°‧ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ .°⋆.

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you, so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my dreams."

[redribbonfawn]

✮⋆˙ masterlist ˙⋆✮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ stories rarely tied by red threads, only felt all works written for michael jackson | 18+ content only

✮⋆˙ note this blog contains 18+ content. minors do not interact.

✮⋆˙ series

✮⋆˙ okay? (part i) ✮⋆˙ still okay? (part ii) ✮⋆˙ till the end of time (part iii)

✮⋆˙ standalone

✮⋆˙ do not disturb ✮⋆˙ you can practice on me ✮⋆˙ yours forever ✮⋆˙ i’m all yours ✮⋆˙ under the table

[redribbonfawn]

Somewhere On The Road

summary: It’s a quiet night on the tour bus when you and your usually shy, reluctant boyfriend steal an intensely intimate moment in the narrow, not-so-private space of the shared bus. The tension between you has been building for days, impossible to ignore in the stillness that follows the show 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, established relationship, dryhumping (the holy grail), public/near-public sex, fluff, shy/reluctant michael duh

a/n: finally got around to writing something taking place on a tour bus lol, hope u enjoy my sweet angels ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✮⋆˙<3 also i wrote this on the bus on my way to work this week, trust the screen light was on the lowest setting lol

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In the wake of your boyfriend's latest album, a follow-up tour had been inevitable.

Michael had never liked touring much. The constant movement between cities, the lack of routine, the long stretches of time that blurred together backstage and on buses and in hotel rooms. Still, when he asked you to come with him, there hadn't been much hesitation in his voice. It was almost like begging on his part, though he tried not to frame it that way. He just wanted you there — on every drive between cities, every late night on the road. And maybe, though he wouldn't say it directly, something about you made it all feel more bearable. Less lonely.

It couldn't have come at a better time. With no real commitments and still figuring out what life was supposed to look like in your early twenties, you ended up joining him on tour — fresh off the success of Off the Wall.

Time stopped belonging entirely to you as the tour went on, cities passing by in a blur. Every day looked almost the same, like a loop — just different enough to not feel like ordinary life.

The Triumph Tour was technically his brothers' tour too. It was always introduced that way. But night after night the truth became harder to ignore: the hunger, the precision, the raw presence Michael brought to the stage pulled every eye in the arena toward him. The crowds screamed his name like a prayer.

There was such a stark difference between the man who commanded the stage and the quiet one you were pressed against now.

You had settled on the worn leather loveseat between his long legs, back resting lightly against his chest, playing cards with Marlon. The large tour bus carried its own rhythm — a steady hum beneath everything else, wheels rolling through late-night stretches of highway. Inside the slow-moving shelter of brushed metal, the air felt softer. Calmer.

The end of another show had left everyone in that loose wind-down state — half conversation, half silence. Some of the siblings were laughing near the back, playing video games, while others sat in low voices, recapping the concert in fragments.

You were still in your pajama set from after the shower — loose fabric patterned with small multicolored polka dots — layered beneath Michael's oversized knit sweater, the sleeves swallowing your hands. Your hair had been braided loosely, though strands had already begun to escape, soft curls framing your face again.

Behind you, Michael exhaled quietly, like he was trying not to make it obvious. His thoughts kept slipping anyway. He thought you looked so cute like this, all soft and cozy in his clothes. And from his view, the way those little shorts hugged you was almost enough to make him lose focus entirely.

He tried to listen through his headphones, pen moving loosely across the small notebook in his lap, jotting down fragments of ideas and melodies. But it wasn't easy. The way you were pressed against him, the sweet scent of your shampoo drifting up to him — it made it so hard to concentrate.

The lack of privacy had become difficult lately, made worse by the fact that you were both still deep in that early stage of infatuation. Keeping your hands off each other was more of a challenge than you'd realized. Michael was still quite shy and reserved about intimacy, with almost no experience. Yet after shows, when the post-show adrenaline left him glowing, you would catch that quiet hunger in his eyes.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your position as you leaned forward to draw another card.

Marlon let out a small laugh across from you. "You're concentrating way too hard for someone who keeps losing."

"I am not losing," you said immediately, narrowing your eyes as you placed a card down.

"You literally just did," he replied, pointing at the pile.

You scoffed. "That was strategy."

"Sure," Marlon said, leaning back with a grin. "Strategic losing. Very advanced technique."

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a laugh as you shifted again, this time settling more comfortably against Michael without thinking. The movement was small, almost automatic — but it pressed your ass more firmly back against him.

Behind you, Michael went very still. His pen paused mid-line. You felt the subtle tightening of his thighs on either side of you, the way his free hand instinctively settled on your hip.

Marlon didn't notice. He was still shuffling the cards, amused.

"You're just mad because I'm right," he added.

"I'm not mad," you said, half-smiling as you reached for another card.

"Mm," Marlon hummed, unconvinced.

You let out a quiet laugh under your breath, shaking your head. Behind you, Michael finally exhaled again — slower this time, almost shaky. His hand stayed on your hip, fingers pressing just a little tighter into the soft fabric of his sweater. You could feel him growing harder against you, warm and insistent, even as he tried desperately to keep his breathing even.

The contrast made your chest ache with tenderness: the same man who commanded arenas full of screaming fans was trembling behind you now, shy and overwhelmed by something as simple as your body nestled between his legs.

The game continued on like that for a few more minutes, the quiet goodnights gradually spreading through the bus as the rest of the brothers retired to their bunks. Soon only you, Michael, and Marlon remained.

You stayed nestled between Michael's legs, letting the low conversation and the steady rumble of the road fill the space. Every small shift of your body seemed to echo through him. His hand never left your hip. The warmth of him pressing against you only grew more insistent, more difficult to ignore. A slow, warm ache had begun to pool between your own thighs. And when the bus hit a bump, jostling you lightly but a little harder than before against him, whatever focus Michael had managed to hold onto finally slipped.

His voice finally came, barely more than a breath against your ear.

"Angel…" he whispered, voice low and hoarse, shy and reluctant even as his hand stayed on your hip, holding you a little tighter.

