⤷ ೃ ◛* (18+) just got my first wax ever and of course, my horrid mind got an idea. sooo sub top dangerous era!michael who becomes insatiable after you get your first brazilian wax.
After sitting your boyfriend down on the bed to show him a “surprise”, you unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down along with underwear to show him the heart you had your wax technician leave with your pubic hair.
“Like it?” You questioned innocently, as if your bare pussy wasn’t being flaunted in his face. He was shocked, but pleasantly. You had to stop him from trying to devour you right then and there, telling him that you were told to wait at least three days before any intercourse.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen Michael more needy in your life in the days that followed, with him being extra clingy, doing silly things like standing behind you while you brushed your teeth in only your panties, watching intently while you undressed for your showers, and giving you puppy dog eyes while trying to convince you to let him just touch you, saying things like “only your clit”, to which you denied countless times. He resorted to just staring you down as you walked the house, only thinking about stuffing his face, hands, or better yet, his dick in between your bare cunt.
His last straw came when he awoke from his slumber and saw you cooking breakfast in his favorite nightgown that you owned. He stood to the side of you, hand wrapped around your waist as he peered onto the pan of sausage you were cooking.
“Smells good,” He mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eye. “What is today?”
“Monday..? Why’d you ask?” You looked at him with a chuckle and raised eyebrows, confused at the odd question. Before you could prod him further, he now stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while laying his head on your shoulder.
“Mmm,” He groaned sleepily, hand traveling up your body to grip your breast over your clothes. “That’s wonderful.” you could hear the cheeky smile in his voice.
“Michael. Hands off. Wait until tonight,” You swatted his hand away before picking up the spatula to flip the food, holding the handle of the pan with the other. You were surely horny and ovulating, but you still didn’t want to risk anything.
“Baby please,” He muttered, and with a quick movement of his hand, the back of your nightgown was pulled up to reveal your bare ass. “And you’re not wearing anything under here. You want me to go crazy.” He whined, and you let out a loud sigh before quickly reaching back to hit his hand again.
“Michael. You don’t listen. I told you, just wait until tonight. I’m gonna burn this damn meat if you don’t leave me alone right now.”
“Let me just look, please..I won’t do anything.” He asked again, but he didn’t need to as he took matters into his own hands and lifted up your gown again, pulling up the fabric to bunch it up at your abdomen as he stared at the fat of your ass—and best of all— the cute little heart that sat on your pubis.
You ignored him at this point, letting him take the piss, rolling your eyes to yourself as you went back to cooking, lifting the pan up to shake the goodness, making your ass jiggle a bit in the process. Michael audibly groaned at this, gripping your ass in his hands and shaking it again for his entertainment.
“Cut it out. You’re getting worked up,” You strained, lowering the heat now as your sear on the meat was almost perfect. “Go sit on the couch and wait for the food. I’ll give you a little attention then.”
There was silence, and you thought he was thinking it over like a rational person, until you felt something hard pressing at your folds. You let out a gasp, ready to completely go off on him, but within seconds his cock was already slid deep inside of you. Completely taking you from behind, he let out a drawn out moan at the feeling he had been craving, his big hands coming around to grip your upper thighs for leverage. Your jaw dropped open at the sheer audacity, as well as the pleasure that was now surging through your body.
“God,” He cursed under his breath as he got used to your warmth, gyrating his hips in a circular motion that had your brain going dumb. “I’m so sorry,” He half apologized, beginning to slowly pull himself in and out of you, coating himself in your essence. “Woke up thinking about you, about this..”
“You’re beyond full of shit..” You choked out, breathlessly, wobbly hands going to turn the fire off under the food you knew wasn’t getting finished anytime soon.
“I know, I know,” He whined sleepily. He pulled your back flush to him, leaving little to no room between the two of you, moving his hands from your thighs to grip both of your clothed tits as he sped up his thrusts. “But I just can’t help it. You’re so wet.”
Broken moans began to fall out of your mouth as he was practically using you for his pleasure, leaving you helpless in his grip.
“I love you baby, mean it,” You could hear his mouth fall open, panting heavily as you could feel his breath against your head. The wet noises coming from him fucking you were obscene. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Forgive me.” He whimpered and panted heavily in between his thrusts, moving one of his hands down to cup your pussy, thumb running over the patch of hair.
“M’ gonna cum, inside of you, right now,” He babbled aimlessly in your ear, far too gone from the pleasure, letting out all kinds of desperate noises whilst he thrusted his hips into you similarly to a horny dog in heat.
With one last shaky thrust of his hips, he spilled inside of you, coming completely undone as his body convulsed and cock twitched harshly inside of you.
“Oh, baby, shit,” He moaned almost too loud in your ear, rocking his hips a few more times before coming to a stop and cockwarming you. “I’m sorry.” He placed a kiss to your cheek, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
a year after leaving michael, you finally cross paths again. link to part one here :)
a year had passed.
three hundred and sixty-five days and counting.
fifty-two weeks.
twelve whole months.
and somehow, against all odds, life had continued. the sun still rose every morning. marvin gaye still played on the radio. the grocery store still carried the same brand of orange juice you liked.
the world hadn’t ended just because your heart had. for a long time, though, it felt like it had.
the first few months after leaving michael had been brutal.
there was no dramatic healing montage. no magical moment where you woke up and suddenly didn’t miss him anymore.
instead, it came in pieces. small pieces.
you stopped checking the answering machine every ten minutes. stopped wondering if every call was him. stopped rereading old journal entries until your eyes hurt. stopped sleeping in his old sweatshirt.
eventually you could hear his songs without crying. eventually. not immediately. and certainly not gracefully. there were setbacks. there were nights.
there were moments when grief snuck up on you in the middle of nowhere and knocked the breath out of your lungs. but slowly, painfully, you learned how to exist without him.
and then one day, when you weren’t looking for it, someone else walked into your life. his name was marcus. an a&r rep at motown.
tall.
smart.
ridiculously patient.
and absolutely nothing like michael.
which was exactly why you almost didn’t give him a chance. the first date nearly didn’t happen. the second almost didn’t either. because every time marcus did something kind, some ugly wounded part of you immediately waited for the catch.
waited for him to disappear. waited for him to choose someone else. waited for him to prove that your instincts had been right all along.
he never did.
if marcus said he’d call, he called. if he said he’d be there at seven, he arrived at six fifty-five. if he was busy, he communicated.
simple things.
normal things.
things that should’ve been ordinary. yet they felt revolutionary. sometimes that made you sad. because it revealed just how little consistency you’d accepted before.
marcus never made you feel like you had to earn his love. you weren’t in competition with anyone. he was yours. but something was missing.
he wasn’t michael.
the studio encounter happened on a random tuesday.
which somehow made it worse.
life-changing moments were supposed to happen on important days. birthdays. holidays. anniversaries. not random tuesdays.
yet there you were. sitting in the lobby of motown while marcus handled a quick emergency session upstairs.
“five minutes,” he promised.
you laughed, “that’s what you said twenty minutes ago.”
he grinned.
“this time i mean it.”
“liar.”
he bent down and kissed you quickly.
“five minutes.”
“okay.”
“seriously, baby.”
“marcus.”
“okay, okay.”
another kiss. then he disappeared toward the elevators.
you smiled despite yourself. shaking your head.
and that’s when the lobby doors opened.
your smile vanished. because suddenly michael jackson was standing ten feet away. and somehow, after a year, your heart still recognized him before your brain did.
he looked incredible. of course he did.
with his dark curls and his tailored black jacket. gold accents catching the light. he looked older somehow. well duh, because he was. but he looked more mature in a way.
sharper.
more confident.
yet heartbreakingly familiar.
his vitiligo had clearly worsened, but he was still so so beautiful. you wondered if he knew that.
for a second neither of you moved. you weren’t prepared. he wasn’t either. the shock on his face made that obvious.
his eyes widened. then softened. then widened again. like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.
“hey,” he said quietly.
your stomach flipped. damn him. even after everything.
he still had that same effect on you. the ability to make the whole room stop and make it feel like just the two of you.
“hey.”
his gaze traveled over your face carefully. taking inventory. you hated that you knew exactly what he was doing. he used to look at you that way all the time. like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“how’ve you been?”
“good,” you replied smiling politely.
good.
such a small word. yet it hit him like a punch, because you meant it. he could tell. you weren’t pretending and you weren’t trying to make him jealous. you actually looked happy. and that unsettled him immediately.
before either of you could continue, another voice interrupted.
“baby.” marcus called out to you.
michael froze as your boyfriend stepped out of the elevator, carrying a folder under one arm. already smiling. already reaching for you.
he wrapped an arm around your waist naturally. comfortably. like he’d done it a thousand times.
“ready?”
you nodded. “yeah.”
marcus finally noticed michael standing there.
“oh.”
you watched realization click. recognition, surprise, then understanding.
“michael.”
“marcus.”
the handshake that followed was polite. professional. but michael’s smile never reached his eyes. not once.
you were grateful that marcus wasn’t childish or immature about your previous relationship with michael. a fight was the last thing either party needed.
but for michael, suddenly everything made sense. you weren’t waiting for him anymore. you weren’t grieving him anymore. you weren’t secretly hoping he’d come back.
you had moved on.
actually moved on. and for the first time since losing you, michael was forced to see what that looked like.
it looked like another man’s hand resting comfortably against your lower back. another man making you laugh. another man being trusted with the parts of you michael had dropped.
“if was good seeing you,” you said.
and you meant it.
that somehow hurt him more. because you sounded sincere. not angry. not bitter. just…done.
the two of you walked away together. marcus holding the door open. you thanking him. the pair of you disappearing into the parking lot.
and michael stood there long after you’d left.
alone.
staring.
wondering how he had managed to lose the one person who had loved him so completely.
weeks had passed since then and somehow it got worse. because now he knew. you weren’t waiting. you weren’t coming back. you weren’t sitting around missing him.
you had built a life without him. and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
he thought about the way you smiled at marcus. the way you looked relaxed. safe. he thought about the way marcus touched you. not possessive. not insecure. certain.
as if he knew you weren’t going anywhere.
michael hated how jealous it made him. because technically he had no right. he knew that. you’d left. he’d hurt you. he’d failed you.
and yet—
some irrational part of him still wanted to be the person you looked at that way.
he heard marcus was leaving on a long tour with another group at the label that would last for at least a few months.
the information reached him accidentally. industry gossip. a casual conversation. nothing intentional. but once he knew, he couldn’t unknow it.
three days later flowers arrived at your apartment. white roses. your favorite.
you stared at them for almost ten minutes. then noticed the card. your heart immediately sank. because you knew before opening it.
i’m sorry. please forgive me. i miss you - xo, lovey
you closed your eyes.
“michael…”
the flowers sat on your kitchen counter all evening. mocking you and tempting you. infuriating you.
finally, around midnight, you grabbed the phone. determined. annoyed. ready to tell him exactly why he needed to stop. he answered immediately. like he’d been waiting by the phone all night.
“hello?”
your resolve weakened instantly. damn it.
“what are you doing, michael?”
silence.
then:
“i was wondering if you’d call.”
you sighed heavily.
