tipsy and preoccupied on her phone and the last sister was still somewhat sober.Â
âIâm sorry baby, you know how I get when I drink. Forgive me?â You pouted and immediately turned on your seductive voice.Â
âNo, but daddyâs on the way and will get you straightened out. Sit tight for me Beauty, Iâll be there soon.â Michael instructed as he strutted out to his awaiting car and smoothly slid into the backseat.Â
âOoooh, âshamoneâ then daddy!â You chuckled. Your liquid courage was strong right now, causing an immediate rush of boldness.
Michael pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it for a brief second as if he couldnât believe the words coming out of your mouth.Â
âReally girl?â
âKeep talking to me baby, you know I love the sound of your voice. My panties are ruined now.âÂ
The dam had broken and the temptress was released, you were done holding back, your sisters and being in public be damned.Â
âYeah, Iâm lighting that ass up when we get home. You just donât know how to behave. Iâll see you soon Beauty.â
Biting your lip, you groaned. âI canât wait, love you daddy.âÂ
âLove you too mama.â Michael rasped and ended the call.Â
Laying your phone down on the table, you looked around at the varying expressions and knew the comments were coming in 3,2,1.
âGirl, you freaky as hell.âÂ
âGet it sis, I ainât mad at ya!âÂ
âMichael on the way ainât he?âÂ
Holding the wide eyed, innocent expression for a brief moment, you couldnât fool your sisters for long. Losing the battle, your cheeks warmed, a starry love sick expression took over your face and you grinned.Â
âIâm married, so mind yaâll business.âÂ
20 minutes later, there was a charge in the air and the hairs on your arm stood at attention. Without looking, you just knew Michael had entered the building, it was crazy how in tune with him you were.Â
Confirming your assumption not a moment later, you felt a pair of strong and familiar hands caress your shoulders, before you felt his breath skim your cheek. Your nostrils were assaulted with the scent of cinnamon and Black Orchid by Tom Ford.Â
âHey Beauty, you ready baby?â Michael whispered.
Crossing your legs under the table to control the ache pressing on your core, you whimpered.Â
âH-hi baby, you got here quick.âÂ
The dark chuckle he released vibrated so good against your skin.Â
âTold you daddy was on the way. Tell your sisters youâll see them later, we got business to tend to doll.â Michael pressed a kiss to your cheek and stood upright.Â
âLadies, I trust you had a good time catching up during brunch?â Michael inquired, amused as he glanced around the table at his sisters-in-law.Â
They engaged in conversation with Michael as you gathered your clutch and swallowed a few gulps of water.Â
âAlright my lovely sisters, Iâll call yaâll later and weâll plan a shopping trip for tomorrow.â You suggested.
Hem-hem, Michael cleared his throat with a pointed gaze and one raised brow above his aviators.Â
Shyly gazing over your shoulder, you quickly turned back toward the table.Â
âDay after tomorrow, will be better.â You stammered already knowing your husband had plans for you to be laid up in bed and legs out of commission.Â
âTweety, just call us when you allowed up for air girl.â Shaniece burst out laughing with a knowing side eye.Â
Ducking your head and feeling the warmth radiating from your body, you averted your eyes in embarrassment.Â
Love yous and see you laters rang out and Michael ushered you through the restaurant with a palm against your lower back.Â
Once you both were safely seated in the waiting car, Michael pulled his sunglasses down to rest on the tip of his nose.Â
Crowding you until your back was damn near pressed between the corner of the seat and the window, he rested a heavy hand on your thigh.Â
âYou know I love you right mama?âÂ
âY-yess daddy.âÂ
âWhen we get home, Iâm bout to fuck you like I donât.â He growled, pressing a kiss against your forehead and pushing his glasses back into place.Â
Instant arousal shot through you and mixed with the alcohol in your system, you damn near orgasmed right then and there. The whimper left your lips before your brain could comprehend.Â
Michaelâs hand on your thigh tightened slightly before his husky baritone filled the backseat.Â
âMhmmm, daddyâs gone take care of you soon.â
Clenching your thighs, resting your head back against the leather seat, you sent up a silent prayer asking for strength, cause you just knew Michael was bout to wear you out!
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