You turned your head just enough to glance at him, a soft, innocent expression on your face. "Hmmm? Did you say something, Mikey?"

Before he could answer, Marlon let out a long yawn and tossed his cards onto the table.

"Alright, I'm done," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm retiring for the night before I get accused of cheating again." He shot you a playful grin as he stood. "You two behave yourselves back here."

Marlon gave a lazy wave and disappeared behind the thin door that led to the bunk area, his footsteps fading until only the steady rumble of the bus engine remained.

And then it was just the two of you.

You didn't move at first, letting the quiet settle between you. The fragile privacy felt both thrilling and terrifying. Only the low rumble of the bus and the faint sway of the highway. Then, after a long breath, you slowly turned in his lap.

It wasn't graceful or hurried. You shifted carefully, one knee sliding across his thigh until you were facing him fully, straddling his lap. The movement pressed you intimately against the hard line of him, and you heard the way his breath caught sharply in his throat.

Now chest to chest, you were close enough to see every detail — the rapid flutter of his lashes, the deep flush blooming across his cheeks, the nervous hunger swirling in those dark fawn eyes. Your hands rose gently to cradle the sides of his face, thumbs brushing over the burning warmth of his skin.

Michael looked up at you like you were the embodiment of both his salvation and sin.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and lingering. He melted almost instantly, a quiet sigh trembling against your lips, but you could still feel the nervous tension humming through his body. His hands settled hesitantly at your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away.

Without breaking the kiss, you rolled your hips in one long, deliberate grind, pressing your warmth against his hardness. The friction dragged a muffled, broken sound from deep in his throat — something between a whimper and a moan that he tried desperately to swallow.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, voice soft and teasing.

"Shh… You have to be quiet for me, baby."

Another slow grind. Then another. You savored the way he throbbed against you with every roll of your hips, the way his fingers tightened on your waist like he was barely holding himself together.

He finally broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes were squeezed shut, lashes trembling, cheeks burning even darker in the dim light.

"Angel…" he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible over the engine. "We shouldn't… not here. My brothers are right there… anyone could walk in."

The words were weak, almost pleading. Because even as he said them, his hips twitched upward, instinctively seeking more of you. When you took his hands and guided them lower, sliding them beneath the oversized sweater to cup your ass, he squeezed with a quiet, helpless groan.

You could feel his pulse racing through his fingertips. Your sweet, shy boyfriend — still so innocent, still carrying so much guilt — was unraveling right beneath you after days of careful restraint.

You brushed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then along his jaw.

"No one's coming out here, Mikey," you murmured, low and coaxing as you rolled your hips again, slower and deeper this time. "Just have to be quiet for me… Can you do that?"

A soft, broken whimper escaped him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, curls tickling your skin as he nodded — reluctant, ashamed, and completely helpless to the pull you had on him.

Your lips brushed his ear.

"Don't think, baby… Just feel me. I need you so badly."

That seemed to finally break him.

His hands grew bolder, sliding up under your sweater and camisole until his warm palms cupped your bare breasts. He touched you with that same reverent hesitation, thumbs brushing over your nipples with such gentle awe it made your breath catch.

He kissed you again — deeper, hungrier — trying to muffle his sounds against your tongue. You reached between your bodies, easing his pants down just enough to free him. He was achingly hard, flushed and leaking, and the sight of him made heat pool low in your belly.

You stroked him slowly, lovingly, earning another quiet whimper.

"So hard for me already…" you whispered, a teasing smile in your voice. "You've been so good, holding back all this time. Such a good boy, Mikey."

The praise made him twitch hard in your hand. He bit his lip, eyes glassy with both embarrassment and overwhelming desire.

You began stroking him with slow, deliberate movements, your hand barely able to wrap around his length as your thumb brushed tenderly over the sensitive tip. Michael's breath hitched sharply. His hand flew up to cover his mouth, fingers pressing tight as if he could physically hold back the sounds rising in his throat. The sheer risk of it all — being touched so intimately here, on the worn loveseat while the bus carried his sleeping brothers just beyond the thin door — sent a dizzying wave of shame and thrill through him.

He was already trembling, dangerously close after so many days of quiet longing.

As the steady rhythm continued, he suddenly caught your wrist, his grip gentle but urgent.

"Fuck," he whispered, the word so soft and foreign on his tongue.

You paused, surprised by the rare curse. It sent a warm flutter through your chest and lower still.

"A-angel… please," he breathed, voice barely audible over the low rumble of the engine. "You have to stop. I—I don't want to finish like this."

You tilted your head, eyes soft in the dim light. "What do you want, baby?"

He looked away, cheeks burning beneath the flush that refused to fade. His hand covered half his face as he struggled with the words.

"I want to finish inside you."

The quiet confession settled between you like something sacred and forbidden.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"You're so dirty tonight, Michael… saying things like that when we're not even truly alone."

A shaky exhale left him. Before he could reply, you shifted, sliding your shorts and panties aside. You took his hand and guided it between your thighs, letting his fingers meet the slick warmth of your arousal.

His lashes fluttered. "Oh my God," he whispered, voice cracking with reverence. "You're so wet… and warm."

"All for you," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Only you make me feel this way."

You brought his glistening fingers to your lips and slowly, lovingly licked them clean, never breaking eye contact. A low, helpless moan escaped him — louder than either of you expected. You smiled softly and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shhh…"

You rose slightly, hovering above him, heart beating in time with the steady hum of the highway beneath you.

"You've been so good for me these past few days," you whispered. "So patient. Let's put some of that after-show energy to better use."

Then you sank down onto him in one slow, continuous motion.

The stretch, the overwhelming closeness, the quiet intimacy of it all drew a strangled sound from deep in Michael's chest. He buried his face instantly in the crook of your neck, biting gently into the soft knit of his own sweater to muffle the noise. His arms wrapped tightly around you, one hand splayed across your back, the other gripping your hip as though you were the only steady thing in his world.