“michael.”
your tone made him smile sadly. he could hear it. the frustration. the exhaustion. the history.
“you can’t keep doing this.” you told him.
“doing what?”
“showing up whenever you feel like it.”
silence.
long silence.
then quietly:
“i know.”
that wasn’t the response you expected. you paused.
“then why are you sending me flowers, michael?”
“because i love you,” his voice sounded tired. really tired.
suddenly you didn’t know what to say. because he wasn’t arguing. wasn’t defending himself. wasn’t making excuses.
for the first time ever, he sounded broken.
and that scared you. because you knew he didn’t have anyone. you were all he had. just you and bill.
the conversation stretched. five minutes became thirty. thirty became an hour. then somehow two. old rhythms returning despite yourselves.
you laughed once, then immediately hated yourself for it. he laughed too. soft and nostalgic. painful.
by three in the morning you were sitting cross-legged on your couch staring into darkness. exhausted. confused. emotionally raw.
“i should go to bed.”
silence.
“yeah, me too.”
neither of you moved. neither of you hung up.
“i miss you,” he said once again, quietly this time.
your eyes closed immediately. there it was. the thing hanging over the entire conversation.
“michael—”
“i do.” his voice cracked. “every day.”
your chest hurt.
“stop.”
“i can’t.”
the honesty startled both of you. another silence. then:
“let me come over.”
your stomach dropped. immediately. completely. utterly.
“i don’t think that’s a good idea, mike. you know marcus isn’t here-“
“baby, i don’t give a damn about marcus.”
“but i do, michael.”
“okay,” he said. “i’ll be respectful i promise. i just want to see you. i need to see you.”
your pulse started racing.
“please,” he begged.
your chest tightened. because a year later and his voice still did something to you. still reached places nobody else could. you hated that. you hated that you loved him enough for that to still be true.
“okay.” you said, wondering if you’d just made the biggest mistake in your life.
him coming over could cost you everything. all the months of healing. the work you’ve done to get over him. your healthy relationship with marcus.
all down the drain.
moments later, your feet carried you toward the window before your brain caught up. you moved the curtains slowly. carefully. and there he was. standing beneath a streetlamp, looking up at your apartment, at three o’clock in the morning.
your breath vanished. completely. gone. you couldn’t believe he actually came.
he spotted you looking down below and he smiled sadly. the same smile that used to make you weak. the same smile you’d spent a year trying to forget.
and suddenly every feeling you’d worked so hard to bury came rushing back at once.
every logical thought in your head screamed that you should. your boyfriend was on tour. you weren’t supposed to be standing here at three in the morning talking to the man who had broken your heart.
but logic had never been your strongest weapon where michael was concerned.
the knock came less than two minutes later.
two impossibly long minutes where you paced the length of your apartment, second-guessing every decision that had led you here.
by the time you reached the door, your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. you stared at the handle for a second. then another. then finally pulled it open.
michael stood on the other side. the glow from outside framed him perfectly.
he looked unfairly beautiful. he always had. a dark coat hung over his shoulders, curls falling across his forehead exactly the way you remembered. his eyes immediately found yours.
for a moment neither of you spoke.
the reality of seeing each other again after all this time seemed to hit both of you at once. his gaze moved slowly across your face.
“hi,” he said quietly.
his voice sounded smaller than it had over the phone. less guarded. more vulnerable.
you stepped aside.
“come in.”
he hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. you closed the door behind him. at three in the morning, your ex-boyfriend, michael jackson, stood in your apartment.
something about that felt absurd. surreal.
for a few moments he simply looked around. you stayed silent and let him. his eyes moved carefully over everything.
the bookshelf in the corner. the plants sitting near the window. the throw blankets folded across the couch. the framed artwork hanging on the walls. pieces of your life. a life you’d built without him.
he walked a few steps farther into the room. slowly. almost cautiously. like every object held information he wasn’t supposed to have. and then he saw it.
the photograph. you noticed the exact moment. his entire body stilled. it was a simple picture. nothing dramatic. just you and marcus, standing together at some industry event.
you both were smiling, his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, and your head tilted toward his shoulder.
happy. comfortable. secure.
the sight of it seemed to physically wound michael. he stared at the frame for several seconds.
long enough that you looked away. because suddenly you felt guilty. which was ridiculous. you had nothing to feel guilty about. he was the one who let you go. he was the one who made you leave.
and yet seeing the hurt on his face still affected you.
finally he turned away from the picture. his jaw tightened briefly. then relaxed.
“he seems good to you.”
he didn’t speak with bitterness. which somehow made it worse. it was sincerity.
“he is.”
michael nodded. a slow, thoughtful nod. then after a moment he asked quietly,
“are you happy?”
the question hung between you. simple but not simple at all. because you knew what he was really asking.
are you happier without me?
did somebody else give you what i couldn’t?
did you survive losing me?
you looked down at the floor.
thinking carefully. because despite everything, you didn’t want to lie. not tonight. not anymore.
“yes.”
his eyes flickered.
you continued, “most days.”
the honesty seemed to surprise him.
“most days?”
“life isn’t perfect.” you shrugged slightly, a small smile touched your lips. “but yes, michael. i’m happy.”
your voice softened. and michael looked away toward the window. toward anything but you. you watched his throat move as he swallowed.
the answer clearly hurt. but he nodded anyway.
“that’s good.”
that somehow broke your heart a little because if the roles had been reversed, you weren’t sure you would’ve handled it so gracefully.
for a few moments silence settled over the room then michael laughed softly. the sound was humorless. more sad than amused.
“you know what’s crazy?”
you raised an eyebrow. “what?”
his eyes met yours. and suddenly he looked younger. not the superstar. not the icon. just michael. the boy you used to love. the boy you probably, maybe, absolutely, positively still loved.
“i spent so much time thinking about whether you’d forgive me…” his voice trailed off. “and i never stopped to think about what would happen if you moved on.”
your chest tightened. he looked toward the picture again. just briefly.
“i didn’t think i could be jealous.” his laugh returned. quieter this time. “turns out i was wrong.”
“michael…”
“no. let me say it.” his voice cracked slightly. “please.”
you fell silent and he exhaled slowly. like he’d been carrying these words for months. maybe he had.
“i missed you.”
your heart immediately started racing. you hated how quickly it responded. hated how easily he still affected you.
“i missed you every day. i missed talking to you. i missed hearing your laugh.”
his eyes remained fixed on the floor as he smiled faintly.
“i missed how you used to roll your eyes at me whenever i said something ridiculous.”
despite yourself, your lips twitched.
he noticed. of course he noticed. he always noticed.
“i missed the way you looked at me. and i missed the feeling of you missing me.”
“that sounds selfish.”
“it does.” a small laugh escaped him. his fingers rubbed together nervously. “but it’s true.”
his gaze finally lifted to yours.
“i got so used to knowing you loved me.”
the words hit harder than you expected.
“i got so used to knowing there was somebody out there thinking about me.” his voice softened. “somebody rooting for me. somebody who cared.”
and with that, your chest ached. because once upon a time that person had absolutely been you. without question. without hesitation.
“and then one day you were gone and i realized i’d taken all of that for granted.” his eyes glistened.
“i was stupid.”
you didn’t argue. because he was.
he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. he looked exhausted.
“i was so stupid.”
you sat motionless. watching him. listening. letting him finally say the things you’d wanted to hear a year ago.
the things that would’ve changed everything back then.
“i thought i had time.” his voice lowered. “i thought you’d always be there.”
you felt your stomach twist. because you’d heard that before. but hearing it in person somehow hurt more.
“i kept thinking i’d figure things out eventually. and by the time i realized what i was losing…” his voice cracked, “…you were gone.”
the room fell silent. you could hear your own heartbeat. hear the distant hum of traffic outside. hear michael breathing. then he looked directly at you.
and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. real tears.
“I would never make that mistake twice.”
your breath caught.
“I wouldn’t.” he shook his head immediately. firmly. like this was the one thing in life he was absolutely certain about.
“if i got another chance, i’d spend every day proving how much you matter.”
your throat tightened.
“michael—”
“i mean it.” his voice became stronger. more desperate “you have no idea how hard it was. after you left… it felt hard to breathe.”
something inside you snapped. instantly. a year’s worth of pain erupted before you could stop it. you stood so quickly the couch cushion shifted beneath you.
“hard for you to breathe, michael?”
your chest heaved. all the grief. all the loneliness. all the nights you’d spent crying into your pillow. all the unanswered questions. all the journal entries. all of it came flooding back.
“how do you think it was for me?!”
his face fell immediately.
“baby—”
“don’t.” your voice cracked. “don’t do that.”
tears burned behind your eyes.
“I don’t want to hear about how hard it was for you.”
michael looked devastated but you couldn’t stop now. not after holding it in for so long.
“you wanna talk about not being able to breathe? try loving somebody who keeps choosing somebody else.”
his eyes shut immediately. pain flashing across his face.
“try wondering every single day why you weren’t enough. your voice trembled. “try hearing somebody call another woman their real and true love while you’re sitting there loving them with everything you have.”
the tears finally escaped, sliding down your cheeks.
“do you know what that did to me?”
michael looked shattered. actually shattered, but for once you needed him to hear it. all of it.
“i spent months thinking there was something wrong with me.” your hand pressed against your chest. “months.”
your voice lowered.
“I kept wondering what she had that i didn’t.”
michael’s eyes filled instantly.
“nothing. baby, nothing. i swear to you…” his voice cracked violently. “nothing.”
you shook your head. angry now. hurt. you were so hurt by michael. you just had to ask. the one question every girl in their 20’s wonder:
“then why wasn’t i enough for you, michael?”
silence. absolute silence. because that was the question. the real question. the one buried beneath everything else.
michael stared at you. tears sliding down his face now. and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“you were.”
you laughed bitterly.
“clearly not.”
“you were.”
he stood again. slowly. carefully. like approaching a wounded animal. his eyes never left yours.
“you were enough.”
another tear slipped free.
“i just wasn’t ready.”
the confession landed like a punch. because somehow that answer hurt almost more than the alternative. not because you weren’t enough. because he knew you were. and still lost you anyway.
“i didn’t know how to love you the way you deserve to be loved. i was your michael, your lovey, your sweet boy. never in my life have i had someone love me in the same capacity as you. you know how i grew up. i was scared. scared of failing. scared of not being enough for you, my love.”
he took your hand into his.
“so please, don’t say such ridiculous things anymore. that was never the case.”
michael stood completely still. his eyes were red. his face wet with tears he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.
and for the first time since you’d known him, he looked completely stripped bare. no walls. no defenses. no carefully chosen words. just honesty.
raw and painful.
the question still lingered between you.
why wasn’t i enough?
and his answer sat heavy in the room.
you were. i just wasn’t ready.
you stared at him. really stared at him. at the guilt carved into every line of his face. at the regret. at the sadness. and suddenly, something inside you softened.
not because what happened didn’t hurt. not because it didn’t matter. it did. it always would but you were tired. tired of carrying it. tired of reliving it. tired of bleeding from wounds that had already healed.
slowly, you wiped your face.
michael watched every movement. carefully. like he was afraid you might disappear.
“michael, i forgive you.”
the words were quiet. but they hit him harder than anything else you’d said all night. his breath caught. completely. his eyes widened.
