𝓶𝓲𝓪

˖ ⊹ 𝐁 𝐄 ︎︎ 𝐀 ︎︎︎𝐌 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐘 🗡️ ︎ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ་༘

[sscrumertt]

𝓨𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝓕𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝓖𝗶𝗿𝗹𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 ━━ 20, she / her, argentinian, slytherin ๋࣭ ⭑

🍒 ⨾ ⠀peaky blinders, michael jackson, american horror story, the vampire diaries, harry potter, jjk, and more.

𝓛𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀 ⨾ ⠀lana del rey, the love witch, coffee, reading, and maybe writing.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝓘’𝗺 𝓨𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝓘𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝓜𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵?

[angelcrescent]

𝑜𝑡𝑤!𝑚𝑖𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑒𝑙 ♥︎ .𖥔 ݁ babymakin’

(𝟏𝟖+) ──── notes: childhoodbsf!popstar!reader ╱ see 𝒂𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐. heavy breeding kink ⋆ description of sex across multiple days around ovulation ⋆ so much cum ⋆ michael loves to watch his release leak out of you! and he’ll eat it too…

𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟏, 𝓵𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝓼𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈…

To say that you planned to 'try' for a baby seemed like poor wording for a couple who never needed to deliberately attempt to trigger conception. That risk followed you around almost every time you had sex, and miraculously, you'd so far succeeded in never accidentally getting pregnant. There was that one scare though, which you preferred to pretend didn't happen, because it had led to a very embarrassing ordeal with Katherine Jackson.

So with how often you recklessly had unprotected sex, you most definitely didn't need to plan to make your baby. A few nights of mindless insemination would do the trick, but Michael wanted the night you conceived your child to be very special. Or the multiple nights, rather, because you obviously couldn't be certain which night would be the night.

And so, for the entire week around the time of ovulation that month, Michael treated every night with the same grace and thoughtful purpose. He had finally moved out of Hayvenhurst two months ago when you married, so now you had a huge house all to yourselves. He dimmed the lights, lit up the bed with candles, then made sweet love to you in the most heart-achingly slow way, always having one hand interlaced with yours, and the other cradling your jaw. For that whole week, every single night was spent in the same routine, with your husband rocking into you aside warm candlelight and the mingled scent of flowers and sex. Each of those nights you went at it for hours at a time, between missionary, prone bone, mating press, cow girl and reverse...

But Michael refused to do anything with you that he deemed as on the 'dirtier' side while you were babymaking, because he felt those methods of sexuality didn't align with the evening's intention. He wouldn't give you backshots, nor would he let you give him oral, or do anything on your knees. He wouldn't talk dirty—he'd speak only praise, although that's what he did most of the time anyway. And in cowgirl, he hardly even let you bounce—instead planting his feet on the bed and pounding you from underneath, running his hands all up and down your body.

Michael was masculine in a very specific way. To describe him as a soft dom would be putting it too simply, for he was much more complex with the way he loved on a lady in bed. Since he lost his virginity to you in '78, he grew to believe that making love to his goddess was the single most precious thing in life, that he should give her absolutely everything, put her pleasure above all else, and treasure her until the end of the earth. He was inherently soft-natured and gentle, what one may deem submissive in that sense, but such would be an incorrect statement to make regarding Michael Jackson, because while Michael could definitely lean into submission if he wanted to (often he did so in his post-sex haze), his dominance lay in the mode of admiration he displayed during your sexual encounters. He almost always took the lead, and was so naturally talented with his hips. You never had a single night of dissatisfaction.

Throughout those ovulatory evenings, missionary was your go-to, because it felt the most intimate. Chests pressed against each other, your limbs locked around his torso, and Michael's thrusts were beautifully slow and deep; almost too slow at times, because he was treating your fertile body like a sacred object. He always did, except now he'd taken that sacred care to a whole other level, where you were in the arms of a man who adored you so much that he felt he had to pay close attention to every single aching inch of your walls with each stroke. While you made your very first baby, the most important thing to Michael was that he deeply took in and appreciated your inner angelic ambience. Since he was a boy he'd dreamed of the day he would start making his own family, free of Joseph's constraints, and he never believed it would be with the girl he then went on to spend years 'platonically' cuddling and playfighting with. Now he was here, at the grown age of twenty-two, nestled deep inside that same girl, whispering in her ear everything he loved about her. Tender love and care—that's all you deserved. Michael would happily spend a lifetime in a never-ending process of continual conception, because nothing had ever been more intimate.

The first night you began trying, it had honestly felt like you'd lost your virginity all over again. You giggled like shy teenagers as he first pushed in, smooching all over your face while you tugged at his hair playfully.

"Mikey, I can't believe we're really doin' this..." you sighed in half-nervous, half-excited anticipation.

"I know, I feel like 'm in heaven, baby..." Michael moaned, stroking your face as he bottomed out. You gasped and squeezed his hand that he'd already met with yours.

"But remember," he added, "if you change your mind at any point, 'n decide y' not ready, that's perfectly okay. Just tell me."

You nodded, kissing his nose. "No, I really think I'm ready. Wow," you took a deep breath, "this is really happening."

"It is really happenin', angel." As he said the words aloud, Michael had smiled so wide it made your heart ache.

Sometimes in that week you had to actually plead with him to go faster, because while you were perfectly satisfied with the slow strokes, you didn't always need him to be so gentle with you. And of course you were ovulating—which was the whole point—so you had primal urges that needed to be satiated.

"No, honey, I wanna keep takin' it slow... Need to really feel ya..." Michael hummed into your neck as he sucked there, rolling his hips with precision, tip nudging your sweet spot perfectly each time.

"Sweetheart, we've been at this for two hours already," you laughed. "You've made me cum three times. I think we can say you've treated me with more than enough care tonight—now I just really need you to go faster. Please, baby."

Michael giggled, now pressing wet kisses over your breasts, around your areolas. "Okay, fine."

Every time he came inside you, he'd instruct you to lie on your back for ten minutes, then he'd lay with you and cuddle while his warm seed still explored your walls. He'd suck on your breasts, play with your hair, sing whimsically under his breath, talk to you about the most random topics on his mind—doing enough for the duration of what he believed was enough time passed for his cum to really reach enough depth. You told him that all of that was probably mythological—that there was more likely no ritual that actually aided fertilisation. Luck was all you needed, and the sheer number of times Michael had spilled himself into you that week had to have been enough without the alleged pregnancy hacks in between that he insisted on adhering to. But of course he continued to insist.

"Darlin', if y' lay on your back it gives the sperm an uninterrupted path upward. We don't want any slippin' out."

"Whatever, baby," you'd chuckle, heart racing at how obsessed he was with filling you up now that there were no negative consequences. You'd never seen him act so wild before, and he was unironically treating this process as a full time job. Never had he given such focus toward anything outside of the recording studio.

Whenever you laid on your back after a round, obliging with his orders, he'd rest forward on his elbows and examine your soaked pussy like a damn gynecologist. He'd rub his thumb just slightly over your entrance, noticing the way you hissed at the feeling, but without his usual primary intention of making you feel good—rather, he was just genuinely intrigued, and insanely captivated by his breeding endeavours. For those ten minutes you laid there, he'd rest on your thighs, breathing in the scent of your post-sex core, the mixed flavour of his release and yours. You'd stroke through his curls, always ending up smacking his head lightly whenever he lost sight of what he was doing and accidentally started playing with your overly-sensitive clit.

"Nuh-uh," you scolded, with a playful whack to his head. "Wait."

He'd always roll his eyes in frustration, but do as he was told. "Mama, y' not gonna make me lie here without lettin' me touch."

"Michael, you've been touchin' me nonstop. Take a break, honey. Matter of fact, give my pussy a break."

A heart-warmingly genuine laugh came from his throat.

"And," you continued, so amused, "you're telling me I made you lie here when it's you who told me that I have to?"

Michael ignored that, pressing a kiss to your thigh before sitting up on his knees and crawling up to the top of the bed to be beside you.

Once the remaining minutes were over, he eagerly dipped back down to his favourite place, instructing you to lift your hips so that his pearly, sticky release would drip out. It slowly formed a damp stain on the pillow he'd put beneath you, and he watched in awe as the liquid flowed like a filthy river from your sex.

Using two fingers, he dragged the salty filth up and down your slit, circling around your hole before drenching your sensitive flesh. Despite how vocal he always was, he mostly did this part wordlessly, too focused to say anything; and each time, you watched in complete disbelief at how he never grew tired of enacting this same activity. To Michael, smearing his thick cum all over the part of your body that would give his baby life was the most lewdly precious activity, and in the moments where you weren't way too sensitive, he'd lean in after his examination, licking up the sloppy mixture.

"Just wonderful, honey..." his soft voice would murmur against your swollen bud.

On one night that week, you were both attending an award show, and following the ceremony you skipped the afterparty altogether—to your friends' confusion—because despite how incredibly sexually active you'd already been that week, you both couldn't wait to rush home and make love some more. The outside world was secondary to the inner sanctuary you shared, and especially in the most important week of all. You'd initially suggested to Michael that you could both attend the afterparty but have sex in a bathroom or another locked room—or that you could stay out for a while and then later go home to have sex—but your husband didn't enjoy the prospect of either idea. Yes, it was night four, where you'd already spent hours per night in the bed that despite its luxury was so close to breaking, and yes, he'd hoisted you up against the shower wall that morning and gave it to you twice, but in Michael's eyes, those sessions were no reason to disrupt what he had planned.