For a long moment, neither of you moved — only breathed together as the bus hummed onward through the night, its gentle vibrations traveling through your joined bodies like a secret pulse.

When you finally began to move, it was slow and deep. Rolling grinds at first, savoring every inch, then gradually building into a tender rhythm. Michael met your movements with small, desperate rocks of his hips, his face remaining hidden against your shoulder, curls damp against your skin. Broken, whispered praises slipped from his lips between shaky breaths.

"You feel… so warm… so perfect…"

His hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with shy reverence. Despite his inexperience, there was something remarkably natural about the way he touched you. Not skilled in the conventional sense, but guided by instinct — as though the language of pleasure lived somewhere deep within him, waiting to be discovered. Every touch carried a quiet devotion, yet somehow he always seemed to know exactly what you needed, reading each reaction as it came.

Soft, breathy sounds escaped you, quiet enough to blend with the low drone of the engine.

He was trembling beneath you, fighting so hard to stay quiet, but you could feel how close he already was — every twitch, every stutter of his breath.

You leaned close, lips brushing his ear, voice barely more than a sigh.

"Feels so good, Mikey… Please, baby. I need you to come deep inside me."

The words seemed to unravel him completely.

Michael's arms tightened around you. His hands slid down to grip your hips with sudden, desperate strength, and he began thrusting up into you with more urgency. Each stroke was deep and instinctive, brushing against that perfect spot inside you again and again. The pleasure built fast and overwhelming. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your soft moans and panting breaths muffled against his warm skin.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes in the dim light. His own were glassy, dark, and full of desperate adoration.

"I want you to come around me, angel… please," he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling. "Please… I need you to."

The eye contact, the raw need in his voice, the way he kept moving inside you — it was too much. The tension coiled tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. You came with a soft, shuddering sigh, clenching around him as stars bloomed behind your eyes. Your forehead pressed against his, breaths mingling in the small space between you.

Michael followed right behind you. His whole body went rigid, a muffled, broken moan vibrating against your shoulder as he spilled deep inside you. The sensation of him pulsing and filling you drew another quiet whimper from your throat.

For a long moment afterward, the world narrowed down to just the two of you and the low, endless drone of the bus rolling through the night. You stayed joined, breathing each other in. Michael's arms remained wrapped tightly around you, one hand gently stroking up and down your back in soothing patterns. His cheeks were flushed deep red, and you could feel the shy embarrassment slowly creeping back in now that the haze of pleasure was fading.

"I can't believe we just did that… here," he whispered, pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to the spot on your shoulder where he'd bitten down earlier. Still, a small, dazed smile played on his lips. "You make me lose my mind, angel."

The words came out with a breathless little laugh. His cheeks were still flushed as he looked at you.

"I love you more than anything, you know that?"

You pulled back just enough to look at him, smiling like a lovesick fool. You brushed a damp curl away from his forehead and kissed him sweetly.

"I love you, handsome."

A fresh blush bloomed across his face.

You stayed like that for a while, trading lazy kisses, the gentle rocking of the bus beneath you. Eventually you grinned softly, leaning in to kiss him deeper, rolling your hips in a slow, teasing circle that pulled a quiet, helpless whimper from his throat.

His eyes fluttered, still half-lidded with lingering pleasure.

"Maybe we can go again…" you whispered against his lips, voice playful and warm. "Just one more time. You can be good and quiet for me again, can't you, Mikey?"

Michael let out a shaky little laugh that melted into a soft moan as you moved once more. His head fell back against the loveseat, eyes shining with complete devotion and a touch of disbelief.

"Lord help me," he breathed, voice trembling with both embarrassment and love. "I can't say no to you."

You smiled against his mouth.

"I know you can't, sweetheart."

The highway stretched on through the dark, carrying your secret safely through the night, while Michael—sweet, shy, and helplessly in love—gave himself over to you all over again.

[silvernailpolish]

[cherryst4rg1rl]

Oh to be a girl in the 80s waiting for her boyfriend to climb through her window is my dream

[redribbonfawn]

hmmm this is giving me ideas for my writing ( ˘ᴗ˘ )

[koenji]

victorian mussel shaped vinaigrette in handcrafted silver, engraved 'Lucy'. 1876.

[vanilla-lavender-espresso]

[redribbonfawn]

Under The Table

summary: your boyfriend is completely swept up in awards season, leaving barely any time for you. so when another networking dinner drags on longer than you'd like, a little under-the-table distraction suddenly doesn't seem like such a bad idea. <𝟑 .ᐟ

warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, established relationship, public teasing, a bit of possessive behavior, bathroom sex, fluff, my take on writing less submissive mike lol ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

a/n: I had this sitting in my drafts and originally wanted to save it for one of those days/weeks when i didn't have time to write because the next couple of weeks are gonna be pretty busy, but honestly... it's too fun not to post right now lol. give the people what they want!! two stories in 24 hours <3♡‧₊˚ hope yall have a nice week 

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Award season was in full bloom, and your extremely talented and hardworking boyfriend had gotten a record-breaking twelve nominations. Twelve. The pride that swelled in your chest was overwhelming. You had watched in real time as he poured his soul into Thriller — the late-night recording sessions, the endless revisions, the way inspiration seemed to consume him whole. You had been there through every rough draft and every exhausted smile, and you could not have been more proud.

Yet the neglect had crept in anyway, quiet and insistent. You understood what it meant to love someone so brilliant, but understanding didn’t stop the ache. He tried — God, he always tried — to carve out moments for you, but these final weeks before the ceremony had been brutal. Quiet nights together had become a distant memory, and you missed him fiercely: his laugh, his touch, the way your bodies moved together like waves crashing against the shore. That raw, crashing intensity had been absent for far too long, leaving a restless hunger simmering beneath your skin.

You slowly swirled the cocktail pick in your half-drunk martini, a visible bored pout tugging at your lips as you sat across from your star-studded boyfriend at yet another networking event. This pre-Grammys dinner felt particularly exhausting — nothing more than an excuse for producers, label executives, and fellow artists to circle him with their hidden agendas. It was so painfully obvious what they wanted from him. The realization made anger simmer low in your chest. You had seen this ugly side of the industry often enough by now: manipulative, cash-driven, self-serving. And tonight, it was keeping Michael from you.