“what?”
you gave a small, sad smile.
“i forgive you.”
he stared, unable to believe it.
you shook your head gently.
“i forgave you a long time ago.”
a tear rolled down his cheek. then another. and another. he looked completely shattered.
your own eyes watered again.
“holding onto all that anger was exhausting. i didn’t want to be mad at you anymore. i still don’t.”
michael looked down. his shoulders trembling slightly. you could see him fighting for composure. failing.
“I don’t deserve that.”
his voice cracked badly.
“I know.”
a surprised laugh escaped him and you smiled. small. genuine.
“I didn’t say you deserved it.”
that earned a weak chuckle. the first real laugh either of you had shared all night. then silence settled again. comfortable this time. different and lighter.
you both stood. neither of you quite knowing what to do with yourselves. what to do with a year’s worth of grief suddenly laid bare between you.
and then he opened his arms. hesitantly. carefully.
“can i hug you?” he said, asking rather than assuming.
your heart squeezed. because once upon a time you would’ve run to him without thinking. now there was history. hurt. distance. choice.
but there was also love.
so much love.
you stepped forward. and michael wrapped his arms around you. immediately. completely. like he’d been starving.
his face buried against your shoulder. his grip tightened. and for several long seconds neither of you moved. he smelled the same. that familiar cologne. that familiar warmth.
for one brief moment it felt like no time had passed at all. then you felt him exhale shakily. the kind of breath someone takes after carrying something heavy for far too long.
“i missed you,” he whispered.
you closed your eyes.
“I know.”
another pause. another squeeze. then finally he pulled away. reluctantly. looking at you one last time. memorizing you.
again.
“goodnight, beautiful.”
“goodnight, michael.” you replied, saying his name once more for the fifty millionth time that night.
he smiled softly and left.
the next morning felt different.
not magical. not perfect. just different. for the first time in a very long time, your chest didn’t feel heavy.
you sat alone at your kitchen table with a mug of coffee growing cold between your hands while sunlight spilled through the windows.
the conversation with michael replayed over and over again in your mind.
every word. every look. every confession. every tear.
you’d spent so much time imagining what it would be like if he ever came back. what you’d say, what he’d say, how you’d react. but somehow none of your imagined scenarios compared to the reality of seeing him standing in your apartment looking completely devastated.
completely human.
for years you’d convinced yourself that michael had simply moved on. that he hadn’t cared. that losing you hadn’t affected him the way losing him affected you and last night destroyed that illusion.
but now there was another truth staring you directly in the face. you still loved him. you had tried not to. god knows you tried.
you’d done everything right. you’d healed. you’d moved forward. you’d opened your heart to someone else. you’d built a life.
but underneath all of that, there had always been michael.
quietly existing in a corner of your heart you’d never quite been able to reach. and that wasn’t fair to marcus.
the realization sat heavily with you all morning. because marcus had never done anything wrong. he’d been patient and kind and consistent. everything you’d once begged for. yet every time you imagined your future for the last three hundred and sixty five days, there was still another face you saw.
another laugh you heard. another pair of eyes you searched for in crowded rooms.
your phone rang.
marcus.
you stared at the phone. your stomach twisting. then answered.
“hey.”
his voice immediately brightened.
“there she is.”
your eyes closed. god. this sucked.
he spent several minutes talking about tour preparations. about travel schedules. about hotel bookings. about everything and nothing.
you listened quietly. eventually your throat tightened. you had to tell him.
“marcus.”
he stopped talking.
“yes?”
you stared down at the table.
“i need to tell you something.”
the silence that followed felt impossibly long. when he finally spoke again, his voice had softened.
“okay.”
you swallowed. hard.
“you’re one of the best men i’ve ever met.”
another pause. then a quiet sigh. and suddenly he knew. you could hear it. he already knew.
“hey, its okay.”
your eyes immediately filled with tears. because there was no point lying.
“i’m so sorry, marcus.”
silence. then another sigh. longer this time. sadder. you pressed your hand against your forehead.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.”
his voice was gentle. still gentle. even now.
“I tried.” you laughed weakly through tears. “i really tried.”
“i know.”
that somehow made you even sadder. because he wasn’t angry. he wasn’t yelling. he wasn’t accusing you of anything.
he was simply accepting a truth he’d probably seen long before you had.
another long silence followed. then marcus laughed softly. not because anything was funny. but because heartbreak sometimes sounded like laughter,
“I figured this would happen sooner or later. but i at least thought i had more time with you first.”
your chest tightened.
“when?”
“probably six months ago.”
you groaned. covering your face.
“marcus.”
“I’m serious.” his voice carried a sad smile.
“you cared for me in one of the darkest times in my life, and i thank you so much for that-“
“-but you love him.”
you couldn’t even deny it. because he was right.
the two of you continued to chat then you said goodbye nearly twenty minutes later. and when the call finally ended, you sat there staring at the wall. mourning what could’ve been.
mourning a good man who deserved someone capable of loving him completely.
then eventually you stood. grabbed your keys. and left.
the drive to michael’s house felt surreal.
your heart spent the entire trip trying to escape your chest. every red light felt personal. every stop sign felt unnecessary. by the time you pulled into the driveway your hands were shaking.
you almost left.
seriously.
you sat in the car for nearly five minutes staring at the front door. thinking. rethinking. overthinking.
what if you were making a mistake?
what if nothing had actually changed?
what if you got hurt again?
the questions kept coming. one after another. but then you remembered michael’s face last night. the tears and the regret.
the way his voice broke when he admitted he’d taken you for granted.
and suddenly you couldn’t sit there anymore. you got out, walked to the door, and rang the bell.
once.
twice.
then waited.
your pulse thundered in your ears. footsteps approached. the lock clicked. and the door opened.
michael appeared looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. plain white t-shirt. barefoot. his hair completely messy.
you nearly laughed.
for a second he simply blinked at you. confused. trying to process what he was seeing. because the last person he expected standing outside his front door was you.
“baby?”
the nickname slipped out automatically. instinctively. his eyes widened immediately afterward. like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to call you that anymore.
“what are you doing here?”
you stared at him. taking him in. really taking him in. the sleepy expression. the surprise. the hope already beginning to form behind his eyes.
and suddenly every doubt disappeared. all of it. gone.
you stepped forward.
grabbed the front of his shirt.
and kissed him.
michael froze. completely. for half a second. then melted. absolutely melted.
a breath escaped him. half laugh. half gasp. his hands immediately found your waist. pulling you closer.
closer.
like he’d spent an entire year dreaming about this exact moment. his forehead bumped yours briefly before he kissed you back.
soft at first. careful. almost disbelieving. like he was afraid you’d disappear.
your fingers slid into his curls and the sound that left him nearly broke your heart.
because it sounded relieved. truly relieved. the kind of relief that came after carrying pain for far too long.
eventually you pulled apart. both breathing harder. both smiling. both staring. neither quite believing this was real.
michael’s hands never left your waist.
not once.
his eyes moved across your face. memorizing every inch. the way they always had. and suddenly he laughed.
a genuine laugh.
bright. warm. happy.
the first truly happy laugh you’d heard from him in years.
“you’re really here.”
you smiled.
“I’m really here.”
his eyes immediately watered. and that smile somehow grew even bigger. more beautiful. more boyish.
more michael.
he rested his forehead against yours. closing his eyes. holding you close enough to feel your heartbeat.
for several moments neither of you spoke. neither of you needed to. because after all the years. all the mistakes.all the grief. all the longing. you’d finally found your way back to each other.
when michael finally opened his eyes again, they were shining.
filled with affection.
filled with relief.
filled with love.
his thumb brushed softly against your cheek.
you whispered with a smile so tender it nearly made his knees weak,
“oh how i’ve missed you, lovey.”
and for the first time in a very long time, you both smiled without sadness attached to it.
i believe this is the appropriate tag list, forgive me if i’m wrong!
you and michael have been in a relationship for months. suddenly, he becomes distant and cold, and there’s only one explanation: the diana ross. part two found here :)
the first time you met michael, was insane. he looked at you like he already knew you. not in a cocky way. not flirtatious, either.
it was softer than that. curious, one might say.
you were standing off to the side at a music industry party you barely even wanted to attend, holding a sweating glass of cranberry juice and vodka, wishing your friend would hurry up so you could leave. the room was packed shoulder to shoulder with celebrities, producers, photographers, assistants. expensive perfume floated through the air thick enough to choke on.
and yet somehow, when michael walked in, everything shifted. people parted for him naturally. heads turned immediately. conversations stopped and restarted in excited whispers.
but michael himself looked uncomfortable underneath it all.
his shoulders curled inward slightly as security escorted him through the room, dark curls brushing against his forehead while flashes from cameras bounced off the gold trim of his jacket.
you looked away quickly. you didn’t want to stare. but you couldn’t help yourself. every woman in the room already was.
your friend eventually returned to your side breathless.
“oh my god,” she whispered, gripping your arm. “that’s michael!”
“i know who michael jackson is.”
“girl, fix your face.” she said as she slapped your shoulder. she had pulled some big strings to get the both of you into the function.
you rolled your eyes, fighting a laugh.
“i’m tired.”
“well wake up because he keeps lookin’ over here.”
“girl, please.”
“i’m serious.”
you turned slightly then and your stomach dropped. because he was. not dramatically. not intensely.
just… watching.
the second your eyes met his, he smiled.
small.
shy.
beautiful.
you looked away first. you had to. he gave you all kids of butterflies you didn’t even know existed.
later that same night, you found yourself trapped near the balcony doors while waiting for valet. you were checking your purse when you heard a soft voice behind you.
“leaving so soon? was the party as boring for you as it was for me?”
you jumped slightly.
michael stood there alone now, hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, expression amused.
up close, he looked even prettier somehow. soft brown eyes. long lashes. that smile.
oh that smile.
you blinked.
“i’m sorry?”
“at the party,” he clarified. “you looked bored.”
you laughed before you could stop yourself. “maybe because i was.”
his grin widened.
there was something disarming about him immediately. something warm. michael didn’t talk to you like you were some beautiful mystery to conquer. he spoke carefully, gently, like he genuinely wanted to know what you thought.
you ended up talking with him near those balcony doors for almost an hour. about music, movies, random memories.
he told stories with his entire body, animated hands moving constantly while he spoke. every few minutes he’d laugh suddenly and grab your arm instinctively like he couldn’t help touching you.
and god, his laugh.
soft and bright and completely contagious.
at one point you teased him about a movie he liked, and he looked so fake offended you nearly cried laughing.
“you are mean,” he accused dramatically.
“you have terrible taste.”
“no i don’t.”
“you absolutely do.”
after that night, the two of you became inseparable.
being loved by michael felt intoxicating in the beginning. not because he was famous but because he noticed things. even the little things.
he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. he noticed when your mood shifted before you even spoke. if you mentioned liking something casually in conversation, weeks later he’d somehow surprise you with it.
he adored making you laugh most of all.
sometimes you’d catch him staring at you while you talked, smiling to himself like he couldn’t believe you were real.
those moments ruined you. because michael loved in such a tender way when he allowed himself to.
he’d call late at night just to hear your voice.