During your fertile period, he had firmly decided that the evening into late night was for lovemaking, no matter what outdoor activities were on offer. And you couldn't complain that he was so specific about that self-determined rule. What better excuse to have sex with your man all night long for a week straight than for the purpose of conceiving your first child?

And Michael was so excited to meet his unborn child. Outside of the hours he spent buried inside you, he couldn't stop talking about your future baby—and by extension, the babies plural, that would later follow. You would laugh at him when he'd go too far into the future, reminding him to stay in the present and not get too ahead of himself, but when he said yet again that he wished for eighteen children—almost double the number his parents had produced—you obviously weren't on board in the slightest.

"Michael," you chuckled, laid in the crook of his bare neck as you drew circles just above his nipple. "You better shut the hell up about this eighteen kids thing. 'm serious, don't talk about that shit with me." You were serious, but you continued to laugh because he was just so ridiculous, never looking at life situations logically.

"Honey, 'm sorry, I just want so many." He smiled bashfully, pulling your naked body closer into him.

"Oh, I can see that." You raised your brows in amusement.

"We've got a huge house—I just wanna fill it w' so many beautiful children."

"And that would be amazing, baby, except I don't think my vagina would be very happy."

Suddenly Michael froze at the realisation of his accidental bordering on typical male coercion, although you knew that's not at all what he meant. He just hadn't thought it through properly, lost in the heartwarming image of two football teams' worth of kids running around with him.

"Oh—yeah, that's um, really bad of me, 'm sorry, sweetheart. I wasn't thinkin' of it that way."

"Mikey," you laughed, "I don't think my pussy has been out of your mind for five days straight—and now you're tellin' me you forgot about that part of childbirth altogether?"

He chuckled shyly, shaking his head, then shuffled a little downward to face you properly. You squeezed his cheek and ruffled his hair.

But there was another thing your newly-wed husband couldn't stop obsessing over—and that was the prospect of what you'd grow to look like while pregnant. How your curves would swell, how you'd look fuller in all the places he already cherished most. And the thought of your breasts working through hormonal shifts to create milk for his baby... he felt as though he might go insane at the first sight of that image. He hoped you wouldn't think he was strange for wanting a taste.

And oh, you couldn't have been even slightly prepared for how insatiable he'd be. If you thought your husband was addicted to you now, just wait until you were heavily pregnant, all sexy and swollen with his child...

this is my #1 fave thing to daydream about… i’m having a ball writing out all my thoughts for this blog hehehe. <3

──── tag list: @slickdickwitchbitchh @xyahx @nuhveah @darkgreengrl @savagenctzen @filmedlovee ╱ comment to be added!

[king-mila]

♡ — part-time lover

@ HIStory era!michael x female reader

summary: you and michael have been seeing each other "casually" for years between your busy schedules. a little more than friends with benefits, but not fully in a relationship. now you're both in relationships you really don't want to be in, so you make some decisions. themes: emotional affair, infidelity,cheating, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), rough sex, creampie, praise kink, dom!michael, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, possessiveness, voyueristic implications, jealousy author's note: reposted from my wattpad & ao3. i love stevie wonder and this song, so this is what my brain came up with hahahahaa, and it's honestly one of my most favorite imagines that i've written.

1995 neverland ranch

Soft morning light spilled through the ranch, soft pinks danced with orange as the sun announced the start of a new day. Warmth pooled between your thighs before you could fully register it. It felt like a dream, maybe you were still dreaming. The last remnants of sleep were still clinging to you when you felt your hips being shifted. The warm feeling intensified, pulling you more from the sleep that was still clinging to you.

A soft sigh escapes from between your lips when the familiar feeling of warm lips against your skin brushes against you. Your eyes softly flutter as his lips move inward, still pressed against your thighs, moving closer to your center of warmth, and you shift again, but he holds you in place, gently pushing your thighs further apart.

He smirks, seeing your glistening folds, knowing that even half-asleep, your body still reacts to him. Michael dips his head between your thighs, his lips coming into contact with your clit, making the last remnants of sleep completely fall away as your eyes flutter open. You blink to adjust your gaze, being met with the top of dark curls nestled between your thighs.

Michael's tongue pressed flat against your folds, a soft moan coming from his mouth as he licks up your slickness. Your hips instinctively buck, and then his eyes meet yours through his lashes as his lips are still connected to your clit. You see the smirk dancing in his eyes as he drinks you in like a man parched.

"Michael," your moan comes out soft, still laced with sleep as he moves. Michael gently lifts from you, spitting at your entrance before rubbing it around your folds, making your body shudder.

"Morning, mama," Michael mumbles, pressing another kiss to your thigh as his fingers continue to move against you. You feel a finger slip inside of you, curling and pressing against you as his lips reattach to your clit, kissing you with fervour, making your thighs tremble around his head.

A second finger slips inside of you as his tongue grazes across your folds, his fingers pumping quickly, moving with more speed every time he hears you whimper. He sucks on your sensitive clit, pulling your orgasm closer. Your back slightly arches off the bed as your eyes close again, Michael's name falling louder from your lips.

Wet sounds of Michael's lips moving against you fill the room, your cry following shortly as your orgasm crashes through you like a wave. Michael moans as he feels the warmth of your release coating his fingers as he brings you through it. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to steady your breathing. Michael slips his fingers out of you, covered in your release, and he trails his soaked fingers up your bare body, spreading your release over your skin.

His tongue follows his fingers, licking up what he's spreading against you. He reaches back down, his fingers finding your hole, spreading more of your cum against your folds and your clit, making you shudder. He dips his fingers in before bringing them up to your lips.

"Open, mama," Michael softly commands. Your lips part, and he slips his fingers inside. Your tongue swirls around them, tasting yourself on him, and your eyes flutter closed again as you moan against his fingers. Michael bites down on his lip as he watches you. He loves seeing you like this, flushed underneath him, and all his.

Michael groans when he feels your tongue swirling around his fingers, the sound warm and low in the back of his throat as he watches you with darkened eyes. His chest rises a little deeper, curls falling over his forehead while he slowly pulls his fingers from your mouth, clearly reluctant despite the teasing smile tugging at his lips. The loss immediately makes you pout, still hazy from sleep and the way he had just woken you up, your entire body warm beneath the weight of his attention.

"Don't be greedy," he says as he laughs.

The sound is soft, breathy, still rough around the edges from intimacy and sleep, and before you can answer, he leans down and kisses you. You immediately grab his shoulders, pulling him against you until his body is pressed completely flush to yours. Michael lets out a quiet sound into your mouth at the force of it, one of his hands instinctively sliding against your waist as though he can never help himself when it comes to you. Even after all these years, touching you still seems automatic for him. Necessary.

When you pull away, your lips lingering dangerously close to his, you run your fingers back through his curls and bite down softly on your lip while looking at him.

God. He's always so beautiful, and mornings with him were always so dangerous.

Not because of the secrecy anymore, you and Michael had perfected secrecy years ago, but because moments like this always made it far too easy to pretend this was real in a way neither of you was supposed to want. The soft morning light spilling across his bare skin, the lazy smile on his face, the way he looked at you like he still hadn't fully come down from touching you.

Like you were his favorite thing to wake up to, because you are.

"Morning, Michael," you say.

His expression softens instantly at the sound of your voice. There's something almost boyish about the smile that spreads across his face, stripped entirely of the performer the rest of the world knew. He sits up and pulls you with him effortlessly, keeping you tucked close against him as though he has no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

You lean over toward the nightstand, reaching for your pager, and your eyes immediately widen when you see the missed call from your manager, Amelia.

Reality crashes back in too quickly. You sigh quietly before reaching over and grabbing Michael's phone off the receiver, dialing Amelia's number from memory.

She answers after two rings.

"I swear if you're calling me from his house," Amelia says, and you cough out a laugh.

Michael looks at you immediately, brows lifting with quiet curiosity, and you shake your head at him while giving him a wink. His lips twitch as he fights a smile, one of his hands absentmindedly rubbing slow circles against your thigh while he listens.

"What's so wrong with that?" You ask.

"Maybe the fact that it's morning, and if you're caught sneaking out of there, you're in violation of your contract!" Amelia says, and you roll your eyes while taking a deep breath.

Of course, she brings up the contract immediately.

You had been hoping, foolishly, that for at least five minutes longer, you could stay wrapped up in this version of your life instead of the manufactured one waiting for you outside those doors. But Amelia was good at her job, and part of that job was keeping your career from imploding because of your relationship with Michael.

"Amelia... I've been under this contract for almost a year, and have I been caught once?" you ask, and she sighs, knowing the answer is no, because you're always very careful.

Careful had become second nature to you and Michael a long time ago.

Private entrances. Hidden elevators. Drivers paid well enough not to talk. Assistants who knew better than to ask questions. Phone calls at strange hours from hotel rooms across different continents. Entire years of loving each other in fragments and shadows, while the rest of the world remained oblivious.

"He's still married," Amelia says, and you laugh.

"Not happily," you say, and Amelia shakes her head, but you also know her well enough to know she's fighting the urge to smile.

Across from you, Michael drops his head slightly with a quiet laugh of his own, though something is fleeting in his expression afterward. Something heavier. Because no matter how much the two of you joked about it, the truth still sat there between you constantly.