The chandeliers of the upscale Beverly Hills hotel cast a soft, shimmering glow across your floor-length silver satin slip dress and its elegant cowl neckline. The fine jewelry, courtesy of your boyfriend, of course, caught the light beautifully, sparkling against your skin.

Michael looked ridiculously handsome in his “casual” royal blue military-style jacket with its elaborate gold braided trim. Together you made a striking pair — an adoring, attractive couple — and the thought coaxed a small, proud smile to your face despite everything.

You were seated directly across from the curly-haired star while some important suit monopolized his attention. He glanced your way, catching your eye, and you gave him the look — the one that pleaded, can we please leave, are you done yet? He knew it instantly.

An apologetic smile curved his lips, warm and regretful. In that moment it was clear: he wanted nothing more than to abandon this soul-draining evening and lose himself in you, the most important person in the room. In his entire life, frankly.

You rolled your eyes, restlessness building, until a mischievous idea sparked to life inside you.

You pretended to stretch, letting out a soft yawn as you slipped one foot free of your matching silver heel. Slowly, almost innocently, you let your bare foot find his calf beneath the table, rubbing gentle circles against the fine fabric of his slacks.

You felt the exact moment he registered what you were doing. His shoulders tensed, and he tried to warn you with a look mid-conversation, but you didn’t care. Finally, something exciting was happening.

Painfully slowly, you slid higher, massaging the sensitive inside of his thigh. Michael’s voice caught in the middle of a sentence. He shot you a sharper warning glance, but you only smiled sweetly and took another sip of your dirty martini, the burn of liquid courage spreading through you.

Your foot continued its lazy, deliberate path until it pressed firmly against the growing bulge in his trousers. You rubbed slowly, toes curling and stroking along the hardening outline of his cock. Michael’s hand dropped beneath the table, gripping your ankle tightly — not to stop you, but to anchor himself as his jaw clenched. You could feel him twitch and thicken beneath your foot with every teasing stroke, heat blooming low in your own belly at the secret power you held over him in this crowded room.

By the time the man finally left the table, Michael opened his mouth to speak — only for the familiar, warm voice of Quincy Jones to cut in.

You glanced up at the older man with a bright smile, keeping your foot exactly where it was, pressed against him.

“Q!” Your face lit up instantly. “Hi!”

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, bending down for a side hug. His hand rested gently on your shoulder as he pulled back, clearly having noticed your bored expression earlier. “How you holding up, doll?”

“Well, you know how these things are. And my very famous boyfriend isn’t paying me any mind. Can you believe that?” The moment the words left your lips, you pressed your foot more deliberately against the tip of his cock.

Michael let out a soft whimper before he could catch it, disguising it poorly as a cough. Quincy gave him a curious look.

Quincy chuckled, shaking his head. “Clearly this whole awards circus has him losing his sanity, ignoring his gorgeous girlfriend like that.”

Michael’s laugh came out shaky and strained. “Y-you know how t-these things are, Q. Can’t have a second alone b-before someone pulls me away.”

“Uh… you okay there, Mikey?”

You jumped in smoothly, still stroking him under the table with slow, relentless pressure. “He’s been feeling this weird pressure lately — in his body, I mean. Think he’s coming down with something.” You felt him throb helplessly against your sole.

“Well, you gotta take care of yourself, Mike,” Quincy said warmly. “Can’t have you sick during awards season. Lucky for you, your medicine is sitting right across from you. Give her some more devotion, Mikey, come on.”

You laughed softly, still working him beneath the tablecloth. “Oh trust me, Quincy, he will as soon as this thing is over.”

Blissfully unaware of the double meaning, Quincy chuckled and excused himself. The moment he was out of sight, Michael’s grip on your ankle tightened almost painfully. He stood, adjusting his jacket to hide the obvious tent in his slacks, and leaned down to whisper against your ear, voice low and rough with arousal.

“Bathroom. Now.”

You giggled, batting your lashes innocently. “Hmm? Whatchu talking about? I don’t need to go.”

The death stare he gave you sent a thrill racing down your spine. Without another word, he pulled you gently to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, his hand firm on your lower back. Your pulse hammered with anticipation, arousal pooling hot between your thighs.

The instant the heavy wooden door of the private restroom locked behind you, Michael pinned you against it with a growl.

“You’re such a tease, angel face,” he breathed, eyes dark with weeks of pent-up hunger. “Craving all my attention and choosing that just to get it? In front of everyone?”

“Welp… it seemed to be working,” you added, but he didn’t let you finish—crashing his lips into yours, desperate and devouring. The kiss tasted of longing and relief, months of distance melting away in a rush of heat. His hands shoved your satin dress up your hips as you fumbled with his belt, fingers trembling from adrenaline. His cock sprang free — thick, flushed deep, and leaking at the tip. You stroked him once, twice, savoring the velvety heat, but he was already too far gone — too impatient to wait any longer.

He lifted you effortlessly onto the marble counter. The sudden chill of the stone against your thighs made you gasp, goosebumps rippling across your skin as he yanked your panties aside. Cool air kissed your soaked folds, making you shiver. A broken moan tore from your throat when he dragged the thick head of his cock through your wetness, teasing your clit with deliberate strokes.

Now the power had flipped. Through desperate whimpers you begged, “P-please baby… I need you.”

Michael huffed a dark, breathless laugh against your neck, almost offended by your sudden vulnerability after what you’d done to him. “You’re such a fucking tease and now you’re begging for me?”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes from pure, aching want. “Mikey, pretty please, I beg you.”

He softened, cupping your cheek tenderly. He kissed you sweetly on the lips, then your forehead, before resting his own against yours in a moment of quiet connection. Then he positioned himself at your entrance and pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch of the stretch. You gasped sharply, nails digging into his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt. “F-fuck, you’re so big and hard…”

“It’s all for you, my sweet angel,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

The rhythm he set was deep and punishing, the wet, filthy sound of skin against skin echoing in the small room. One hand covered your mouth to muffle your cries, the other gripped your waist hard, anchoring you as he drove into you again and again.