“what’re you doin’?” he’d ask softly.
“trying to sleep.” you joked.
“oh.”
“…why do you sound sad?”
“i miss you.”
simple. honest. and devastating.
sometimes he’d sneak over to your apartment wearing baseball caps and oversized jackets trying desperately not to be recognized, only to end up curled across your couch stealing all your blankets within an hour.
you remembered one rainy afternoon especially vividly.
the temptations played softly from your record player while thunder rolled outside your windows. michael lay stretched across your bed with his head in your lap while you absentmindedly played in his curls.
“you spoil me,” he mumbled sleepily.
“you’re dramatic.”
“no, i’m serious.” his eyes stayed closed. “nobody takes care of me like you.”
your fingers paused briefly. you looked down at him carefully.
“and who takes care of you, michael?”
his eyes opened and for a second, something deeply sad flashed across his face before disappearing.
“nobody,” he said quietly.
your chest ached instantly. you bent down and kissed his forehead without thinking. you wanted him to know that he deserved the world. your sweet boy.
and michael melted.
actually melted.
he grabbed your wrist gently afterward, pressing his lips against the inside of your palm while staring up at you with those soft dark eyes.
you felt yourself falling in love right there.
hard. irreversibly hard.
but even during the good moments, there was always another presence lingering quietly between you both.
diana.
sometimes it was subtle, sometimes it wasn’t. michael talked about her constantly. stories from childhood. memories. phone calls. advice she’d given him.
he lit up differently whenever her name came up. you noticed it immediately, though you tried not to. at first you told yourself you were overthinking.
everybody knew michael loved diana. the entire world knew. but loving someone and being in love with them were supposed to be different things.
right?
still, there were moments that sat wrong with you. like the time you both attended an event together and diana arrived late.
michael had been relaxed all evening beforehand, sitting close beside you with his hand resting against your knee underneath the table.
then she walked in and he changed instantly. his entire face brightened.
“diana!” he breathed.
you’d never heard your name leave his mouth sounding like that.
he stood immediately, already moving toward her before you could even process it. she hugged him tightly and he hugged her tighter.
suddenly you felt invisible.
later that night, after the event ended, michael noticed your silence in the car.
“what’s wrong?”
“nothing.”
“baby.”
you just stared out the window and blamed it on you being tired.
the second time you realized something was wrong, it was quiet. not dramatic. not explosive. just… quiet.
two weeks of quiet to be exact.
two weeks of staring at your phone every night. two weeks of hearing his voice everywhere else except where it mattered. interviews. recordings. rehearsals. television appearances.
everybody else could reach the michael jackson, except you.
and somehow that hurt worse than if he’d just told you outright that he didn’t want you anymore.
you sat cross-legged on your bed one night with your journal balanced against your thighs, tears burning behind your eyes while the television muttered softly in the background.
your pen pressed so hard into the paper it nearly tore through it.
i just get so irritated and i feel so crazy every time i think about this. like it’s just no way. you went TWO whole weeks without talking to me. okay cool. i expressed to you how i was kinda upset about it, not even kinda i WAS upset and i really missed you. then when i do reach out to you to reconcile you just act like i was the issue??? a couple days ago you said that i was annoying you and i turned you off, well THIS is annoying and turning me off. like this disappearing act is so weird. and you calling me annoying actually really hurt my feelings. is there a deeper issue here that i’m not understanding?
your breathing became shaky halfway through. because deep down, you already knew the deeper issue.
her.
always her.
you remembered the exact moment you were writing about in grave detail.
you’d been sitting in your kitchen making yourself a snack at nearly midnight when the television host smiled and mentioned diana’s recent accident that left her slightly injured. nothing too serious.
“and michael was sweet enough to come check on you personally, right?” the interviewer asked.
diana laughed softly.
“of course, he’s always had a real and true love for me.”
real and true love.
you stared at the television so long you’d abandoned your food. because michael had looked you dead in your eyes weeks prior and told you there was nothing going on.
“she’s family to me,” he’d said gently. “that’s all.”
“family.”
but family didn’t make him disappear for weeks while ignoring your messages. family didn’t make his eyes soften that way whenever her name came up. family didn’t make you feel like you were competing with a someone you could never beat.
when things were good with michael, they were embarrassingly good.
that was the problem. he loved softly. dangerously softly.
he’d kiss your forehead while humming unfinished melodies under his breath. he’d tug you into his lap absentmindedly during studio sessions. he’d laugh at your jokes so hard he’d wheeze and cover his face.
and god, his smile. his smile ruined you.
there was one night in particular you kept replaying even after the breakup.
you’d both snuck out onto the balcony of his hotel suite in new york. it was freezing outside, your fingers stiff from the cold, but michael insisted on staying.
“look,” he whispered excitedly, pointing toward the city lights.
you laughed. “baby, it’s literally traffic.”
“no,” he grinned. “it looks like stars.”
you looked over at him instead. the city reflected in his eyes. his curls falling around his face. that stupid beautiful smile. he literally invented the word whimsical. that was him.
your sweet boy.
and he caught you staring.
“what?” he asked shyly.
“nothing.”
“you’re lookin’ at me like i’m crazy.”
“maybe you are crazy.” you joked.
he gasped dramatically. “see? this is why i keep you around. you humble me.”
you laughed so hard you nearly snorted. and michael lit up. completely lit up.
he pulled you against him under his coat, chin resting on top of your head.
“you know i adore you, right?”
your chest physically hurt remembering that now. because maybe he did adore you. just not enough.
but it was the fight that ended everything happened in his living room. you arrived already exhausted. already angry. already heartbroken. nevertheless, you went to see him anyway.
michael sat curled into the corner of the couch in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, looking nervous the second he saw your face.
“hey,” he said quietly.
“hey.”
he stood slowly. “you okay?”
you almost laughed.
“am i okay?”
his shoulders tensed.
“i’ve been worried about you,” he murmured.
“worried about me?” you repeated. “michael, you disappeared.”
“I didn’t disappear—”
“you did.”
his jaw tightened immediately.
“i been busy.”
“busy enough to ignore me for two weeks?”
he sighed heavily, already irritated. and somehow that hurt more.
“why’re you makin’ this into somethin’ bigger than it is?”
your eyes widened.
“because it IS bigger than it is!”
“see?” he snapped suddenly. “this is what i mean. you keep pushin’ and pushin’ and it’s annoyin’.”
the room went silent. because there it was. annoying.
you stared at him like he’d slapped you. and the second the word registered on your face, michael regretted it.
you could see it immediately.
“baby—”
“don’t, michael.”
his voice softened instantly. “i didn’t mean it like that.”
“then how did you mean it?”
he rubbed his face hard.
“i just… i got a lot goin’ on.”
“so do i but i find the time to show up for you, michael. i find the time to show up for us!”
“i know that.”
“no,” you whispered, tears rising. “i don’t think you do.”
michael looked exhausted now. cornered.
“what do you want me to say?”
the question broke something in you. because if he loved you the way you loved him, he would’ve known.
you swallowed hard.
“i want to know why she matters more.”
his eyes flickered immediately. there it was again. that hesitation. that tiny tiny pause that told you everything.
“she doesn’t,” he said quietly.
you nodded slowly.
“okay.”
“i’m serious.”
“i said okay.”
“why won’t you believe me?”
your voice cracked. “because you’re lying to me, michael. you abandon me and go out of your way for her. you answer her every call. you never tell her no. there aren’t any boundaries.”
his face hardened defensively.
“that’s diana.”
“exactly.”
silence. thick silence.
you stared at him with tears slipping down your cheeks while he stood frozen across from you. and suddenly you felt tired. not angry. not dramatic.
just tired.
“i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered.
michael blinked.
“…what?”
“i can’t compete with a woman you’ve loved your whole life.”
his face immediately crumbled.
“baby—”
“don’t call me that right now.”
“please.”
his voice cracked so softly it nearly made you fold. he stepped toward you carefully.
“you know how much i care about you.”
“that’s the problem,” you whispered. “you care about me.”
not love. care.
you saw the exact second he realized what you meant.
his lips parted. but no words came out. because what could he say? that he loved you more?
you weren’t sure he did. and he wasn’t sure either. you grabbed your bag before you could change your mind.
michael followed you all the way to the door.
“please don’t leave mad.”
you laughed bitterly through tears.
“that’s the thing, michael. i’m not even mad anymore.”
that terrified him more than yelling would’ve.
“we can fix this.”
you looked at him one last time.
beautiful.
sad.
confused.
still somehow the boy you loved more than yourself. and that made this even worse.
“we can’t fix this, michael.” you breathed harshly. this was hurting you more than it hurt him, “i wish you the best lovey. i really do.”
his eyes watered instantly and you almost stayed.
almost.
but then you remembered the interview. real and true love.
and you walked away.
the breakup destroyed you in ways nobody noticed. because technically, nothing dramatic happened. no cheating scandal. no screaming. no public humiliation.
just grief.
private grief.
the kind that sat heavy in your chest at three in the morning.
you stopped answering friends. stopped going out. marvin gaye songs became unbearable. everything reminded you of him. his laugh. his hands. the way he’d randomly grab your wrist just to kiss your palm absentmindedly while talking.
you wrote instead.
constantly.
you do not care for me in the same way that i care for you. i’m slowly realizing that. well i did know that, i just didn’t want to acknowledge it. i won’t say i didn’t love you, but i cared for you so much and i still do. i’m so hurt & i miss you. i miss your presence. the way you made me laugh. your touch. i miss everything.
your tears smeared the ink.
i just want to scream and blow up your house phone asking why her over me. i want to cry until i can’t anymore. but i wont. i’m better than that.
you paused there.
because were you?
you slept with his sweatshirt every night for nearly a month afterward. sometimes you’d reach for the phone before stopping yourself. sometimes you swore you could still smell his cologne in your apartment.
and the worst part? a tiny cruel part of you wondered if he was hurting too.
are you acting nonchalant or did you cry a million times too?
months later, he still haunted you.
in grocery stores. on radios. on magazine covers.
you’d see a sequined glove in a storefront and your chest would tighten instantly. you hated how deeply he stayed embedded inside you.
one night, unable to sleep again, you opened your journal once more.
hi again. i miss you. a lot.
your breathing shook.
i shouldn’t but i do. i really really do.
outside, rain tapped softly against your window.
i can’t stop thinking about you. i wish i didn’t think about you. i wish i didn’t want you as bad as i do when you’re clearly over me.
you shut your eyes hard. because that was the worst part.
the idea that he’d moved on easier than you.
that maybe you were just another woman he cared for while still secretly loving diana ross forever.
that can’t be true. i refuse to believe this and that’s exactly my problem. i can’t register this in my brain.
your throat tightened painfully.
i’m simply a girl who cared for a boy. things didn’t work out and that’s okay. but i miss you. i think of you every time i hear marvin gaye. i think of you walking to class. i think of you before going to bed. i thought i would be over you by now. but i’m not. i miss you deeply.
my lovey, my michael, my superstar.
then came the worst night of all.
the night he called.
you almost didn’t answer.
almost. but the second you heard his voice, your knees weakened.
“…hey.”
silence.
you sat down slowly on the edge of your bed.