He's married to someone else.

"I hope you two know what you're doing... you two have always been your most reckless with each other," Amelia says, and you pretend to be offended.

"I'll be home soon, Lia, and then I'll call you, okay?" you say, and she lets out another deep breath.

"Okay, because you have interviews lined up today for the movie, so it's time to fall. back into your contractual obligations," she teases, and you laugh. Michael visibly grimaces at the phrase, making you fight another smile.

"Yeah, I know... see you soon," you say as you reach back over and hang up the phone.

The room falls quiet again afterward, though it feels different now. The outside world had forced its way back in. You can feel it settling around both of you, replacing the softness from moments ago with the familiar reality that the two of you always eventually had to return to.

"Is everything alright?" Michael asks, and you nod.

"Yes, but I have to go. The press tour continues on," you say, and Michael frowns.

You hated that look on him.

Not the jealousy, though there was always a quiet undercurrent of that whenever your fake relationship was involved, but the disappointment he tried not to show. The tiny shift in his expression whenever reality reminded him he couldn't keep you here openly, couldn't walk out the front door with you, couldn't ask you to stay without consequences attached to it.

You had a big movie coming out this year that everyone was looking forward to, Before Sunrise, with you and Ethan Hawke as the romantic leads, and to further promote the movie, you and Ethan have been in a contracted PR relationship for the last 10 months.

The terms of the agreement were simple: the two of you would pretend to be a couple in public, your teams would set up your 'dates' to be seen, and during the press tour, which was now, you're to make everyone believe that you're together, using the story of, spending hours on set together, creating this romantic story and sharing so many intimate moments, how could the two of you not fall in love along the way?

Both of your teams first started leaking staged pictures of you two looking cozy when you were still filming to get the tabloids and press speculating and talking about the movie. It all worked, everyone was looking forward to this new movie, especially since you and Ethan are in it, both of you already renowned actors in your own right.

The contract had been carefully crafted down to the smallest detail. The public relationship needed to feel believable enough to sell the romance onscreen, and unfortunately, audiences loved the fantasy of two co-stars falling in love while making a movie together. Every staged dinner, every paparazzi photo, every flirtatious interview answer only fed the obsession more.

And it wasn't hard, you and Ethan were genuinely friends, and you joked all the time about how ridiculous it was to have to pretend to be in love with each other instead of just letting your natural friendship speak for itself onscreen.

The other rule in the contract was that if you two were going to see other people on your own time, you had to be discreet and not get caught publicly. The contract was set to end, and the two of you would 'break up' six months after the movie comes out, which would make the press believe that you two dated for exactly 18 months.

That meant you had to keep your relationship with Michael discreet. Well, that and the fact that he's married to Lisa Marie Presley.

It wasn't a marriage that he wanted to get into, but his team had convinced him that it would be good for his image. The King of Pop marrying the King of Rock n' Roll's daughter was the kind of headline publicists dreamed about. America loved symbolism, loved spectacle, loved turning celebrities into dynasties. On paper, it was perfect.

But Michael had never regarded Elvis as the King of Rock n' Roll the way the media did, and beneath all the carefully crafted headlines and public fascination, there was very little sincerity attached to the marriage itself.

He went along with it because it seemed easier than fighting everyone around him.

Lisa was pretty enough, and they had good conversations sometimes, but he didn't love her. Worse than that, the version of her the public adored felt very different from the woman he experienced privately. There was a sharpness to her that cameras never caught, a meanness hidden beneath charm and beauty that exhausted him more than he cared to admit.

None of it felt natural, none of it felt like you.

You and Michael had always existed in a strange gray area throughout the years, somewhere between lovers and soulmates, between casual and devastatingly serious: discreet, hidden, and undefined. That was why Amelia had said the two of you were reckless when it came to each other, because despite all the caution and secrecy, you always found your way back together, no matter what your lives looked like publicly.

You met him the night of the 1984 Grammys.

You had arrived that night as someone else's date, dressed in diamonds and silk with your career just beginning to explode beneath your feet. Meanwhile, Michael had walked into the ceremony carrying the weight of Thriller on his shoulders, already becoming something larger than human in the eyes of the world.

And somehow, by the end of the night, you ended up leaving with him.

Neither of you ever officially dated after that. There was never a grand conversation defining what this was supposed to become because there never seemed to be time for it. Michael's fame skyrocketed after Thriller, especially after the history he made that night at the Grammys, and your own career became equally consuming as studios fought over you for films. You were everywhere. Constantly filming. Constantly traveling. Constantly becoming more famous.

So the two of you settled into something else instead. Something hidden.

You saw each other whenever your schedules aligned, and most of those reunions ended the same way: tangled together between expensive hotel sheets somewhere in whatever city or country you had managed to secretly meet in. Paris. New York. Tokyo. London. Entire years of your relationship could be mapped through hotel suites and private dinners.

But the physical intimacy was never the thing that kept pulling you back to him. It was the emotional intimacy that became dangerous.

The late-night phone calls that stretched until sunrise. The conversations about music, movies, loneliness, childhoods, and dreams. The way Michael always called you when he couldn't sleep. The way he trusted you with the softer parts of himself, the rest of the world never got to touch. The comfortable rhythm the two of you developed over the years became so natural that sometimes it frightened you. It was effortless in a way nothing else in your life ever was.

Michael had once joked about the two of you being part-time lovers because your schedules only allowed you pieces of each other instead of the whole thing, and in a way, he wasn't wrong.

You belonged to each other in fragments: stolen weekends, late-night phone calls, secret dinners and dates, Michael spoiling you with having gifts sent to whichever set you're on, and quick kisses in the backs of cars before separate exits.

Never fully together, never publicly.

When he told you about Lisa, he had done it almost immediately. You still remembered the silence that settled over you while he explained it over the phone, his voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

But what you remembered most was him saying he didn't want to stop seeing you. He didn't want to lose what the two of you had.

At first, you hadn't known what to do with that information. Continuing the emotional side of things was one thing, but continuing the physical intimacy while he was preparing to marry another woman felt different. Dangerous in a way your relationship somehow never had before.

But Michael had been insistent. He didn't love her.

The marriage was for optics. For his image. For his team. For the rumors that followed him constantly, that he was weird, that he was incapable of love, that he was gay, that he wasn't a real man in the way the public expected him to be.

And somehow, despite every reason you should've walked away from him, you didn't. You couldn't. So, the two of you continued exactly as you always had. Even after he spoke vows to another woman, he still came back to you.

You both just became even more careful.

Always arriving separately. Always use back entrances and private elevators. Never lingering publicly. Never giving anyone a reason to question what existed between you. Years of precision and secrecy wrapped around something that felt far too emotionally intimate to still be considered casual.

"Ethan better keep his hands to himself," Michael says, and you laugh as you look at him.

The jealousy in his voice is light, teasing on the surface, but you know him well enough to hear the sincerity underneath it, too. Michael had never liked hearing about your fake relationship, even when he fully understood why it existed.

"And when will your wife be back?" You ask, and Michael rolls his eyes.

"She's on vacation with her ex-husband, I don't care when she'll be back," Michael says as he shrugs, and you laugh while shaking your head. Michael had told you about that situation already, sounding more annoyed than hurt by it. Their marriage often felt less like a relationship and more like two people performing one.

"Well, I will call you when my day is done. I can make us dinner?" you say.

Michael smiles instantly before leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, deeper. His hand slides against your jaw as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he's trying to memorize the feeling before you leave again. You melt into him immediately, your fingers curling against his chest while his lips move softly against yours.

It always felt too easy to love him; that was the problem.

Even though the two of you never officially defined what existed between you, you knew exactly how you felt about him. Somewhere along the years, somewhere between the hotel rooms and phone calls and secret reunions, you had fallen completely in love with him.

And the worst part was knowing that part-time no longer felt like enough. You wanted mornings with him that you didn't have to rush and sneak away from. You wanted dinners that didn't require secrecy. You wanted to stop arriving and leaving separately.

But your lives had never aligned properly for something real. Every time it almost felt possible, fame, schedules, contracts, or public scrutiny got in the way.

Michael feels the same way.

He misses you constantly whenever you're apart, more than he ever admits aloud. He loves hearing your voice late at night when exhaustion makes you softer with him, loves the way your breathing changes when you're fighting sleep during your phone calls before eventually drifting off anyway while he stays on the line listening.

He's in love with you, completely, utterly, and hopelessly.

And somewhere deep down, he knows he would rather be married to you than the woman he's currently publicly tied to. But timing had never been kind to either of you.

Michael pulls away slowly before tucking some of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin. "You're gonna have a long day today... I'll make us dinner. Just let me know when you're done, and I can send a car," Michael says.

You bite down on your lip as you look at him, your chest tightening painfully at the domestic softness of the offer. Like this is normal. Like this is something the two of you are allowed to have.

You lean in and kiss him again, pulling back far too soon.

"I miss you, already," he says, and you laugh.

"Are you going soft on me?" You ask, and Michael smirks as he looks at you.

"Mama, I'm never soft with you," he says, and the slow smirk that spreads across his face makes warmth immediately crawl up your neck.

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you catch the double meaning immediately. Michael only grins wider at your reaction, completely pleased with himself for getting you flustered.

His smirk is all smug satisfaction and teasing confidence, like he knows exactly what he's capable of doing to you. His eyes drag over you lazily, unashamed, still darkened from everything that had happened between you this morning, and suddenly you can practically still feel his mouth on you all over again.