“Should’ve pulled you in here the second you started playing with me under the table,” he panted hotly against your ear. “You feel so good, squeezing around me like that, angel… like you were made for me.”

You could only moan helplessly as he struck that perfect spot over and over, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core until it shattered. You came hard, clenching rhythmically around him with a muffled cry, tears slipping down your cheeks from the overwhelming intensity. Michael followed moments later, groaning your name low in his throat as he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, hips stuttering with release.

For a long moment afterward you stayed locked together — panting, flushed, foreheads pressed close as your hearts gradually slowed in sync. He kissed you again, slow and reverent, full of love.

“I love you, beautiful.”

“I love you too, Mikey.”

“Stay close to me the rest of the night,” he murmured, pulling out carefully. “No more games… unless you want round two on the way home later.”

You let out a soft, breathless giggle as you fixed your dress and he tucked himself away.

“Wouldn’t even dream of it.”

A blatant lie, and judging by the look Michael gave you, he knew it too.

[wikimedia-commons]

Björk in the legendary "Swan Dress" designed by Marjan Pejoski at the 2001 Academy Awards

Photographed by Cristiano Del Riccio, 2001

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

[vanilla-lavender-espresso]

[redribbonfawn]

I'm All Yours

summary: a perfect beach day with your sweet boyfriend should have ended in peace, but when his brothers’ usual teasing pushes Michael’s insecurities a little too far, you’re quick to remind him exactly where he stands ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, jealousy, insecurity & slight mild emotional hurt, fluff, family teasing, slight possessiveness, shower sex, already an established relationship, maybe a bit of a breeding kink thrown in there lol

a/n: hope u like this cute lil story!!! i have been quite busy with work and moving apartments, so i tried to write this quickly in between the chaos, have a nice weekend everyone <3♡‧₊˚

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A comfortable silence settled inside the baby blue Cadillac as a sweet beach day slowly came to an end. The smoldering California heat was finally beginning to subside.

This was one of those rare days when your usually busy boyfriend had cleared his schedule completely — an entire day devoted to you.

The scent of sunscreen and coconut lingered on both your skin. Your hair was still damp with saltwater, beginning to dry into soft, messy waves. Your curls looked untamed and golden, lightened by the sun. A warm, sun-kissed glow had settled over your skin.

You'd had a wonderful day, and you were silently grateful Michael had brought his Polaroid camera to capture it all.

Maybe it was the excitement of a new relationship — or the fact that you hadn't seen your sweet, hardworking boyfriend in an entire week — but you couldn't help staying close to him in the back seat. Almost draped over him.

Your fingers remained intertwined, your head resting on his shoulder, both of your curls blending together in the lingering warmth.

You glanced up at him instinctively. He looked down at the same moment. A soft grin spread across both of your faces before he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You held his gaze for a moment longer — soft, loving, intense — his eyes catching the sunset so perfectly they looked like burning amber.

Your intimate moment came to a gentle halt as the car slowed to a stop. Sweet old Bill was probably tired of driving lovestruck youngsters around all day. Although he kept his distance and mainly handled pickups and drop-offs, he'd been around long enough to witness plenty of your softness together.

Bill adored Michael and you, of course — but sometimes the two of you were so in love it was basically a public service announcement, and he had no choice but to play third wheel.

"Finally home, lovebirds," the older man said, his brown eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.

You gave him a bright smile and a gentle pat on his shoulder. "Thank you, Bill."

The man was practically a Jackson family member himself, and you couldn't help but see him in a fatherly light sometimes. He had a soft spot in your heart.

Michael gave him a quick handshake of thanks through the leather seats before stepping out. He immediately reached back for your hand, helping you out of the car.

The midday heat had softened into something gentler. The air smelled faintly of jasmine blooming nearby.

You walked side by side toward the house when Michael slipped an arm around your waist.

"This has really been one of the best days I've had in a while," he said, looking at you with the most lovesick expression in his eyes. "My beautiful angel."

Something warm spread through your chest at his words, your smile softening as you looked back at him — like you still couldn't quite believe he was real sometimes.

"I love you, Mikey."

For a moment, his expression only deepened, like he was holding onto that sentence.

"I love you too, angel."

He squeezed your waist lightly before letting go as the front door came into view. He opened it slowly, and you both stepped inside.

Thankfully, most of the family members were out. The lack of cars outside confirmed it — except for a few.

Your suspicions were confirmed the moment loud commotion drifted in from the kitchen. You exchanged a quick look with Michael.

Ah yes — the sweet-talk trio.

Michael had always appreciated how much you liked his family, and they liked you just as much. But whenever even one of them was around — or all three together — it never took long before the teasing started. Words like foxy, sultry, and trouble were thrown around far too easily, always followed by jokes about how Michael had somehow "managed to land you" of all people.

Michael hated it more than he'd ever admit. Not because they were trying to be cruel — but because it always stirred something uncomfortable inside him. There was a trace of insecurity there, quiet and unspoken. Like he couldn't quite believe you were real — or that someone like you had chosen him at all.

You noticed it, even if he never said it aloud.

That's why you always called him pet names like pretty boy or angel face. Because to you, he wasn't just talent and charm and mystery — he was beauty itself. Soft. Rare. Irreplaceable. You just wished he could see it as easily as you did.

You walked into the kitchen hand in hand.

You were wearing a tiny denim halter dress that left little to the imagination, a gold pendant resting at your chest with a delicate "M" engraved into it — a gift from him, of course. On your feet were your wooden platform clogs, adding to your sun-drenched, effortless look. You looked like you had stepped straight out of a magazine.

Michael, however, could only look at you in awe — and slight nervousness. He already knew what was coming.

As soon as you rounded the corner, the three of them were there — Jackie, Marlon, and Jermaine sprawled around the kitchen island, lazily tossing a tiny basketball back and forth between them before they noticed the two of you.