“hi, michael.”
he sounded exhausted. small. “i didn’t know if you’d pick up.”
“i almost didn’t.” you said truthfully.
a quiet breath.
“that’s fair.”
you closed your eyes. his voice still felt like home and that was the tragedy.
“why are you callin’, mike?”
there was a long silence. then quietly he said,
“i miss you.”
your chest caved in. you covered your mouth instantly. because hearing it out loud nearly destroyed every ounce of healing you’d managed.
“don’t,” you whispered shakily.
“i do, baby.”
“please don’t do this to me.” you begged.
“i think about you all the time,” michael continued, “i miss everything about you.”
you laughed bitterly through tears.
“that’s funny.”
“why’s that funny?”
“because i’ve spent months thinkin’ i meant nothing to you.”
“you never meant nothing to me.” his voice sounded horrified.
you wiped your face aggressively.
“then why did you make me feel like i had to compete for you?”
silence again.
heavy silence.
and suddenly michael sounded heartbreakingly honest.
“…because i was confused. i was obsessed with the version of diana i’d created in my head. what i didn’t realize is that i had what i was looking for in front of me the entire time.”
you inhaled sharply.
“that’s not fair.”
“i know.”
“you don’t get to love me halfway because you can’t figure yourself out.”
“I know.” his voice cracked. “I know, baby.”
the tears began to flow even harder. baby. you’d missed that. so so much.
you could hear it. the regret.
real regret all in his voice.
“did you love her?” you whispered.
he took forever to answer.
“…yes.”
your heart shattered all over again.
but then—
“but i loved you too.”
too.
not more.
but too.
and somehow that tiny word told you everything you’d feared from the beginning.
you squeezed your eyes shut.
“that’s the problem, michael.”
he started crying quietly on the other end. actual crying. soft sniffles he was trying to hide.
and god, that hurt too. because part of you wanted to comfort him anyway.
even now. especially now.
“i never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered.
“but you did, mike.”
“I know.”
you pressed the phone against your forehead.
“michael, i’m trying to do this. trying to sit here on the phone with you. trying to be there for you,” you admitted quietly. “i really am, lovey.”
he stayed silent.
“but i can’t.”
his breathing hitched.
“because i don’t want friendship from you.” you cried softly into the receiver. “i wanted you. all of you.”
the silence afterward was devastating. because both of you knew love existed there.
synopsis: you convince poor mikey that giving your best friend blow jobs is normal..
micheal jackson x manipulative!reader
18+ mdni
══════════════════════
°❀⋆ you and michael have been best friends for years. you're the only person he fully trusts in the world. that long history is exactly why you’ve been able to get away with so much. it started innocently — long hugs, holding hands, you sitting on his lap because “it’s more comfortable,” and kissing his cheek while calling him “such a cutie.” michael ate up every single word. why would you ever do something bad to him? you were his safe person.
°❀⋆ michael is painfully shy and completely untouched. he’s never properly kissed anyone, never been intimate in any way. over time, as your touches grew more intimate, you slowly convinced him that “best friends helping each other with their bodies” is completely normal — especially for someone as stressed as him. he believes every gentle lie because it’s you saying it.
°❀⋆ the first time you wrap your hand around his cock, he’s shaking like a leaf. “a-are you sure this is what friends do…?” he whispers, face burning bright red. you stroke him so gently and whisper, “of course it is, mikey. i’d never lie to you. doesn’t it feel better when i touch you?” he nods shyly, hiding his face by looking down. he cums in under two minutes, apologizing the whole time. “o-oh my… it got on your hand… it’s so dirty… i-i’m s-sorry…” you just smile, bring your fingers to your mouth, and slowly lick his release off while looking at him. “that’s okay, mikey. see? all clean.” you show him your now spotless hand and praise him softly for being so good.
°❀⋆ after that night, he starts getting hard the second you lock the studio door. you tease him softly, “look your body already knows this is normal. best friends take care of each other like this.” michael whimpers and nods, too embarrassed to argue, letting you pull him out of his pants again and again.
°❀⋆ you love edging him for long periods. especially when he’s shaking, glassy eyes peering up at you desperately. “shh, it’s okay if it hurts a little. that just means i’m doing it right. i care about you, which is why i have to make sure you feel everything.” he cries and begs so prettily, repeating whatever you tell him like doctrine: “y-yes… even though it hurts… you’re just helping me…”
°❀⋆ after you finally let him cum, he gets extremely clingy and guilty. he buries his face in your neck, breathing hard, mumbling, “i shouldn’t have let you… but it felt so good… is that bad?” you stroke his curls and whisper that it’s perfectly normal, that he needs this, that only you understand him, and only you can make him feel this good.
°❀⋆ he becomes addicted without realizing it. after long studio sessions he’ll come to you shyly, eyes on the floor, fiddling with his fingers, too embarrassed to make eye contact. “i… i feel really stressed again. can we… do the friend thing?” you always smile sweetly and say yes, because best friends never say no to each other.
°❀⋆ he starts calling it “our special friend time” in his head. he genuinely believes this is a normal, caring thing best friends do. still guilt eats at him constantly, but the pleasure and your hands win.
°❀⋆ one night after a long edging session, you slide off the couch, kneel between his legs, and wrap your lips around his throbbing cock. michael’s eyes go wide. “w-wait… you don’t have to— this is too much…” he gasps, but his hips twitch forward anyway. he cums embarrassingly fast, moaning your name while apologizing the entire time.
°❀⋆ right after he finishes in your mouth, the guilt hits him harder. he feels like there’s a huge power imbalance, like he’s taking advantage of you. he pulls you up gently, face burning. “i… i feel so bad. you’re always making me feel good, but i haven’t done anything for you. how can i make you feel better? please tell me… i don’t want to be selfish.” you cup his cheek and smile sweetly: “mikey, this is how you make me feel good by letting me take care of you. if i care about you, why would i keep score?”
°❀⋆ from that point on, his mind is completely corrupted. every time he sees your plump, glossy lips while you’re talking, his cock twitches. you’ll catch him staring and ask, “mikey… are you okay?” he’ll snap out of it, completely dazed. he feels disgusted with himself afterward. she was just trying to help me… and here i am being filthy.
°❀⋆ when you bend over in the studio to point at lyrics, your heart-shaped ass perfectly outlined, michael has to look away fast. his mind floods with filthy thoughts. he prays that night, begging god to take the lust away. but the second he sees you smiling at him again, all his prayers disappear.
°❀⋆ innocent things now trigger him— your hands writing notes, adjusting headphones, your thighs in those short skirts when you cross your legs. he feels horrible for lusting after his “helpful” best friend, but he still gets painfully hard every single time.
°❀⋆ at night when you stayed over, which is very often ever since you started ‘helping’ him, you heard everything from the guest room: the quiet shuffling of sheets, his soft desperate whimpers, and the way his breathing quickens as he tries to touch himself quietly while thinking about you. you smile in the dark, knowing.. you weren't dumb.
°❀⋆ when he finally confesses his “dirty thoughts” with teary eyes, you pull him into a hug and whisper, “it’s okay, mikey, those are natural feelings.. that just means your body needs more help from me. let me take care of it again.” he melts instantly, nodding shyly and letting you pull him out of his pants once more.
°❀⋆ despite everything that happens behind closed doors, you two maintain a completely normal friendship on the surface. in public, during studio sessions, or when hanging out casually, nothing seems different. you laugh together, talk about music, and act like the close best friends everyone knows you are. after every private “friend time,” michael always pulls you into a tight hug, buries his face in your shoulder for a moment, and whispers sincerely, “thank you… you’re my favorite person in the world.”
﹒ ୨୧◞ 。summary .ᐟ michael can’t help it, you’re just so pretty.
﹒ ୨୧◞ 。byi .ᐟ religious guilt, religious themes, female reader, michael is a virgin, reader is a playmate, light smut/extremely suggestive, told from michael’s point of view in third person.
Saturday mornings always smelled the same.
Freshly pressed cotton. Leather dress shoes polished the night before. The faint scent of aftershave lingering beneath the California humidity as Michael adjusted the knot of his tie for what had to be the tenth time that morning.
His Bible rested comfortably beneath one arm, thumb tucked between the pages he’d already marked with slips of paper. Michael rehearsed the opening scripture in the car, quietly mouthing the words to himself while his brother nodded along to the route. It was familiar by now. Knock. Smile. Introduce yourself. Accept whatever answer came, even if the door closed before you finished your sentence.
Most Saturdays ended exactly that way.
He stepped onto the porch, smoothed the front of his jacket out of habit and rang the bell.
Nothing, followed by a second knock.
Oh, footsteps.
Michael straightened out a bit upon hearing them pad closer and closer then the lock clicked, then he door eased open.
His thoughts stopped.
A young woman stood in the doorway, blinking against the morning light as if she’d only just been dragged from sleep. Her hair spilled loosely around her shoulders in soft, tangled waves, one side flattened where she’d been lying on it. He briefly wondered if she had a bonnet—ones like his sisters use. Theirs always came off during sleep too. The nightie she wore is a whisper of fabric ivory silk so thin it clings to the curve of her hips like spun sugar. Delicate lace edges the bodice, tiny pearl buttons strung along the front. It rides up when she shifts, revealing more thigh than it should.
An angel, he thinks.
She rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand before finally focusing on the two sharply dressed strangers standing on her porch. “..Can I help you?”
Michael forgot the verse.
Beside him, Jermaine smiled warmly saving his brother the embarrassment. “Good morning. We’re visiting the neighborhood today to share an encouraging message from the Scriptures.”
Michael heard every word without processing any of them because his eyes snapped upward—the porch ceiling. Interesting ceiling. White paint. Tiny crack near the corner. A very nice ceiling if he’s ever seen one.
He folded his hands tighter around the Bible, suddenly finding it fascinating too.
Don’t stare.
Don’t even look.
You’re here for Jehovah.
His pulse thudded annoyingly in his ears.
“..Are you okay?” She asked with slightly furrowed brows.
He looked down just enough to meet her face before immediately remembering that had been a mistake too.
“I—I'm fine,” He answered far too quickly, his voice climbing an octave against his will. He cleared his throat. “We’re just.. sharing a message.”
She tilted her head and the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. It wasn’t mocking but if anything, she looked entertained. Then something clicked! Her eyes brightened with recognition, and a smile slowly spread across her face.
“Oh..” She said softly, almost cooing the word as though she’d solved a little puzzle. She tipped her head towards him, studying him another second before lifting a finger in his direction.
“You’re that singing boy.” The teasing warmth in her voice made it sound less like she was identifying a celebrity and more like she’d caught him doing something endearing.
Michael’s stomach dropped, lips parted but nothing came out.
She let out the quietest laugh. “I’ve seen you at Studio 54. I like to go dancing there when I’m not at home working.”
The heat climbed up his neck so quickly he was sure it had reached his ears. “I..” He swallowed. “Y-Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled a little wider, amused by how spectacularly embarrassed he’d become. “Well,” She said, leaning lightly against the doorframe, “It’s nice to finally meet you, cutie.”
Michael managed the smallest nod, turning his attention back to the porch boards beneath his shoes.