You lean back in for one quick kiss before finally forcing yourself to get out of bed and throw your clothes back on. You can feel Michael watching you the entire time from the bed, his expression softer than he usually allows himself to be.

"See you later, Michael," you say, and he smiles, looking at you from where he remains sprawled against the sheets.

"Have a good day, baby."

────୨ৎ────

After a long day of interviews and pretending to be madly in love with your co-star, you're finally back at Neverland Ranch. You see, Michael, waiting for you at the door in soft clothes and bare feet, curls falling around his face, smelling faintly like cologne and the dinner he'd been cooking for you.

Home. 

His warmth immediately wraps around you as you walk inside. The house smells rich and comforting, filled with the aroma of garlic, butter, herbs, and something savory simmering on the stove, and you inhale deeply because you suddenly realize just how hungry you are.

Not just physically, but emotionally too. Days like this always left you drained in a way sleep never really fixed. Too many cameras in your face, too many forced smiles, too many interviewers analyzing every glance and laugh between you and Ethan like they were dissecting a real love story instead of a manufactured one.

He greets you with a kiss before you can even properly say hello, and the moment his hands settle against you, tension immediately begins melting out of your body, and you can't help the quiet sigh that leaves you as you melt into him. Michael kisses you slowly and deliberately, like he's aware you've spent your entire day performing affection for cameras and wants to remind you what real affection feels like.

What his affection feels like.

Michael pulls away first, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead before letting you go. The gesture is so instinctively affectionate that your chest tightens around it. There's something almost painfully intimate about the way he loves you in private, in all these tiny unconscious moments nobody else ever gets to witness.

You slip your heels off by the door with relief before following him into the kitchen, your stockinged feet padding softly against the floor. Michael hands you a glass of wine without another word, already knowing exactly what kind you like after all these years, before turning back toward the stove.

The domesticity of it nearly undoes you.

Not because it's extravagant, but because it isn't. Because this feels normal in a way your relationship never gets to be publicly. Michael cooking dinner while you stand barefoot in his kitchen drinking wine after work should not feel as emotionally significant as it does, and yet it makes your chest ache anyway.

"It smells amazing, Michael," you say, and he smiles over his shoulder.

That smile is softer than the ones he gives the world. Smaller. Realer. You've always loved the version of Michael that exists away from cameras, the one who hums quietly while cooking and worries whether you've eaten enough and kisses your forehead absentmindedly like he can't help himself.

"You have a good day?" he asks, and you shrug as you lean against the counter.

"Yeah... I'm really proud of this movie, and Ethan and I are good friends... You can't film a movie with someone as long as we did and do all these intimate and romantic scenes without becoming friends, but it's very exhausting pretending to be in love with him," you say as you laugh, and Michael lets out a soft chuckle.

But even after all this time, you can still hear the subtle tension underneath it immediately. "Does he feel the same?" he asks.

The question is carefully casual, but you know him too well not to notice the slight stiffness in his shoulders or the way he keeps his focus on the stove instead of directly on you. Michael has never been particularly good at hiding jealousy from you, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise.

You smirk as you lift your wine glass. "Are you jealous?" you tease.

Michael turns around immediately and shakes his head. "I don't get jealous," he says, and you smile because the lie is almost endearing at this point.

"Oh, yeah? I do. That kiss at the VMAs last year? Very convincing for someone who claims not to love her," you say. Michael chuckles as he turns fully toward you now, and this time he's the one smirking. The expression spreads slowly across his face, dark eyes warming with amusement as he watches you from across the kitchen.

There's something smug hidden beneath it, too, something deeply satisfied by the fact that you had been jealous of him. Even after eleven years, Michael still seemed secretly pleased anytime you showed possessiveness over him, because of how you always keep yourself and your emotions controlled, especially in public.

"Oh, really? That made you jealous?" he asks.

You nod without embarrassment. "It made me very jealous," you say.

The smirk on Michael's face deepens instantly, and you can practically see the memory replaying behind his eyes. "And that's why you made me watch as you played with yourself, and I wasn't allowed to touch you?" He asks, and your lips curl upward immediately.

The memory flashes hot through your mind without warning. Michael sitting at the edge of the bed, looking absolutely tortured, while you denied him the one thing he wanted most, just to punish him a little for that kiss. The way his jaw clenched every time you whimpered his name while refusing to let him touch you. The frustration in his eyes mixed with pure fascination because even when you were being cruel to him, Michael still looked at you like you were something sacred.

"You'd be correct," you say, and Michael laughs again while shaking his head.

There's so much history packed into moments like this now. Years of inside jokes, jealousy, longing, sex, affection, and emotional intimacy layered together until your relationship stopped resembling anything casual a long time ago. The two of you fit together too naturally for that. Sometimes it frightened you how easy loving him had become.

"I'm not sleeping with her, you know... well, not regularly, enough so she doesn't get suspicious, and I use protection with her. She doesn't want to have any more kids, so that kind of worked itself out," he says. Your stomach twists slightly at the mention of Lisa, though the only part your mind truly fixates on is the protection.

Because you and Michael had never used any.

You had been on birth control for years, and somewhere over the course of your relationship, the two of you had quietly settled into trusting only that, because neither of you wanted anything between you as your bodies came together most intimately.

The intimacy of that realization settles heavily into your chest now, because there's something deeply vulnerable about the fact that Michael has always touched you differently than anyone else.

"She's your wife, Michael, it's not my business," you say, and Michael sighs immediately.

"Baby, don't do that," he says. The softness in his voice catches you off guard because he says it like he can hear the distance you're trying to create between the two of you and hates it instantly.

You give him a look while taking another sip of wine. "I'm not doing anything," you respond, and he sighs again, quieter this time.

"You know I'm committed to you, right?" He asks.

The question hangs heavily between you because commitment had always been such a strange concept within whatever this relationship was. Michael wore another woman's wedding band on his hand, while you're spending an entire press tour pretending to belong to another man. The two of you had spent eleven years loving each other in hidden pieces, fitting yourselves into whatever cracks your schedules and public lives allowed.

You nod slowly anyway.

"Yes, as much as a part-time lover can be, right?" you say, and Michael immediately shakes his head.

Something changes in his expression then.

The teasing disappears completely, replaced by something more serious, more vulnerable than he usually allows himself to be. Michael turns back toward the stove, grabbing plates from the cabinet while taking a deep breath, and you suddenly realize he looks nervous.

The realization alone makes your pulse jump because very little unsettles Michael after everything he has experienced in his life and career, yet now his movements seem slightly too controlled, like he's steadying himself before saying something that could change everything between you.

"That's what I was hoping we could talk about tonight... I don't want to just keep doing this part-time, whenever we have time," Michael says.

Your eyes widen immediately because you hadn't been expecting this conversation tonight. Not after years of both of you carefully dancing around the deeper parts of this relationship instead of fully confronting them.

Michael plates the food while speaking, garlic butter fish and vegetables arranged carefully before he sets the table and grabs the wine he paired with dinner. The entire scene suddenly feels painfully intimate in a way it hadn't moments earlier. Candlelight flickers softly through the kitchen while Michael serves you dinner in his home and talks about wanting more from you, and the normalcy of it makes your chest tighten almost unbearably.

When the two of you finally sit down across from each other, you take a deep breath before looking at him.

"So... what do you want to do, then?" you ask.

Michael swallows before meeting your gaze, and for a moment, he looks stripped completely bare in front of you. Not the King of Pop. Not the global icon the entire world worshipped and dissected constantly. Just Michael. Just the man you've loved for over a decade, looking terrified that he might finally be asking for too much.

"I want to be with you... for real. We've been doing this song and dance for the last 11 years, and when I was busy in the studio and on tour, all the pent-up frustration and adrenaline needed a place to go, and the same for you, while on set all the time, it worked... but this doesn't work for me anymore, I don't want you part-time, baby... I want you all the time," Michael says, and your breath catches painfully in your chest at his confession.

Because you had been feeling the exact same way for longer than you wanted to admit to yourself.

Somewhere along the years, this had stopped being an arrangement built around convenience and stolen intimacy. It had become love so consuming that pretending otherwise now felt impossible. Hearing Michael finally say it out loud rearranges something inside you instantly, because suddenly every late-night phone call, every secret reunion, every painful goodbye, every moment of jealousy and longing over the last eleven years becomes impossible to dismiss as casual anymore.

Michael loves you completely, and somehow that truth feels both terrifying and inevitable all at once.

"What about Lisa?" you ask.

The question comes out quieter than you intended, weighed down by the reality still sitting between the two of you despite everything Michael had just confessed. Because no matter how desperately you wanted this, there was still another woman attached to his name publicly. Another woman standing beside him in photographs and interviews, while you existed hidden behind private entrances and late-night phone calls.

Michael doesn't hesitate. "I'll divorce her. I never wanted to marry her in the first place," Michael says, and you let out a deep breath before you can stop yourself.

The certainty in his voice catches you off guard more than the words themselves. There's no uncertainty there. No wavering. He says it like he's already made peace with the decision long before tonight.

"When is your contract up? I'll start the divorce process," Michael says.

You stare at him for a second because the conversation suddenly feels terrifyingly real now. Not hypothetical anymore. Not fantasy. Plans are being made now. Actual timelines. Actual decisions that could alter both of your lives permanently.