Jackie spotted you first and let out a low whistle.

"Well, damn," he grinned, giving you a quick once-over. "Mike really let you leave the house dressed like that? Man's braver than me."

You rolled your eyes dramatically. "Ew."

Marlon immediately burst out laughing.

The flirting never really fazed you. They were Michael's brothers before they were anything else, and the idea of entertaining them like that was honestly almost funny to you. Besides, you knew it was all playful — none of them actually expected anything from it, and if anyone ever crossed a line, you would've made yourself perfectly clear.

Marlon laughed at your reaction, spinning the basketball on one finger before pointing toward the gold pendant around your neck.

"You see that 'M' around her neck, Jackie?" he said. "You ain't got a chance, brother." Then he looked at you with an exaggerated grin. "But me, however…" He placed a hand against his chest dramatically. "Now that's a different story, sweetheart."

You snorted. "Yeah right, Marlon."

Laughing softly, you tossed the beach towel in your hand at him, earning a loud cackle from the kitchen.

Michael, meanwhile, let out a long sigh. "Are y'all done now?" he muttered, already making his way toward the fridge.

Before anyone could answer, Jermaine cut in immediately, like he'd been waiting for his turn all along. He leaned back against the counter with a smirk.

"She trouble in that dress," he said casually. "Legs for days, all sun-kissed and pretty… got Mikey all lovesick." Michael shut the fridge door harder than necessary. Jermaine only grinned wider. "Bet he spent all day rubbin' sunscreen on your back and feedin' you grapes."

"Oh my God," you groaned, covering your face briefly. "You're just jealous he actually has somebody to rub sunscreen on."

The kitchen immediately erupted into loud whistles and dramatic "ooohs." Marlon nearly doubled over laughing while Jackie pointed at Jermaine like he'd just lost an argument.

You caught the small, half-proud smile tugging at Michael's lips before he reached for your hand again, pulling you closer against his side.

Jermaine noticed instantly. "Man, look at him," he laughed. "Holdin' her hand immediately like she gon' disappear." Michael's grip tightened slightly. "Our baby brother gone soft."

"Jermaine," Jackie warned through a grin.

But Jermaine kept going anyway. "You better keep an eye on her dressed like that, Mikey. Leave her alone for one second and somebody gon' steal her."

The kitchen went a little quieter after that. Marlon's grin faltered. Jackie shot Jermaine a look.

Michael's jaw tightened.

"I'm not soft," he snapped suddenly, voice sharper than before. "And y'all need to stop."

Marlon raised both hands innocently, already laughing again. "Ooh, he mad now."

That did it.

Michael dropped your hand, cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment and irritation, before turning on his heel and storming out of the kitchen without another word. His footsteps disappeared quickly down the hallway.

Your expression immediately fell. "Mikey — come on…"

Usually, the teasing was harmless, mainly done to get a reaction out of Michael more than anything else. And you always reminded him of the same thing: no one could ever steal you away from him. Still, you knew his brothers could be knuckleheads sometimes — and this time they'd pushed too far.

You slowly turned back toward the trio, disappointment written clearly across your face.

"I expected better from y'all," you said firmly, pointing directly at Marlon. "Especially you."

"Aw, c'mon —"

Before Jermaine could even defend himself, you launched the cold water bottle in your hand straight at him.

"That's assault!" Jermaine shouted between laughs, jerking his head out of the way just before the bottle flew past him.

You ignored him completely, already hurrying down the hallway after your poor boyfriend.

A loud bedroom door slam echoed upstairs.

You quickly made your way up the staircase before turning toward his room, a small breath leaving you as you pushed the door open.

Michael was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands. Visibly upset.

"Mikey…"

He didn't answer at first. The teasing had gotten to him more than usual, stirring up all those quiet insecurities he always tried to bury.

You slowly approached him before stopping directly in front of where he sat. From this angle, you almost towered over him slightly. Gently, you reached down and held his colder cheek in your warmer hand, slowly rubbing circles across it.

"Hey," you said softly. "Talk to me."

Michael let out a frustrated breath. "They always do this."

You brushed your thumb across his cheek. "I know."

His gaze dropped to the floor. For a moment, he seemed unsure whether he wanted to say the next part out loud. Then he did.

"Sometimes I think they're right."

Your heart squeezed. "About what?"

Michael swallowed. "About you being too good for me."

The confession came out so quietly it almost hurt to hear. He let out a shaky breath, shaking his head like he already regretted saying it out loud.

"I mean… I see the way people look at you," he added softly. "You could have anybody. Anyone would be lucky to have you." He swallowed again. "I just… don't know why you picked me."

You immediately shook your head. "Oh, angel face."

His eyes finally lifted to yours.

"Michael, do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

A weak laugh escaped him. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

You threaded your fingers through his curls. "You're talented, kind, thoughtful, hardworking, beautiful — and somehow you still act surprised that I love you."

A faint blush spread across his cheeks. You smiled.

"Trust me, pretty boy. If anybody's lucky here, it's me."

The blush deepened immediately. He looked at you for a second longer than before, like he was trying to hold onto what you said.

Then you grinned. "Aaaand…" you continued, giving one of his curls a gentle tug and earning a quiet little huff from him, "you've got this wonderful singing voice, this crazy passion for everything you love, and the foxiest lady completely devoted to you."

"Aaaand…" you teased again as his face turned even redder, "one flash of that smile and I melt like ice cream in the sun."

"Baby…" he groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

You couldn't help but laugh with him, gently straddling his lap. You peeled his hands away from his flushed cheeks and cupped his face with both of yours, thumbs stroking tenderly.

"You're so pretty, Mikey," you murmured, affection thick in your voice. "You're mine… and I'm all yours."

Michael's breath hitched. The frustration in his eyes melted into something warmer, hungrier. He looked up at you like you were God's own gift — sun-kissed and glowing, somehow all his.

"You really mean that?" he whispered, voice low and rough around the edges.

"Every word."

You held his gaze for a moment longer, watching the way he seemed to soften under your words. Then you traced your thumb across his lower lip before slipping it gently into the warmth of his mouth.