He’d been recognized before. Thousands of times, even. But somehow hearing that singing boy in a voice so gentle and playfully affectionate unsettled him far more than hearing his own name ever had. It made him feel strangely ordinary. And for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain right now, he didn’t mind that at all.
She glanced between the two of them before opening the door wider. “You can come in if you’d like. It’s hotter out there than in here.”
The older brother accepted without hesitation. “Thank you.”
Michael stayed exactly where he was. One foot remained planted on the welcome mat while the other refused to cooperate.
Inside? He hadn’t mentally prepared for inside.
Three painfully long seconds passed before he realized both of them were looking at him. “You coming, Mikey?” Jermaine asked with a knowing look in his eyes.
“Oh.” He blinked. “Yes, of course.”
He stepped over the threshold with all the confidence of a man entering a courtroom instead of someone’s living room and she giggled, closing the door gently behind them. The house was cozy—clearly decorated with the labor of love to her tastes. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains, dust floating lazily through golden beams stretching across hardwood floors. A radio somewhere in the kitchen played quietly enough that he couldn’t make out the song.
She’d disappeared into the kitchen only a moment before, leaving him sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, Bible balanced neatly across his knees. The room smelled of her favorite Yankee candles and fresh laundry and somewhere nearby a clock ticked lazily against the wall, filling the silence while his brother admired the framed photographs lining the mantel.
“She’s a pretty little thing, huh, Mikey?” Jermaine smiled, he rarely did these visits but he was happy as hell he decided to bite the bullet today. What are the odds they knock on the door of a hottie?
“Orange juice?” She called from the kitchen before Michael had a chance to respond—not like he was going to say anything interesting anyway.
Jermaine answered. “That would be lovely.”
Michael should’ve been reviewing the scripture they’d planned to read. Instead, he found himself listening for her footsteps.
The soft shuffle of bare feet crossed the carpet before she came back into view, one hand steadying a small tray with three glasses of orange juice. The morning light spilled through the front windows, catching the thin white silk of her nightie as she walked. It wasn’t.. incredibly revealing. If anything, it was almost modest in its simplicity, loose enough that it concealed more than it suggested.
Still..
He looked.
Only for a second.
His eyes traced the easy sway of the fabric around her upper thighs as she crossed the room, the gentle curve of her shoulders where one of the straps had slipped just enough to expose the smooth line of her collarbone and shoulder. She moved with absently with ease, someone entirely comfortable in her own home and completely unaware she was being observed.
Or perhaps she was aware.
The thought struck him like cold water and is gaze snapped away.
Jehovah...
Heat rushed into his face so quickly it made his ears burn. He lowered his eyes to the worn leather cover of his Bible, thumb pressing against its edge until the pages bent slightly beneath the pressure.
I’m here to preach.
Not to wonder what perfume lingered so faintly in the room.
The guilt arrived with startling speed. She’d welcomed strangers into her home. Offered them something to drink. She’d been nothing but gracious. The fault in his mind belonged entirely to him. His father had taught him discipline. His mother had taught him devotion. The congregation had taught him that the heart could wander long before the body ever did.
He swallowed.
Get yourself together.
He lifted his eyes again, intending only to thank her properly.
Instead, he caught her just as she knelt to place the final glass on the table. Her neckline dipped and gave him a straight shot of her bare breasts—so round and soft looking, and she looked up with an easy smile that suggested she hadn’t noticed at all.
“There you go,” She said brightly. ”I hope orange juice is really alright. I haven’t gone grocery shopping yet.”
Michael blinked, realizing she’d asked him a question. “It’s perfect,” He answered, his voice quieter than he’d intended.
She smiled again, pleased, before settling into the armchair opposite the couch. Only then did Michael finally allow himself a slow breath. He folded his hands together over his Bible, willing his pulse to settle.
This was supposed to be the easiest part of the morning.
Read the scripture.
Share the message.
Thank her for her hospitality.
So why, he wondered with no small amount of frustration, did speaking about God suddenly seem far less difficult than looking her in the eye?
A few minutes later they were seated in the living room, glasses cooling their hands while conversation settled into something surprisingly natural.
She wasn’t dismissive or trying to argue. She actually listened. She asked thoughtful questions about faith, about why they spent their weekends going door to door, about whether rejection ever discouraged them. Michael found himself answering more and more often, the stiffness slowly draining from his shoulders.
She laughed easily.
Somewhere in the middle of explaining a scripture, he realized he’d stopped thinking about her clothing entirely.
Now he noticed the way her eyes stayed focused while he spoke. The way she twirled strands of hair whenever she was thinking. The quick little smile she’d give before asking another question that caught him completely off guard.
The conversation had wandered further than Michael expected it to. What had begun with a familiar introduction and a carefully rehearsed scripture had somehow become snacks, orange juice, and an easy discussion about faith. She listened with her chin resting lightly against her hand, asking questions that weren’t meant to trap them or prove them wrong. They were thoughtful. Curious. Honest.
He found himself relaxing.
His shoulders no longer felt drawn so tightly together, and when she laughed at one of his nervous stumbles, it wasn’t unkind. If anything, it seemed to put him more at ease.
She glanced down at the tract resting on the coffee table, tracing its edge absently with one finger.
“So, can I ask you boys something?”
Jermaine smiled. “Of course, miss.”
She hesitated long enough to suggest she was deciding whether the question was worth asking at all. Then she looked between the two of them, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I'll be honest..” She began. “Does your God accept women like me?”
Silence.
Michael’s brow knit together slightly.
Women.. like her?
Beside him, his brother looked equally puzzled. “I’m sorry?”
She let out a soft laugh, immediately realizing she’d been far too vague. “No, that’s—” She shook her head, smiling at herself. “That’s probably not a fair question.”
She leaned back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Is He a forgiving man?”
The room seemed quieter after that. The teasing note she had in her voice hadn’t disappeared entirely, but something underneath it had changed. It wasn’t really a joke anymore.
Michael studied her without meaning to. She wasn’t looking at either of them now. Her gaze had settled on the condensation sliding down the side of her orange juice glass, thumb slowly wiping away the moisture before it reached the table.
There was something oddly vulnerable about the way she’d asked. She didn’t seem.. ashamed but rather uncertain.
Jermaine answered first. “Jehovah is merciful,” He said gently. “No one is beyond His forgiveness if they’re sincere in seeking Him.”
She nodded slowly. “I always liked that idea.”
Michael’s eyes lingered on her face and she smiled as she spoke, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time.
Women like me.
The words circled quietly in his mind because he couldn’t make sense of them.
She seemed kind.
Hospitable.
She’d welcomed strangers into her home, listened respectfully for nearly an hour, and asked questions with genuine interest. Nothing about her suggested someone who believed she was undeserving of forgiveness. He almost asked what she’d meant. The question rose to the back of his throat before his courage abandoned him. Instead, he remained quiet, fingers absentmindedly smoothing the edge of a Bible page.
The conversation drifted elsewhere—scripture, hope, the promise of a better future. But Michael found himself returning to those three words again and again.
Women like me.
He didn’t know why they’d stayed with him. Only that they had. Long after they thanked her for her hospitality and stepped back into the morning sun, he was still wondering what she had been trying to tell them without actually saying it.
Eventually Jermaine glanced at his watch. “We should let you get on with your morning.”
She stood with them. “It was nice talking to you both.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Michael managed, and this time his voice sounded almost normal.
They thanked her for the refreshments and made their way back outside. The summer air wrapped around him again as they walked down the porch steps.
One house down.
“Excuse me?” Michael turned and she was still standing in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame. “I hope I see you again.”
For a second, the street disappeared and there was only her. Only that pretty smile and the strange warmth blooming somewhere beneath his ribs. He smiled before he could stop himself.
“I..” His words caught. “..I hope so too.”
Then he followed Jermaine down the sidewalk to find his mother and La Toya, Bible tucked beneath his arm exactly where it had been that morning.
Only now, for reasons he wasn’t entirely prepared to examine, he found himself wondering how long it usually took before someone qualified for a return visit.
A few days later became surprisingly difficult to justify.
There was, technically, every reason to return. She’d listened attentively, asked sincere questions, and accepted the literature without brushing them off. People like her often received return visits! Michael reminded himself of that so often.. yet every time he thought about knocking on her door again, he had the uncomfortable suspicion that he wasn’t.. being entirely honest with himself. He told himself it was because she’d been receptive to the message.
He tried very hard not to admit that it was because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She lingered in his mind so much it was starting to make him insane.
By Tuesday, he caught himself wondering what she might be doing while he folded laundry. By Wednesday, the memory of her laugh surfaced in the middle of family worship, earning him an immediate stab of guilt and a silent apology to Jehovah. By Thursday, he’d started praying about it in earnest. He asked for discipline, for clarity, for the strength to keep his thoughts where they belonged because he was starting to have these dreams that left him with wet pants. His thoughts always drifted back to her and it was humiliating he was so enamored over a girl he didn’t even know. He remembered the sleepy smile she’d greeted them with, the gentle teasing in her voice when she’d called him “that singing boy.”
And, more than anything, the uncertainty behind her question. Does your God accept women like me? He couldn’t understand why those words had rooted themselves so deeply inside him, still. He met people every week. Some were kind. Some were curious. None of them followed him home like this.
By Saturday morning, he finally had an excuse that sounded respectable enough to say out loud. She’d wanted to learn more (she hadn’t, she was just being polite). They hadn’t finished discussing God’s forgiveness. There was another tract he thought she’d appreciate, one that expanded on exactly the questions she’d asked. When he suggested he stop by her house again, his brother agreed without hesitation, remarking that she had seemed genuinely interested. Michael nodded a fraction too quickly, the explanation feeling only half true as soon as he repeated it.
She had been interested.
But that wasn’t why his pulse quickened the closer he came to her street. That wasn’t why he’d smoothed his tie three separate times before they reached her porch. Somewhere between convincing himself this was simply another return visit and catching sight of her beautiful white house at the end of the block, he was forced to confront a truth he would rather have ignored. He wasn’t just hoping she’d answer the door because she might want to hear another scripture. He was hoping because he wanted to see her. And that realization settled in his chest with enough guilt to make him whisper one last silent prayer before he knocked.
The knock came sooner than she’d expected.
She'd been halfway through fastening the clasp of one satin glove when it echoed through the apartment, drawing a small sigh from her as she checked the clock. Whoever it was had terrible timing.
“One second!”
The heels clicked sharply across the hardwood as she crossed the room. She reached the door, smoothed an invisible crease from the front of her outfit, and pulled it open.
Michael forgot why he’d come.
She stood framed in the doorway in the unmistakable uniform of a Playboy Bunny. The fitted black bodice hugged her silhouette, white cuffs circled her wrists, and a crisp collar sat neatly at her throat beneath a perfectly tied black bow tie. Smooth legs disappeared into sheer stockings before ending in impossibly high black heels that lifted her just enough to meet him eye to eye, perhaps even an inch taller.
Her hair had been swept up into a glamorous, voluminous updo that framed her face, every strand carefully pinned into place. Soft makeup caught the afternoon light, her lashes dark, her cheeks dusted with color, her lips gloss making her lips plumped and shiny. She looked as though she’d stepped straight out of a magazine.