"Six months after the movie comes out... it'll put our 'relationship' at exactly 18 months," you say, and Michael nods slowly.

"Okay... I'll get it done, that way there's time between my divorce and your breakup. We can keep the fallout clean, or we don't have to tell the press anything like we've been doing for years, I don't care... I just want to be with you, fully," Michael says as he reaches across the table for your hand, which you immediately give to him.

His fingers curl around yours carefully, almost reverently, and your chest tightens painfully because suddenly all those years of secrecy feel heartbreakingly visible between you. Eleven years of loving each other quietly while the rest of the world remained completely oblivious.

"How long have you felt this way?" You ask.

Michael's thumb strokes slowly across your knuckles as he looks down at your joined hands for a moment before answering.

"I think I've probably always felt this way, since that night at the Grammys... but when I became aware of the feeling? The Dangerous Tour... I missed you so much it started to physically hurt, and I knew I didn't want to be away from you or only be with you part-time anymore," he says.

Your eyes immediately begin watering, emotion rising inside you faster than you can contain it. Because you remember that tour.

You remember the distance between you during that time. The exhausting time zones and missed phone calls and nights spent staring at hotel ceilings, wishing he were there beside you. You remember sitting in your trailer between takes, waiting for updates from him, counting the hours until he would finally call. You remember hearing exhaustion in his voice over the phone while crowds screamed for him in the background.

You remember missing him so badly that it made ordinary things feel dull.

"I missed you a lot, too, when you were gone. Filming was slow for me that year, and I swear I was sitting by my phone all the time waiting for you to call or call me back," you say, and Michael chuckles softly while shaking his head.

There's so much tenderness in the way he looks at you now that it almost undoes you completely. Like hearing that confession heals something inside him he'd been carrying around quietly for years.

"I love you... It's always been you," Michael says.

The tears finally spill over your lashes as you squeeze his hands tightly between yours, not because the words surprise you. Deep down, maybe you had both known for years.

But hearing him finally say it out loud after over a decade of secrecy and half-measures feels overwhelming in a way you weren't prepared for. It feels like finally breathing after holding your breath for eleven years.

"I love you too, Michael," you say.

The smile that spreads across his face afterward is unlike anything you've ever seen from him before. Not the dazzling public smile meant for audiences and cameras. This one is softer. Emotional. Almost disbelieving in its happiness, like some part of him still can't fully process that after all this time, you love him back just as deeply as he loves you.

Dinner passes contentedly after that; the atmosphere between you is completely transformed now that everything has finally been spoken aloud. The years of restraint and careful avoidance are gone, replaced with something softer and infinitely more dangerous because now there's honesty attached to it.

The two of you keep smiling at each other across the table like neither of you can quite believe this is real.

Michael's foot brushes yours beneath the table repeatedly. His hand finds yours whenever it can. The conversation drifts effortlessly between teasing jokes, laughter, future plans spoken half-seriously, and quiet moments where the two of you simply stare at each other in disbelief.

Every touch lingers longer now, every kiss feels fuller somehow, like the truth has changed the shape of them.

After dinner, Michael washes the dishes while you dry them beside him, the two of you bumping shoulders occasionally in the comfortable rhythm you've always shared. At one point, he splashes water at you playfully, grinning when you gasp in outrage, and the sound of your laughter fills the kitchen so warmly that Michael physically stops for a second just to look at you.

Like he's memorizing this version of happiness.

When the dishes are finally done, Michael suddenly grabs you around the waist before you can protest, lifting you effortlessly off your feet despite your startled laugh.

"Michael!" you squeal, laughing harder as he carries you toward the bedroom.

He only grins wider, clearly pleased with himself as your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders. The entire walk down the hallway feels lighter somehow, both of you still glowing from the confessions shared over dinner.

By the time he reaches the bedroom, Michael practically tosses you onto the mattress, your giggling immediately filling the space as he climbs over you. Then his mouth is on yours again, hungry this time.

You pull him closer instantly until his body is pressed firmly against yours, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him there. Michael kisses you deeply, like he still can't quite get enough of you even after all these years, and when his tongue brushes against your lips, you part for him immediately.

The kiss deepens slowly, unhurried but intense, the lingering taste of wine and dinner still fresh between you as your tongues slide together. Michael kisses you like he's trying to pour every unspoken feeling from the last eleven years into your mouth now that he finally has permission to.

You reach up and begin slowly unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers careful and deliberate as you work each button free one at a time. There's no rush to any of this tonight. Every movement feels intentional, soaked in intimacy and relief, and years of longing finally spilling over into something tangible.

Michael's mouth never fully leaves yours while you undress him. His kisses remain warm and steady, occasionally breaking only long enough for him to murmur your name softly against your lips before kissing you again.

You can feel everything in the way he touches you now. The depth of his love. The familiarity built over the years together. The overwhelming relief of finally being honest with each other. It's all there in every kiss, every touch, and every breath he exhales against your skin.

His fingers trail lightly along your throat, your jaw, your shoulders, touching you with a tenderness that makes desire coil low in your stomach almost painfully. Not just physical desire anymore, but emotional too. The kind born from feeling completely wanted by someone you've loved for years.

Michael finally pulls back from the kiss just enough to sit you up gently before turning you around so he can unzip your dress.

The moment the zipper begins sliding downward, Michael leans forward and presses slow kisses against the newly exposed skin of your shoulder and back. The sensation makes your eyes flutter shut immediately, warmth spreading through you as his lips continue moving lower while he carefully works the zipper down inch by inch.

You push the top of your dress off your shoulders once he finishes, letting the fabric slide down your body until it pools around your knees. Michael's hands smooth slowly along your thighs as you lift your legs slightly, allowing him to fully remove the dress before tossing it somewhere onto the floor without a second thought, his attention already completely back on you.

Michael turns you back around to face him, his hands gentle against you as he guides you carefully until you're looking at him again. His lips immediately find the bare skin of your shoulder, the contact soft and lingering enough to make warmth spread through your chest all over again. Every touch from him feels different tonight. More open. Less restrained. Finally confessing how deeply he loves you has stripped away the last barrier that used to exist between you.

You feel his hands slide over yours as he helps guide your fingers back to his shirt, both of you working together to slowly finish unbuttoning it. The movement feels intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with familiarity. Eleven years together had made moments like this effortless between you. Your fingers brush against his warm skin each time another button comes undone, and Michael's breathing grows heavier the more exposed he becomes beneath your hands.

Until finally the shirt is pushed from his shoulders completely, discarded somewhere onto the floor, leaving nothing between you except skin and lingering heat.

Michael pauses, then, really pauses.

His hands settle lightly against your waist while his eyes move slowly over you, taking you in properly now that your dress is gone and you're left standing there in the deep red lingerie you had worn beneath it all day. The look on his face immediately shifts into something softer than simple attraction, something almost overwhelmed.

His gaze drags over every inch of you carefully, lingering with open admiration and something far more emotional underneath it. Like, after all these years, he still can't fully believe you're real. Still can't believe someone like you comes back to him at the end of the night.

Michael bites lightly against his lip before looking back up at you. "You were doing your press tour in this?" he asks. His voice is quieter now, roughened by emotion and desire alike, while his eyes continue wandering over you almost helplessly.

You gently reach up, your fingers brushing along his jaw before tilting his head back upward so he's looking directly at you again instead of your body. "Because I knew I was coming home to you when it was over," you say quietly.

The words settle between you heavily. Home. To him. You physically see the moment they hit him.

Michael inhales sharply, his chest rising beneath your hands as emotion flashes openly across his face before he can hide it. Because suddenly he's imagining you spending the entire day smiling through interviews and fake romance while secretly wearing this underneath your clothes for him. Thinking about him while cameras flashed in your face. While another man sat beside you pretending to know you intimately.

All the while, you had been planning to come home to Michael.

"The things you do to me," he says.

His voice is so soft now that it almost sounds reverent, and the look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten painfully because no one has ever looked at you the way Michael does. Like loving you is both the easiest and most overwhelming thing he's ever done.

You move with him instinctively then, shifting until you're sitting directly in his lap, straddling him fully. Your legs settle on either side of his waist while his arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you tightly against him like he can't tolerate distance from you anymore.

Not after tonight, not after finally saying everything out loud.

"Hmm," you hum softly as you lean down and press your lips against his neck.

Your hands glide slowly down his bare chest while Michael closes his eyes beneath you, a faint shiver moving through his body at the feeling of your mouth against his skin. You kiss him slowly there, lingering and teasing, your lips moving against the sensitive skin beneath his jaw before gently sucking and biting just enough to leave marks behind. Your marks.

And the thought of Lisa seeing them later doesn't bother you in the slightest.

Not anymore, not after hearing Michael say he loved you.

"I need you, mama," Michael gasps out between your kisses against him. The sound of his voice saying it sends heat rushing through you instantly. Breathless and needy and completely undone beneath your touch in a way only you ever really get to witness.

You press another slow kiss against his neck right as he swallows, feeling the movement beneath your lips, and your body responds immediately when you feel his arousal growing harder underneath you. The pressure against you pulls a soft moan from your throat before you can stop it, the sound muffled against his skin.

Michael's hands slide upward along your back, warm and slightly trembling with urgency now, until his fingers reach the clasp of your bra. He undoes it quickly, impatiently, and the straps loosen instantly before he tosses the fabric aside somewhere onto the floor without even looking.