He closed his eyes and sucked softly, almost in awe, his tongue brushing the glossy red of your nail. A faint flush rose to his cheeks almost immediately, his breath catching slightly as he looked at you again.

"And you know what, Mikey…?" you continued, voice dropping sweetly.

His lashes fluttered as he met your gaze, still a little dazed, before giving a slow shake of his head.

"I think you've been such a good boy today," you murmured, voice soft and steady. "Taking me to the beach… treating me like I'm heavenly and divine… and being so patient when your brothers tried to rile you up." A small pause. "I think you oughta be rewarded."

A soft hum vibrated against your thumb. You slowly pulled it from his lips with a quiet pop.

Michael let out a shaky exhale, already shifting beneath you like he couldn't wait another second.

You climbed off his lap, and he moved to follow like an eager puppy. Before he could fully stand, you placed a gentle hand on his chest and pushed him back down onto the bed, your fingers splayed warmly over his skin. His breath hitched at the contact.

"Uh uh, not yet, pretty boy," you murmured, smiling down at him. "You gotta watch me undress first."

"O-okay…" he whimpered, eyes wide and hazy with want as he stayed right where you put him.

You slipped off your chunky wooden clogs first, the illusion of being as tall as your boyfriend cracking immediately. Your red-manicured toes — matching your fingers — sank into the soft carpet. Michael watched with parted lips and that same reverent hunger, anticipation curling warmly in his stomach.

You reached behind your neck and untied the thick denim straps of your halter dress, then slowly peeled it down your body. As the fabric slipped over your chest, the cute polka-dot bikini came into view. Michael's breath caught sharply. You saw the way his swim trunks tented, his hand twitching desperately in his lap like he was aching for relief. A quiet, needy sound escaped him as he palmed himself through the thin fabric.

You paused with the dress right above your navel, giving him a teasing little pout.

"Angel… please," he breathed, looking absolutely devastated.

"That wasn't very good, was it, Mikey? I didn't say you could touch."

He could only stare at you in awe, eyes wide and shining with want.

You stepped closer, nearly between his spread knees, then continued sliding the dress down your hips until it pooled at your feet. You bent slowly to step out of it, your chest dipping right into his eye line, the delicate gold "M" pendant gleaming between your breasts in the golden sunlight.

As you straightened up again, you slowly reached behind your back and began untying the bikini top. You were so close to him now, barely inches away — close enough to hear the way he gulped.

No matter how many times you'd been intimate, Michael always reacted like this — like it was the first time he was seeing you bare, like he was falling in love with you all over again right in front of your eyes.

The bikini top slipped from your fingers and landed with a quiet thud on the floor. Michael's eyes were wide, dark with hunger and awe, drinking in the sight of you like you were something sacred.

He reached out with trembling hands, gently grasping the sides of your thighs before pressing his forehead against your stomach, breathing you in like he needed you to survive.

You couldn't help the soft giggle that escaped you. You threaded your fingers through his damp curls, tilting his face up gently.

"Wanna help me with the last piece, pretty boy?" you asked, voice low and sultry.

He looked up at you with the most loving, hungry expression — those big doe eyes full of adoration and want — and nodded almost shyly. "Y-yes," he breathed.

You guided his hands to the ties at your hips. His fingers were shaky with anticipation as he fumbled with the strings, but he eventually managed to pull them loose. The bikini bottoms slid down your legs and pooled at your feet, leaving you completely bare before him.

For a moment, Michael just stared, lips parted, like he couldn't quite believe his luck.

You gave him a soft, teasing smile before turning and walking slowly toward the bathroom, hips swaying gently. You paused at the doorway and glanced back over your shoulder with a playful pout.

"What? Aren't you gonna join me?"

You didn't wait for an answer — just stepped into the bathroom at a light, teasing pace and slipped into the shower, turning the water on and letting the warm spray fill the space with steam.

Behind you, you heard Michael scrambling to his feet, nearly tripping in his hurry. Clothes were shed in a clumsy rush, and then the shower curtain was yanked open. He stepped in without hesitation, pulling you into a hungry kiss the second the water hit his skin.

Your back met the cool tile wall as his body pressed against yours. You could feel how hard he was, flushed and aching, pressed warmly against your stomach. Heat pooled between your thighs at the contact.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his wet curls as the hot water cascaded over both of you, drenching your hair and turning your curls into heavy, dripping strands.

Michael moaned softly into your mouth before trailing desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down to your neck, like he couldn't get enough of you.

His hands slid down your body with that familiar mix of shyness and hunger, reverent even now. One slipped between your thighs, and you gasped as his long fingers gently stroked through your folds, teasing with careful devotion.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck, voice husky and full of awe, barely rising above the rush of water. "So wet already… I can't believe you're mine."

He eased one finger inside you, then another, curling them slowly while his thumb found your clit and began rubbing in gentle, devoted circles. Your hips bucked into his hand, and he let out a soft, shaky breath against your skin, pressing his forehead to your shoulder like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

"It's only you that makes me feel like this, Mikey…" you moaned, voice trembling. "The only ever."

He pulled back just enough to look at you. The warm water had flushed his face a deep rose, droplets clinging to his lashes and tracing luminous paths down his cheeks and jaw. In the soft golden light filtering into the shower, he looked almost ethereal — those wide brown eyes dark with want, his curls plastered wet against his forehead.

A slow, gorgeous smile broke across his face before you pulled him into a desperate kiss.

Every time you got close like this, the shy boy who blushed at the mere thought of intimacy seemed to melt away. In his place was someone bolder, more confident — someone not afraid to use his words and tell you exactly how much he wanted you. It never failed to make your knees weak.

"God, baby… you feel so perfect," he murmured through the kisses as his fingers pumped deeper, steadier. "So warm and tight around my fingers… My beautiful angel. Look at you, taking me so well."