Michael simply stared completely caught off guard. She noticed immediately, recognition spread across her face as a warm smile followed.
“Well,” She said, amused, “If it isn’t that singing boy.”
His mouth opened.
Nothing.
She leaned lightly against the doorframe, one brow lifting with endearment. “What brings you back, handsome?”
Michael blinked himself back into the moment, fumbling for the tract tucked beneath his arm as though it might remind him of the speech he’d rehearsed all morning.
“I.. We.. I was..” He cleared his throat. “You’d asked about.. forgiveness.” His voice sounded much smaller than he’d intended. ”I thought... maybe you’d like this.”
He held the pamphlet out with both hands.
She looked at it, then back at him, her smile softening. “That was kind of you.” She accepted it carefully, glancing down at the cover before meeting his eyes again.
“So,” She asked with an easy smile, “How can I help you today?”
The question should have been simple. And Michael had spent the better part of three days preparing for it.
Yet standing there on her doorstep, with the afternoon sun catching the edge of her pinned up hair and the extra inch her heels afforded her somehow making him feel even younger than he already was, every rehearsed sentence turned into nervous silence.
He swallowed. “I.. I just wanted to come back.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
She looked at him for a long moment, her smile never wavering. “Oh, yeah?”
Michael lowered his eyes. “I brought the literature you asked about.”
“Mhm.”
“And.. I thought maybe we could continue our conversation..”
“Is that all?” There was something in her voice that made him feel wonderfully transparent.
She took a small step closer, close enough that he caught the faint scent of her perfume beneath the smell of something sweet and hairspray. His pulse stumbled.
“Michael, have you been thinking about me?” She asked gently.
He searched for an answer that wasn’t a lie. “I..”
A soft laugh escaped her. “I thought so.”
Before he could retreat into another apology, she lifted one gloved hand. Her fingertips were impossibly light as they settled beneath his chin, tilting his face upward just enough that he had no choice but to meet her eyes.
He froze, every muscle in his body seemed to forget its purpose.
“You really are cute, you know.” She cooed, smiling as though she’d finally coaxed a shy puppy from hiding. “You’ve spent this whole visit looking everywhere but at me..”
His breath caught—her touch was so gentle it barely qualified as one at all, yet it sent a startling warmth through him. She studied his face for a moment, taking in the heat creeping across his cheeks, the nervous swallow, the way his fingers had tightened almost painfully around the tract in his hands.
Then with a tenderness, she asked, “Do you like me?”
Michael's heart lurched.
The question wasn’t to tease, she genuinely sounded curious.
He stared at her, completely undone. “Well—Um..” His voice failed him. He tried again, barely above a whisper. “I..”
She smiled knowingly. “You don’t have to answer.«.Her thumb brushed the edge of his jaw in one small, reassuring stroke before she let her hand fall away.
“I think you’re a very sweet boy, Michael.” Hearing his name in her voice nearly finished him. He looked down at the porch, unable to hide the smile threatening at the corners of his mouth despite the panic blooming in his chest.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a dozen scriptures reminded him to guard his heart. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to explain what to do when it had already wandered.
Her smile softened, she’d decided something about him she wasn’t going to explain out loud.
“I have a favor to ask you,” she said gently.
Michael blinked. “A favor?” He sounded wary, brows furrowed a tiny bit.
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached out and took his hand—his breath caught. Her gloved fingers folded around his and she guided him back inside before he had time to remember how to object.
The house felt different deeper in.
Less like a living room where strangers had once been offered orange juice, and more like something carefully curated and intensely personal. She led him down a short hallway and into a bedroom that looked like it had been pulled straight from a magazine spread. A vanity table dominated one wall, crowded with brushes, perfume bottles, ribbons, and little glass trays that caught the light in soft, fractured reflections. The color palette was unapologetically feminine. Creams, blush pinks, soft gold accents. Everything looked like hers.
Michael slowed without realizing it. “This is.. your room?”
She glanced back at him over her shoulder and smiled. “Mhm.” She let go of his hand just long enough to step in front of the vanity. For a moment she studied herself in the mirror, adjusting a strand of hair that had shifted slightly out of place. Then she turned back to him.
“I need help with something.” She said.
His grip tightened slightly on the tract still in his hand. “What kind of help?”
Instead of answering directly, she reached behind her and picked up a puffy white object from the edge of the vanity. A cotton tail accessory, soft and round, resting in her palm like it belonged there.
Michael stared at it, confused.
“I can’t get it to sit right,” She admitted, a faint amused exhale in her voice. “And I figured you looked like you’d be good with your hands.”
That was not the answer he expected.
He hesitated. “I.. I don’t know if I—”
“It’s not complicated,” she said lightly, already closing the distance again. She turned slightly, lifting her hair so the back of her outfit was visible in the mirror. The gesture was almost indifferent, like she was asking him to fix a button or adjust a tag. “Just pin it on properly,” she added. “Before I stick myself again.”
Michael stood very still. This felt like one of those moments where any decision would be the wrong one, and yet not deciding was somehow worse.
Slowly and carefully, he nodded. “..Okay.”
She smiled at him in the mirror, pleased, and waited.
The pressure is unbearable—a thick, heavy weight trapped in his dress pants that he can’t shift without being obvious. Every tiny movement makes the fabric tighten just enough to remind him how painfully hard he is, and every second she stands there innocently letting him fix her tail only makes it worse. His hips want to rock forward, just an inch. Just a stupid, involuntary grind against the back of her ass—but his entire body locks up in resistance. The guilt crashes over him like ice water: Jehovah, help me.
He finishes pinning with soft movements, hands shaking slightly. When done he doesn’t step back immediately—he freezes there behind her for half a breath too long before forcing himself away on shaky legs.
“Done,” He croaks out. “It looks pretty.”
She turns and before Michael can even process what’s happening, her lips brush the corner of his mouth in a feather light kiss leaving a kiss mark there. It’s chaste. Playful. Maddeningly brief.
Then she leans in closer, her breath warm against his ear as she whispers something low and private—a murmur that sends electric heat straight down his spine. He catches fragments: “Thank you” … “You’re sweet” … maybe a laugh threaded through it? Whatever it is makes him nod like an eager dog, pupils blown wide despite himself.
His traitorous body reacts instantly—dick twitching harder at just those words alone.
He should pull away now because her hands are starting to unbuckle his belt. This isn’t appropriate for either of them anymore. But he stands there stupidly obedient, hoping she’ll do all the things he’s dreamed about since he met her.
pretty girls who get so close riding you that they freeze up completely. hips going still. face crumpling. "i'm gonna cum i don't want to cum yet i'm not done—"
hands finding their hips. starting to move them slowly.
"keep going."
"i can't— i'm too close i'm gonna—"
"i know." moving their hips faster. not slower. "keep going anyway."
a devastated sound. hips moving despite themselves now, chasing and fighting it at the same time. "please— please i'm right there please—"
reaching down between us. thumb finding their clit.
the whimper they let out at the contact.
"no— no no no please that's too much please i'm gonna cum please—"
not stopping. working slow circles while their hips keep moving. feeling them get impossibly closer. feeling them try to still themselves and moving them again.
"you're not done." i remind them. "keep riding."
"i can't i can't i can't—" crying tears now. hips moving frantically despite every protest. body completely overriding everything their mouth is saying. “please let me cum please i’ve been so good please—”
"not yet." thumb still moving. steady. "you said you weren't done. so finish what you started."
a sob. hips working desperately. thighs shaking with the effort of taking all of it while i keep rubbing slow deliberate circles and refuse to give them what they're begging for.
"please—" barely a word anymore. "please please i can't hold it please—"
watching them fall apart trying to hold on. watching them lose every single battle with their own body while i stay completely unbothered underneath them.
ns but everybody who kept pushing Michael to do This Is It played a part in what happened… cause no fucking way y’all expected a 50 year old man who was barely sleeping , was skinny and frail , and hadn’t toured like that in years to suddenly do 50 shows
At first it wasn’t even supposed to be 50 dates… more kept getting added because of demand . That’s ALOT for any one his age , let alone someone whose health was clearly struggling .
People around him should’ve been looking out for his well being instead of just thinking about the money and the concerts . Obviously nobody can put ALL the blame on one person or one thing because the situation was way more complicated than that
☙✰ in which bf!michael gets shy after seeing your body for the first time
ఌ FEATURING: pre otw!michael x fem!reader
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI — suggestive content, established relationship, amused!reader, innocent!michael, small tiny mention of nipple play (literally just one line lol)
WORD COUNT: 1.0k
ఌ NOTES: omg this request was delicious. i would’ve made it longer but i got a bit lazy lol
michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi
he was not meant to be home, he wasn’t meant to be home for a couple hours actually.
so of course, after you finished taking a shower, you go into his room with just the towel wrapped around your body like you always do when he’s not home.
you start to get moisturised, oiling every inch of your skin.
it was only when you started pulling on your clothes that michael strolls in on the phone with absolutely no care in the world.
“…yeah i mean that would just be stupid wouldn’t it.” he says, taking off his jacket, still not realising that you’re sat on his bed wearing a thong and no bra. in fact your bra is in your hand and you were just about to put it on before he walked in.
“no marlon that’s not…” michael’s words trail off when he turns around and sees you wide eyed on the edge of his bed. his eyes trail down slowly to your bare breasts, his eyes widening just like yours.
your face warms up in embarrassment, your arms coming up instinctively to cover your boobs.
you shouldn’t be embarrassed since he is your boyfriend, but you two have only been together for about two months and you haven’t even been intimate yet.
he’s never seen you naked before. not even a bikini.
so this is the first ever time, he’s seen you half naked and it happened to be accidentally because you were too damn reckless to get ready in the bathroom.
“hey, mike. you still there?” michael hears marlon say in his ear, but the only thing he could focus on is the sight of your perfect, full boobs that were just in his face right now.
“mike?” marlon says again when michael still doesn’t reply.
he’s frozen. one hand with his phone to his ear, unmoving. and the other hand holding his discarded jacket. but the funny part is the way his mouth is agape, staring at your covered chest like he can still see the smooth plump skin, and your hardened nipples through your palms.
you’d probably be laughing right now if you wasn’t as caught off guard as he is.
“i—” you clear your throat, swallowing hard. “..i thought you was meant to be at the studio today.”
he doesn’t reply. not to you and definitely not to marlon who is so close to hanging up on him.
since he’s still somewhat frozen, you shrug because it’s not that serious. he is your boyfriend and he is going to see your body at some point, it just happened to be today.
it just seems more intense, because he still hasn’t stopped staring at you.
you stand up, his eyes trailing down from your chest, to your barely covered mound, his mouth opening even wider.
you tut, your embarrassment fizzling away to amusement. “honey, my eyes are up here.”
his eyes snap to yours. the first sign of movement he’s made since he caught you in here practically naked.
michael clears his throat, turning his back so you can’t see the uncomfortable tent in his pants. “marlon, imma have to call you back.”