The moment your bare chest presses fully against his, Michael lets out a quiet sound that almost borders on overwhelmed before kissing you again.

This kiss feels different from the others. It's needier, hungrier, like all the restraint he'd been holding onto throughout dinner has finally snapped completely.

Michael kisses you deeply while tightening his arms around you, and within seconds, he's carefully guiding you backward onto the mattress beneath him without ever breaking contact. His mouth stays locked to yours the entire time, desperate and emotional all at once, like he's trying to communicate everything he still doesn't quite have words for through the way he touches you instead.

His hands roam down your body, stopping at your breasts as he palms them in his large hands. You moan into his mouth as he gives them a light squeeze.

You undo Michael's pants, and he kicks them off. You quickly discard his boxers as well. His length slaps against his torso as it springs free. At the same time, he reaches down and pulls your panties off your legs, being met with the same sight he saw that morning: your pussy glistening and ready for him.

He dips his fingers into your slickness until they're coated, and he uses it to rub over his tip, closing his eyes as a moan falls from his lips, and you bite down on your lip.

Michael turns you over, putting you on your hands and knees in front of him. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your backside as he looks at how you're already dripping over the sheets. You feel him tease your clit and your entrance with his tip, sliding it across your folds and through your slickness, but not entering you yet.

You move your hips, pressing back against him as you softly whine, needing him, and Michael chuckles as he continues to tease you. Grinding against you as you feel his length rub against your clit and against your folds, but not entering inside of you. Michael coats himself in your slickness, and you hear his moans filling your ear, making you more desperate for him.

"Michael," you say again, turning around to face him. He bites down on his lip when he sees how deep and dark with desire your eyes are. "Please, baby," you say, and Michael smiles, pressing his body against yours as he hovers over you.

"I love when you beg for me, mama," he whispers in your ear, gently sucking on your neck. You feel his tip line up with your entrance, and he buries his length deep into your soaking pussy in one sharp thrust. Your back arches, gripping the sheets as he fucks you hard and shallow, his hips snapping sharply, your body rocking forward on the bed, and you grip the sheets tighter. "You feel so good," Michael says as he pushes himself deeper until you're filled.

His chest presses up against your back, his lips attach to your neck, biting and sucking on your soft skin. He slightly nudges your legs further apart to be able to take you deeper, and your body shudders under him as you moan. Michael reaches forward, palming your breasts in his hands, while his lips trail kisses across your shoulders and back, his movements getting quicker, his thrusts moving into a relentless pace as he takes you.

You meet his thrusts, moving back into him, and the sounds of your skin slapping together fill the room. Michael's hand moves from your breasts down to between your legs, rubbing your clit as he fucks you deeper. Your grip on the sheets beneath you tightens as his name falls from your lips over and over again.

"You're so good," Michael groans in your ear before kissing the skin behind it. "You make me feel so good, mama," He says, gently biting down on your neck. You feel your orgasm building, and your legs start shaking. Michael feels you clenching and knows you're close, pushing his thrusts deeper, filling you completely as his fingers relentlessly rub your clit.

Just as you feel your orgasm coming, the loud shrill of the phone on the nightstand next to you breaks the trance. Michael's thrusts slow as he reaches over to grab it, and you immediately let out a frustrated whine. "Michael, seriously?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"Don't worry, Mama, I'm not stopping... but depending on who this is, you'll have to be quiet," he says as he picks the phone up from the receiver.

The teasing amusement in his voice makes heat rush through you despite your frustration. There's something almost unfair about how composed he sounds while you're completely falling apart beneath him.

Once the phone is balanced between his shoulder and his cheek, he grabs your hand and guides you to rub your clit before grabbing your hips in his hands and picking up the pace of his thrusts: controlled but relentless enough to make your breathing hitch sharply with every move.

"Hello?" he asks into the phone. You immediately bite down into the pillow beneath you as you feel a moan about to slip out, your fingers rubbing against your clit as Michael's rhythm stays measured, quieter now but no less intense, each movement deliberate enough to keep you trembling underneath him.

"Michael... you answered this time," Lisa's voice rings through the phone. You feel Michael pull out of you fully before slamming back into you; the squelching sound of his dick entering you echoes through the room, and you suppress a scream.

"Hi, Lisa," Michael says, and your eyes widen, knowing it's her on the other end of the line.

His voice remains impossibly controlled, smooth, and even, like he's simply having a casual conversation instead of what's actually happening. Years of performing had given him terrifying control over his breathing and composure.

You had watched him sing entire concerts while dancing himself breathless, and now that same discipline is being used here, his expression barely changing despite the intensity burning underneath it all.

"Is this a bad time?" she asks as Michael is still relentlessly pounding into you. A moan slips out before you shove your face into the pillow, and Michael lets out the faintest chuckle at your struggle as he continues to fuck you.

"Is it? You're the one on vacation with your ex. Aren't you doing stuff?" Michael asks, and Lisa sighs audibly through the receiver.

"I'm not on vacation with my ex... My children's father and I have taken our children on vacation," Lisa says for what feels like the millionth time.

Your fingers clutch helplessly against the sheets before you reach back, tapping Michael's arm with your hand, signaling that you're close to your orgasm, and Michael fully pulls out of you, leaving you aching from the loss of contact, juices dripping out of you and onto the bed. Michael uses one hand to cover the receiver.

"You don't cum until I say so," Michael says. The authority in his voice sends a violent shiver through you. You whimper when Michael slams back into you. The sudden intensity makes you whimper helplessly into the pillow as he uncovers the receiver again, as if nothing happened.

"Look... I don't want to argue about it again. I just wanted to let you know that we just landed back in California, and I'm headed back to the ranch. Danny has the kids, I figured we could use a night alone to talk about everything," Lisa says.

Tears begin pricking painfully at your eyes from the overwhelming combination of pleasure and denial. Your entire body feels unbearably sensitive now, every nerve ending burning from being held right at the edge without release. Another broken sound escapes you as Michael's movements grow rougher, and he visibly notices immediately.

You can feel the satisfaction in the way his hands tighten against your hips. The way he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Your vision blurs from the tears, another whimper escaping you as Michael fucks you harder.

"Yeah, I have some things I want to talk to you about, too," he says. Lisa exhales softly on the other end of the line, unaware that Michael is talking about ending their marriage entirely.

Meanwhile, another whimper leaves you; your body is trembling underneath him so badly you can barely hold yourself upright anymore. Michael can feel it too, can feel how desperately close you are and how hard you're trying to obey him despite it.

"Okay... I'll be home in 30 minutes," Lisa says.

"Okay, see you then," Michael says before tossing the phone carelessly back onto the nightstand without even checking whether she's hung up yet.

The second his attention fully returns to you, everything about him changes. The controlled composure disappears instantly. Michael leans down until his lips are right beside your ear, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist to pull you flush against him while his breathing finally turns uneven against your skin.

"You take me so good, mama. Look at you, coming apart around me like this. You're so beautiful," Michael says to you.

The praise in his voice nearly destroys you on its own.

"M–Michael, the phone," you say weakly, glancing toward the receiver sitting crookedly on the nightstand. The realization suddenly crashes over you both at once. Lisa could still be there.

And she is.

On the other end of the line, Lisa's eyes slowly widen as the reality of what she's hearing fully settles into place now that Michael is no longer masking it. The sound of skin slapping together, the unmistakable squelching sound of Michael's dick thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy. She knew he was having sex, she just didn't know who with.

"M–My contract, I can't get caught," you say quieter to him.

The words come out broken and breathless, barely held together through everything Michael is doing to you, but the panic underneath them is real. Even now, even in the middle of this, your career still hangs over both of you like a shadow. One wrong mistake, one rumor connected too directly back to Michael, and everything surrounding the movie and your public relationship could implode.

Michael slows his thrusts enough to lean over and grab the phone from the nightstand before placing it firmly back onto the receiver, finally cutting off Lisa's ability to hear as he fucks you.

Then his attention immediately returns to you.

"They can't know that it's me you're falling apart for every night and not him," Michael says. The possessiveness in his voice sends heat rushing through you instantly. There's something deeply intimate about the way he says it, like, despite all the secrecy and contracts and public lies, he still quietly claims you in every way that matters.

Michael hits you with another sharp thrust, making you whimper. "Come for me, mama. I want to feel you all around me," he says. The praise and softness in his voice completely undo you.

Your walls clench around him, a moan that sounds closer to a sob rips through your throat as your orgasm explodes through you from Michael making you hold it. Michael immediately wraps his arms around you tighter as your body shakes hard beneath him, holding you through every second of it while your name spills loudly from his lips over and over again like a prayer.

The intimacy of it nearly overwhelms you as much as the physical sensation itself.

Because Michael now isn't just touching you with the desire for you he's always felt, he's touching you with the overwhelming sensation of love he feels for you. Every movement between you means something deeper now that everything has finally been confessed aloud.

Your orgasm releases so much that it drips down Michael's balls and thighs, spilling down your thighs and onto the sheets. Michael hits you with another sharp and hard thrust before you feel his warmth filling you. Your name spills from his lips loudly as he fills you with his release. Your hole is spent, not able to hold everything, and as Michael pulls out, your combined release drips out of you and onto the bedsheets.