You could only moan into his mouth, biting gently at his lower lip as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. His thumb circled your clit with more pressure now — steady, relentless — while his fingers curled just right against that perfect spot inside you. The contrast between the quiet, blushing Michael everyone else saw and this version of him, here in the steam and golden light, sent heat flooding through your entire body.

"You're so gorgeous like this," he breathed, voice thick with emotion. "Moaning for me… all mine."

The pleasure built slowly, deliciously, your moans echoing softly against the tiled walls. But right before you tipped over the edge, you reached down and gently grabbed his wrist, stilling his hand.

Michael pulled back, breathing hard, eyes hazy with lust but flickering with that familiar thread of worry. The careful, gentlemanly side of him always surfaced at moments like this.

"Did I do something wrong, baby?" he asked softly, voice rough but tender.

You shook your head, still catching your breath. Without another word, you turned slowly in his arms and pressed your front against the cool tile wall. You arched your back and pushed back against him, feeling his hard cock nestle hot and heavy between your cheeks.

Glancing over your shoulder, voice needy and breathless, you said, "I need you so bad, Mikey… Please fuck me like this. From behind."

You could feel his heart hammering wildly against your back. His wide eyes went even wider — like a deer caught in headlights — surprise and desire warring across his flushed face. Even now, with the water streaming down his body and his obvious need throbbing against you, he hesitated. Always the gentleman, always worried you might feel like you had to do something bolder just for him.

"W-what…?" he stammered, hands settling lightly on your hips as if afraid to grip too tight. "Baby, you don't have to… I mean, if you want me to see your face —"

"Please, baby," you whispered, pushing back against him again, slow and deliberate. "I want you like this. I want to feel you deep."

That finally seemed to sink in. Michael let out a shaky exhale, almost a whimper, his breath warm against your wet shoulder.

"Oh lord… You're gonna be the death of me, pretty lady."

His voice was thick with both awe and lingering shyness, but his hands tightened on your hips with newfound, if still slightly tentative, confidence. A soft giggle escaped you, melting quickly into a moan as the thick head of his cock brushed against your slick folds, teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes while his breathing grew heavier against your skin.

Then he finally pushed in — slow, steady, and so deep you moaned into the cool tile. He stilled once he was fully seated, chest pressed flush to your back, clearly fighting for control. The feeling of him buried so deep inside you, stretching and filling you completely, made your head spin.

His hips began to move in deep, rolling thrusts — intimate, controlled, each one pressing right where you needed him most. Every push pulled soft, needy sounds from your throat as the steamy air danced across your bodies and the running water murmured steadily in the background.

All the while, he trailed tender, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and the curve of your neck — sweet and worshipful even as his thrusts grew deeper. Like he couldn't stop himself from loving you gently, even in the middle of this.

He angled his hips just right and stroked that sweet, devastating spot inside you again and again. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core.

You were breathless. The words spilled out raw and needy. "Mikey… please," you moaned, pushing back to meet his deep thrusts. "Fill me up… I want you to come inside me."

Michael's rhythm faltered for a moment, a shaky groan leaving him as his lips pressed another lingering kiss to your wet shoulder. You felt his cheeks burn hot against your skin.

"Y-yeah?" he breathed, voice husky and a little shy even as his hips started moving faster, driving deeper with every stroke. The words tumbled out suddenly, unfiltered. "You want me to put a baby in you, angel? Right here?"

He panicked for half a second after saying it — but your frantic nod chased the worry away.

"Please… I want it. I want you to fill me up."

He cursed softly under his breath — a rare, rough sound that sent chills racing down your spine. You'd never heard anything like that from his mouth before. He buried his face in your neck, trailing more kisses there as his thrusts grew more desperate, deep and purposeful, like he was determined to give you exactly what you'd asked for.

His hands tightened on your waist, one sliding down over your stomach and up the front of your body before carefully, gently pressing against your throat — not squeezing, just holding you close and steady. The other wandered lower, finding your clit and rubbing fast but controlled circles against your sensitive nub.

"Then take it, sweetheart," he whispered hotly against your ear between kisses, trembling. "Take everything I give you…"

The bold words, the steady deep rhythm of him pumping inside you, his skilled fingers, and those sweet lingering kisses along your shoulder all combined to pull loud moans from your throat. You couldn't hold them back, and neither of you cared if the rest of the house could hear. Secretly, Michael seemed to like it — the way you fell apart so loudly for him, proof that only he could make you feel like this.

Pleasure crashed over you first, deep and shuddering. Your body tightened around him as you moaned his name, waves of it rolling through you. Michael followed right after with a broken, shy groan, pressing as deep as he could go while he spilled inside you, giving you everything you'd begged for. He held you close, trembling against your back, still pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as the water continued to rain down warmly over you both.

After a long, hazy moment, he eased out of you carefully and turned you in his arms, pulling you against his wet chest. His chin rested on top of your head while his big hands stroked slow, sweet circles down your back.

"You okay, angel face?" he asked gently, voice hoarse and full of tender concern.

"More than okay," you whispered, smiling against his skin.

He pulled you into a tighter hug, holding you like you were something precious, then kissed you softly. One hand came up to stroke your cheek in gentle circles. His eyes met yours, warm and full of quiet wonder.

"I love you so much, my sweet girl."

You grinned up at him. "I love you, pretty boy."

You both laughed softly, the sound echoing lightly in the steamy shower. The mood shifted back to something sweet and playful as you continued washing each other — rubbing shampoo into his curls, him carefully running soapy hands over your sun-kissed skin, gently rinsing away the last traces of the beach day.

Before long, you couldn't resist. "I don't think you're gonna be hearing any more teasing or flirting from them for a long time now."

Michael let out an embarrassed laugh, cheeks burning hot again as understanding dawned. "Oh god…"

You just smiled back at him with a big grin, feeling warm and content.

This really had been one of the best days in a long while.

[tammysneurosis]

Suspiria (1977)

[stqrdxst-xx]

[rainbowglitterbunny]

[dimitovva]

[tammysneurosis]

Sissy Spacek playing Carrie White in 'Carrie' (1976)

[junkfoodcinemas]

Anora (2024) dir. Sean Baker