“but we were just—” michael hangs up, not interested in anything else marlon has to say. he keeps his back turned, squeezing his eyes shut. but once he closes his eyes, he can’t stop thinking about your boobs. how they’d fit perfectly in his hands. how he wants to squeeze on them, kiss them, suck on them, play with them like they’re his own special toy.
while michael still has his back turned and it’s like he’s having his own personal battle with himself, you continue getting ready, until you’re fully dressed.
michael nearly jumps out of his skin when you tap his shoulder.
he turns around, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when he sees that you’re fully dressed. he doesn’t know what he would’ve done if you were still there, barely clothed.
he’s a gentleman. he shouldn’t be having all these nasty thoughts. even if they are about his girlfriend.
“you okay?” you ask, a smirk forming on your lips.
michael nods. “yeah um…” his eyes instinctively look down to your now covered chest, he closes his eyes, heat starting to rise to his cheeks. “…quincy wasn’t- he… i didn’t— i mean i wasn’t… i—”
you nod, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing. he is so downright adorable that it just makes you want to squeeze his cheeks.
he’s nervous, all because he saw your boobs.
“mikey, it’s okay.” you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck.
“hm?” he hums, not exactly trusting his mouth to form coherent words.
“you saw my boobs, it’s no big deal.” you shrug, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
hearing you say the words out of your own mouth, makes him duck his head shyly. his hand coming up to grasp onto your hip.
you laugh, your hand coming up to stroke the back of his hair. “you’re so damn shy it’s adorable.”
“no it’s not just that,” he says raising his head. his eyes, filled with nothing but love and admiration. “you’re just so pretty, can’t believe you’re all mine.” his other hand snakes down to where your ass is, giving it a small squeeze.
“…and also because i wasn’t prepared to see that when i walked in.” his eyes pointing down to your chest, making you laugh.
“it’s not my fault, i thought you wasn’t home!” you whine.
he bites his lip, his hands starting to rub up and down your waist, his hands slipping under your top. “i mean i wouldn’t mind that kind of view every time i come home from now on.”
you gasp, “what happened to the shy michael from a couple moments ago?”
he shrugs, his hands crawling up until they reach your bra covered chest. he boldly pulls down the cup, one of his hands engulfing your whole breast. “hmm they feel good too.” he mumbles, his eyes fixed onto his hand that’s under your shirt.
you let out a small moan, when he pinches your nipple using his fingers.
“take off your shirt.” michael says, biting his lip so hard that you won’t be surprised if he drew blood. “i think imma need a proper look.”
OKkk after reading your jaafar fics, I had an idea (in case you need one for future writing) buttttt its jaafar waking up in the morning and seeing the readers tits have slipped out of her tank top while she’s sleeping, so he wakes her up by licking all up on them 😛🥵 leads to sleepy morning sex where jaafar does all the work because his girl is too sleepy and precious and he is a giver at heart hehe ❤️
i hope this is what you wanted (or close to it😭)
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jaafar loved waking up before you.
he would never admit it out loud, but those quiet moments before you opened your eyes were some of his favourites. the bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow of early morning filtering through the curtains. with the world outside still barely awake, he could simply lie beside you and admire you without having to endure the teasing he'd inevitebly get for it.
today was no different… well, maybe a little.
the strap of your tank top had slipped down your shoulder, the fabric twisted just enough that the curve of one breast peeked above the neckline. his gaze lingered for a moment before lightly biting his bottom lip.
he debated fixing your top and just letting you sleep.
but that thought didn't last very long.
instead, he leaned down slowly, letting his curls brush against your skin as he pressed delicate kisses along your collarbone. he took his time, trailing lower until his mouth hovered just above the exposed swell of your breast.
you definitely didn’t expect to wake up like this.
in fact, your brain hadn't even fully caught up to the conscious world yet.
your eyes fluttered open into a dazed squint, your hand automatically lifting to the back of his head, your fingers tangling into his curls.
feeling you stir, jaafar moved up to crook of your neck and pressed a lingering kiss.
"g’morning, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
you let out a breathy laugh as your fingers scratched against his hair. "'mornin', j."
he smiled as he drifted right back down to your breast, his eyes still on yours. his lips found your nipples, taking the peak into his mouth to suck gently, his tongue swirling in sluggish circles. a shiver ran through you as he nipped softly at your mound, his teeth dragging just enough to leave faint hickeys in his wake.
you let out a soft moan.
jaafar let out a low hum of satisfaction. he shifted closer, moving with a doting patience as he slid around to press his front against your back. guided by his touch, you lifted your top leg and tucked yourself back against his chest.
he reached down, pulling his boxers out of the way before his hand slid between your thighs, nudging your panties to the side. he pressed himself against your core, rubbing the head of his length against you a few times. with a slow push, he guided himself completely inside you.
you let out a gasp, burying the back of your head against his shoulder as he settled in a slow rhythm. you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his size.
"feels s' good," he breathed against your skin, his hips tilting to drive a little deeper. "you take it so well, baby.
the angle was perfect, allowing him to sink deep and rub against all the right spots with every lazy thrust. you bit your bottom lip, trying to ground yourself as a string of moans caught in your throat, but jaafar wasn't having it.
he leaned over your shoulder, his lips pressing hungry kisses along the side of your neck.
"lemme hear you," he rumbled.
as if to coax the sound out of you, his free hand crept down your front. his fingers tangled back into the hem of your top, pushing it up further so he could cup your breasts, his fingers rubbing and pinching lightly at your already aching nipples. the dual sensation had you whining, your head rolling back against his chest as he kept up that relentless pace.
"so beautiful," he whispered. "gimme more of those pretty noises."
his hand dropped lower. his fingers slid down the flat of your stomach, dipping past your panties until they found your clit. he began to rub you so perfectly, his touch matching the deep strokes of his hips.
you whimpered as your hand slipped down to wrap around his wrist.
with the rubbing of his fingers and the stretch of him inside you, it didn't take long at all.
your walls clamped down, your pussy spasming tightly around his length as a cry of his name broke past your lips.
jaafar’s rhythm faltered as he drove into you one last time, bottoming out completely as his own climax hit. he came inside you in pulses as a low groan tore from his throat right against your ear. his eyes shut tight, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his body shuddered against yours.
for a moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of your breathing.
he peppered sweet kisses along your shoulder as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer against him.
"i love you so much," he whispered. "so perfect for me."
you smiled through the lingering haze of your release, turning your head back to find his face.
"i love you too."
jaafar smiled as he leaned in, catching your lips in a soft kiss.
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i promise i’ll write longer fics once im done w/ my test !!!
How did you end up here?—back to the headboard, Michael was between your legs, placing gentle kisses up your thighs. “Let me taste you sweets, pretty please?” He looked up at you with those big eyes, like a puppy in heat—you gave him an uncertain nod.
“Oh, baby…” he whispered, voice laced with concern. He pulled your panties to the side, revealing your glistening pussy. “God, you’re soaked.” you covered your face with your hands. Michael was your best friend, how could he see you like this? “Mikey—don’t look it’s embarrassing..” you whined.
In truth, you really wanted him to touch you. Those countless nights you spent with your hand between your legs—imagining his fingers all over you, gripping your breasts. Practically soiling your panties every time you came over to his place, he was oblivious to it..you thought.
It started with little things like how you’d notice his hands when he was in the studio, writing things down—or the way he thrusted his hips while showing you his new choreography. The sight making your thighs squeeze together involuntarily. You felt like a complete whore—guilt crawling up your spine.
Michael had always been a touchy guy. The type of touch that felt casual, not suggestive in any way. You were on the couch watching one of your shared favorite movies—your legs draped over his lap, his hands resting neatly on your lower thigh. He was immersed in the movie—letting out a breathy laugh every once in a while.
You on the other hand—you were an absolute wreck. Glancing over to his hands on your bare legs every 10 seconds, he scooted his slender fingers slightly higher up your thigh which made you choke on your popcorn. He turned to look at you, “You alright, girl?” Before his focus shifted back to the now uninteresting film. “I’m okay, sorry.” You quickly blurted out
His hand was so close to your inner thigh—you mentally noted. You slightly bit your lip as thoughts started to creep in, a familiar feeling forming at your core. You slowly squeezed your thighs shut to help relieve the ache, michael noticed the shift. He grabbed the tv remote and shut the movie off, “What happ—“ you looked over.
Michael was now facing you. “What the matter? You’ve been acting strange the whole movie, tell me what’s bothering you mama.” You shifted off his lap. “It’s nothing mikey—I promise.” He reached over and placed your hand in his, rubbing gentle circles into your palm. “You can tell me anything, y’know that, girl?” His hands. Your clit throbbed at the contact, god you were so pathetic.
You wanted to just scream it out—tell him that you want him to touch you. That you’ve been fighting off thoughts about him for months. Too worried it would ruin the friendship, so lost in your head when he shifted up onto his feet, extending his hand—“come with me, I have an idea.” you looked up at him, unbeknownst.
He guided you through the living room—to the long case of stairs. It’s not like you hadn’t been up there before, why were you so nervous now? Slowly, he guided you upstairs, his hand still attached to yours—he gave you a look before reaching the top, one you were unable to read.
Fast forward. He had you on his bed, back to the headboard, while he played between your thighs. “Mama, why didn’t you tell me I was makin you feel this way?” He sounded genuinely concerned. He slid one finger gently through your wet folds, earning a whimper from you—when he pulled back your hips bucked up, chasing the friction. “God, look how sensitive you are—you must be so pent up, baby.” This is what best friends do…right?
Hello I discover your acc recently and I really love your writing 😭 can you do (if ony you're open for ask) about d*ck rubbing p*ssy kinda thing and dry humping??? I've never seen someone write about it. Please ignore this if you're uncomfortable of my request. 🙏
18+ ONLY 🍑 👇
You're deep in a serious makeout session, lips locked, arms wrapped around each other, hips pressed tight together, humping each other with mounting urgency. His bulge grinds into your pussy through your clothes and the friction between you hurts just enough to make his cock swell and your cunt ache, leaking. Harder, you moan and beg without knowing what you’re saying. He can feel the lips of your cunt through your clothes, the shape molded into the fabric. He presses against you harder, desperate, driving you crazy.
The two of you strip without thinking until you’re naked from the waist down. No no no, he can’t put it in. You know he can’t, but can't he just rub it against you, just a little, please? He can't resist. He’s nearly salivating as he lays the hot length of himself against the wet lips of your rubbed-raw pussy. His cock feels like it’s getting sucked between your lips, sinking into the valley between them. He moans and thrusts his hips without thinking, sliding his cock through your slickness, and the softness of your insides brushes him back and forth. It’s not enough, god it’s not enough but he can’t stop thrusting, he feels himself catch on your hole but he can’t let himself sink into you, no matter how badly he wants to.
You’re squirming beneath him, moaning and thrusting your naked pussy against his cock, chasing the jolt of feeling whenever the heavy head rubs against your clit. You're getting close just from this, he knows it, he sets a frantic pace that has you whining, grinding against your pussy until you're finally cumming, spine arched against him and voice breaking. He can feel your pussy clenching and unclenching against his cock, uselessly milking nothing. He wants to feel that around his cock so bad, thinking about it makes him cum, he gasps and starts spilling himself all over your stomach. There’s so much cum it starts dripping down your sides, and god he wishes he could have pumped all that inside you.