"I love when you make a mess, mama," Michael says, lightly slapping your pussy, making your body shake as you release another moan. You collapse forward, completely spent, and Michael immediately softens again, seeing it, brushing his hand gently up your back while your breathing slowly steadies.

"You okay, baby?" he asks quietly.

You nod against the sheets, far too boneless from Michael's intense lovemaking to form a proper response yet, and Michael smiles to himself before carefully slipping out of bed. A few moments later, you hear water running softly in the bathroom before he returns with a warm cloth in his hands.

The care he takes with you afterward always affects you more than he probably realizes.

Michael kneels beside you on the bed, gently cleaning your skin with slow, careful movements, his touch impossibly tender compared to the intensity from moments earlier. Every so often, he presses soft kisses against your shoulder, your cheek, your temple, telling you he loves you, soothing you quietly while he takes care of you.

The entire scene feels painfully domestic again, not hidden lovers stealing time together, not part-time. Just the two of you.

"What did Lisa want?" you ask sleepily as you move closer to him.

Your body still feels heavy and loose from everything the two of you had just shared, warmth lingering through your muscles while you instinctively curl yourself closer against Michael's side. The emotional exhaustion somehow feels even heavier than the physical exhaustion tonight. So much had changed in the span of a few hours that your mind still hadn't fully caught up to it.

Michael brushes his fingers gently through your hair as he looks down at you.

"She's on her way back... she'll probably be here in about 15 minutes... I'll draw you a bath, nice and warm to help you relax your muscles, and you stay up here while I deal with her, okay?" Michael says.

The tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache.

Not because he's trying to get rid of you, but because he's taking care of you so instinctively. Even now, with the weight of the conversation waiting downstairs, Michael's first concern is still your comfort. Your safety. Making sure you're relaxed while he handles the mess he's spent years avoiding.

You nod slowly before leaning up to kiss him again, and Michael immediately kisses you back just as deeply.

The kiss feels different now that everything has finally been spoken aloud between you. There's no uncertainty left inside it anymore. No careful restraint, pretending this relationship is temporary or casual. Michael kisses you like someone finally allowed to love openly, even if only privately for now.

"Okay... I love you, Michael," you say. The words are soft from exhaustion, but completely sincere, and the moment they leave your mouth, Michael's entire expression changes.

His smile spreads slowly, emotion visibly flickering across his face like he still can't fully believe he's hearing those words from you after all these years. You can practically see the confidence settling into him afterward, steadying him for what he's about to do downstairs. Because suddenly this isn't just about escaping an unhappy marriage anymore.

It's about you. About finally choosing the woman he's loved all along.

"I love you more, baby," he says.

His thumb brushes softly against your cheek before he leans down to press another lingering kiss against your forehead, holding it there for a moment longer than necessary, like he's grounding himself with you one last time before facing reality downstairs.

Then he disappears into the bathroom to draw you a bath.

You can hear the water running while you remain tangled in the sheets, your body still buzzing faintly from his touch while your mind replays everything that happened tonight. The confessions. The plans. The future the two of you had never truly allowed yourselves to imagine before now, suddenly became real enough to touch.

Michael returns a few minutes later and carefully helps you into the warm bath, his hands gentle against you as he settles you into the water. Steam curls softly around the room while tension slowly begins easing from your body, and Michael crouches beside the tub for a moment just watching you.

Like, he hates the idea of leaving your side even briefly.

He leans in and gives you another soft, lingering kiss before finally standing again and heading back into the bedroom. You hear drawers opening and closing while he changes into casual sweats and a t-shirt, trading intimacy for composure as he prepares himself for the conversation waiting downstairs.

Then, just as he reaches the hallway, the sound of the front door unlocking echoes faintly through the house.

Lisa was home, and now it was finally time for Michael to end the relationship he never truly wanted in order to be with the woman he had always wanted.

You.

[killathrxlla]

BELLY RING — MICHAEL!JACKSON X FEM READER

michael’s curiousness about belly button piercings gets him some pussy.

18+ sexually explicit content, age gap ( reader is 25 michael is 40) spit play, no protection, foul language, oral sex ( f!m receiving) and bunch of other shit 🙏🏾.

inspired by this viral tweet. don’t be mean to me writing smut is lowkey hard 😔✌🏾.

you stood in the sweltering crowd, your neck glistened with drops of perspiration, a testament to the hours you had spent waiting in line. the anticipation was almost unbearable as you waited for your turn to meet the legendary michael jackson and have him sign your prized copy of his new album, invincible. you couldn't believe you were actually here, about to meet the one and only king of pop, the greatest entertainer of all time. your heart raced with excitement as you watched five people ahead of you, trying to stay calm despite the overwhelming emotions coursing through you.

“ i can't fucking believe this,” you whispered excitedly to yourself, your cd clutched tightly to your chest. as the last person ahead of you went, your heart raced as you realized it was finally your turn.

“next up,” the security guard called out, and you felt your stomach drop as you tried to remain calm and collected. there he was, sitting right in front of you - the man you had admired from afar for so long. "hi! what's your name?" michael asked casually, as he signed the cd you had placed in front of him.

"i-i'm y/n," you stammered nervously, unable to believe that this was really happening.

"what a beautiful name," he remarked, looking up at you and pausing for a moment.

"what's that?" he asked, pointing to the dangling piece of metal hanging from your navel. "oh, ugh, it's a belly button piercing," you explained, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

"wow, well how does it work? can i see?" michael inquired, a genuine curiosity in his voice. you walked closer to the table, lifting your crop top slightly to expose your stomach and give him a better view.

the piercing glinted under the bright lights, a small but noticeable addition to your appearance. it was a birthday gift to yourself, a bold move to mark your 25th year of life. as he looked at it, his curious eyes flickered up to meet yours.

"does it hurt?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the piercing. you couldn't help but let out a small giggle.

"not anymore. i got it done months ago for my birthday," you replied, a sense of pride in your voice.

"ah, well happy belated," he commented, and you smiled, thanking him for the kind words. this was your chance, your one shot at getting a hug from the legendary michael jackson. you had just had a conversation with him, and he had noticed your piercing. you might as well take a chance, right? just as you lifted your arms to ask, his security stepped in, ready to whisk you away.

but then, something miraculous happened. michael stopped them, a warm smile on his face. "yes, of course you can get a hug," he said, getting up from his seat and walking around the table to greet you.

your heart was racing as his arms enveloped you, pulling you in for a long and sensual hug. his hands gently caressed your back, and you couldn't help but take in his intoxicating scent. in that moment, you wanted to pass out in his arms, but you knew you had to hold it together and not embarrass yourself. this was a moment you would never forget, a dream come true.

security soon intervened and your embrace with michael came to an abrupt halt. with a heavy heart, you bid him farewell and tried to hold back the tears welling up in your eyes.

as you were escorted away, you caught a glimpse of michael gazing at you, his lips moving in a whisper to his security. though you didn't think much of it at the time, as you were about to exit the bustling building, you suddenly heard security calling after you.

your heart skipped a beat as you were momentarily frightened, but soon realized they were simply relaying a message from michael. "excuse me, ma'am," they called out, "mr. jackson has requested if you have a telephone. he would like to have your number." you were taken aback and at a loss for words.

"um, yes, of course," you managed to reply, quickly reciting your number as the security guard jotted it down.

you were in utter disbelief. meeting your idol and getting to hug him was already a dream come true. but now, finding out that he wanted your phone number? it was like a fairytale unfolding right before your eyes. you took the train home that evening, your mind was buzzing with the possibility of receiving a call from michael himself. you couldn't help but share your experience with your friends, but you kept the part about the phone number to yourself, savoring the secret like a delicious treat.

weeks passed and life went on, until one day while tidying up your house, a familiar ringtone echoed through the room. your heart rate spiked a bit, not expecting any calls at the moment. you hesitantly pressed the phone to your ear. "hello?" you answered, trying to keep your voice steady.

"hi y/n, this is michael," came the familiar voice on the other end of the line. you couldn't believe it. your phone slipped from your grasp, and you stood frozen and dumbfounded. "no fucking way," you breathed out, hardly able to contain your excitement.

as you slowly came back to reality, you frantically reached for your phone that had fallen to the floor. "hello? hello? y/n, are you still there?" michael's voice sounded confused on the other end.

"i'm so sorry, yes, i'm still here!" you replied, trying to catch your breath. "wow, i wasn't expecting a call from you."

michael chuckled, "yeah, i do apologize for not calling sooner. i've been very busy this week, but you've been on my mind."

"no, you're fine. i'm glad you're calling now. i just still can't believe it's you," you said, pacing the floor in disbelief.

michael laughed, "yeah, well, i was just calling because... well, i think you're very pretty. and i'm performing at madison square garden, and i'd love to see you after the show."

your entire being was filled with excitement, bubbling up inside of you like a volcano ready to erupt. but you had to keep your composure, at least until he was off the phone. you couldn't reveal how ecstatic you were to hear his words. "yes, yes, i'd love to come out and support you, michael." your voice was calm and collected, but inside, everything in you wanted to scream and run laps around the room.

"good, i'd really love to see you again. maybe we can talk some more or do whatever you like." his words sent your heart soaring, and you did a silent open mouth cheer.

with plans set, you both agreed to meet after the show and hung up the phone. as soon as the call ended, you let out a loud squeal, jumping up and down and dancing in pure joy. michael thinks you’re pretty and he wants to see you. how lucky.

it was the night of the highly anticipated show, and you arrived dressed to impress. your hair styled in a wash and go set, your turquoise ja'dior crop top and low rise jeans on, you looked and felt your best. the show was nothing short of spectacular, with surprise appearances from legends like whitney houston, usher, destiny's child, mya, luther vandross and many more, all gathered to honor to michael jackson. the highlight of the night was when michael and his brothers took the stage for a nostalgic performance, and ending with chris tucker joining in on the fun for his latest song “you rock my world”. as the show ended, you couldn't contain your excitement to meet michael and commend him on his stellar performance.

his security led you to his dressing room, where he greeted you with a smile, a towel draped over his shoulders and orange juice in hand. with a nod, he instructed his security to leave the two of you alone. "michael, oh my god, you were incredible! the show was perfection," you gushed, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

"do you really mean that?" he asked, a bashful smile across his face.

“1000% everything was amazing.” you raved, a smile spreading across your face as you pulled away from his embrace.

“i’m really glad you enjoyed the show, you look very beautiful tonight.” he complimented as he gestured to your appearance. your cheeks warmed as you looked down, suddenly shy and blushing. you thanked him for his kind words, and he continued to praise you. "i truly mean it, your skin, your hair, you are truly stunning," he said, his eyes fixed on you as if he couldn't believe his luck. if you could melt into a puddle, you would have at that moment. "you're quite handsome yourself," you replied, returning the compliment and causing him to get shy in return.

you too sat together on the couch in his dressing room, the conversation flowing effortlessly. you were both learning more about each other, learning things about him that weren't already in the press. it was refreshing to have a genuine connection with him, and you couldn't believe your luck that you were actually having a conversation with him. pinching yourself wouldn't even be enough to make you believe it was real.

“i see you've changed your jewelry,” he remarked, his gaze dropping to your belly piercing. you couldn't help but giggle at his reaction, looking down at the small glinting gem peeking out from your shirt. “yeah, i wanted to switch things up.”

his eyes lingered on the piercing, a look of confusion mixed with intrigue on his face. “i like it, it's very sexy on you,” he said, still trying to understand it. “but i'm still a bit confused about it. can you explain it to me more?”

feeling a bit shy, you laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “thank you, and um, well, it's not as complicated as it may seem. they just use a long needle to puncture your skin and then attach a bar to it. then they pull the needle through and add the jewelry, and voila, you're done.”

"hmm," he mused, his fingers lightly hovering the piercing. "can i touch it?"

you hesitated for a moment, feeling a slight thrill run through you at the thought of his hands on your body. "sure, go ahead," you finally said, lifting your shirt to give him better access.

his hand gently touched your navel, lifting the jewelry up in his fingers. despite his innocent tone, the gesture felt wildly intimate, sending a shiver down your spine and making the space between your thighs tingle.

"wow, this is truly something," he exclaimed, marveling at the intricate design of the jewelry with his fingers. "i can only imagine how much your boyfriend must love this," he half-joked.

"i don't have a boyfriend," you corrected, "this is just a little something i treated myself to for turning 25."

"even better," he replied, looking back up at you with a sly grin. the energy in the room shifted, becoming charged with a palpable tension. your body heated up at the feeling of his hands, now gently tracing along your navel. it seemed as though he was testing the limits, but you were more than willing to let him explore wherever he pleased. your clit twitched in anticipation, aching for his touch.

"you know, you’re not fooling me," you stated boldly, catching on to his little act. "you don't have to act curious just to touch me." a playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you spoke. "i mean, i would have let you anyway."

michael chuckled and bit his lip, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. "and where would you let me touch you?" his hand slid down your stomach during his statement, stopping at the waistband of your low rise jeans.

the arousal pooling between your legs grew more prominent with each passing moment, causing your lip to catch between your teeth as you took a deep breath. the surreal reality of the situation was almost too much for you to bear. “wherever you want to touch me.” you breathed giving him leadway.

his finger slipped through the belt loop of your jeans, drawing you closer with a gentle tug. In a matter of seconds, you found your faces inches away from each other, no space left between y’all. your lips hovered, almost teasingly, before finally melding together in a sensual and passionate kiss. as his hands roamed over your waist, you couldn't help but melt into his touch, your arms instinctively crossing over his shoulders.

he gently laid you back onto the couch, his body nimbly evading the space between your legs. his hands went up your shirt, exploring the expanse of your skin before you lifted your arms to help him remove your top. the discarded garment landing haphazardly across the room. he broke the kiss his soft lips leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth, down to your neck, and finally resting on the swell of your breast. "you're gorgeous, absolutely perfect," he murmured, his words laced with admiration. his kisses continued their journey, trailing from your breast to your stomach, and finally lingering on your navel. his tongue playfully danced around your piercing, before leaving a kiss there. "oh michael," you whimpered the feeling new but surprisingly felt good.

finally, he played with the button of your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping to reveal the sight of your lacy panties. he slowly rolled down your denim, exposing your damp underwear in a long, teasing strip. the wetness from your arousal leaving a glistening trail on your inner thigh as you were now fully exposed.

you kicked the fabric off your ankles, another piece of clothing discarded in your growing desire.

"she’s so precious," he murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of your glistening folds. "you're so pretty, and so wet for me, hmm?" with two fingers, he gently circled your sensitive clit, eliciting a silent gasp from your lips.

"oh god, so fucking wet for you," you moaned, your breath hitching as his fingers stirred around your pussy, creating a deliciously squelchy sound.

"can i taste you? pretty please," he asked, placing your legs over his shoulder while kissing and licking your inner thighs. you looked down at him, your eyes filled with desire. did he even have to ask? without hesitation, you quickly said yes, your body aching for him to finally kiss where you wanted him to. he held back from licking your clit, instead opting to suck on it gently. the steady suction made your toes curl and your fingers fist into his dark wavy hair.

michael hummed contentedly as your hands gently tugged at his hair, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss as if he were savoring something divine. he stayed there for long, lazy minutes, just sucking on your clit with a slow and gentle motion, like it was the most delicious jolly rancher. every so often, he'd add a soft swirl of his tongue, but always returned to that perfect, mind-melting suction. as your back arched off the couch and your eyes rolled back, you moaned, feeling that familiar, visceral sensation building in your gut.

"oh michael, please baby, i'm gonna cum," you pleaded, unable to contain the pleasure any longer.

"cum for me, pretty girl. god, you taste so sweet," he groaned, his muffled voice sending shivers down your spine. your thighs shook and your hips bucked as he devoured you like a delicious ice cream cone, your essence melting all over his lips. "fuck, baby, i'm cumming," you cried out, gripping the back of his head as you reached your peak.

his hunger still not satisfied he continued to ravish you through your orgasm. in fact, he sucked harder, his large hand pressing against your stomach to keep you in place as your body tried to squirm away from the intense pleasure. "baby, please-" you whimpered and pleaded, but it was evident that he would not stop until he had his fill. tears welled in your eyes from the overwhelming stimulation.

incoherent pleas escaped your lip, your body quivering uncontrollably. michael's hand gently caressed your stomach, while your own hand gripped his tightly. the lewd, wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy and his soft moans as he rubbed his evident hard-on against the couch filled the air, showing just how much he was also enjoying this. as your climax overtook you, a choked squeal escaped your lips and your eyes rolled back in your head, so far it felt like you saw your brain.

"please, daddy, no more," you begged, your hand pushing against his head. he just looked up at you and smiled, his lips glistening with your juices as he began to lick them off.

exhausted and flushed, you sank into the soft cushions of the couch armrest, trying to catch your breath and collect your thoughts. your body was still tingling with the intense sensations that had just overwhelmed you. michael crawled up your body, hovering above you and gently gripped your chin, silently instructing you to open your mouth. without hesitation, you eagerly complied, extending your tongue as he spat into your mouth. the salty taste of yourself mixed with his saliva, tantalizing your taste buds.

you swallowed it all, wanting to savor every part of it. finally, he pressed his lips against yours, the kiss hot and sloppy.

“god i’ve been wanting to do this since i laid eyes on you. you make me wanna do things i never do.” he confessed. “i just wanna feel you baby, be inside you.” he whispered in your ear before leaving a kiss there.

he reached down, and you hear him fumble with his belt and unzip his pants. “can i feel you darling?” he rhetorically asked, his eyes pleading for your consent.

kicking off his pants, he pressed his hardened and thick member against your thigh.

“yes” you whimpered.

he positioned himself at the entrance, teasingly gliding his throbbing member between your slick folds, eliciting a gasp from you as your arousal coated him. with a low groan, he finally entered you, the sensation of his hot length sinking into you causing you both to curse and moan in unison. "god we fit perfectly," he whispered, his hips moving slowly as he stretched you inch by inch, your walls clenching around him in a deliciously tight grip. you closed your eyes and ran your hands over his back, feeling the fabric of his shirt under your fingertips. suddenly, he hooked his arm under your leg and pulled it up to your chest, angling himself deeper inside you and hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. "you're doing so well, sweetheart," he praised, his hand gently brushing your damp curls as he watched you with adoration.

you looked so beautiful to him in this state, your makeup smudged, your curls disheveled and sticking to your face, and the slight pout on your lips. he could cum just looking at you. never in a million years would you have imagined yourself backstage, getting slowly fucked by michael jackson after his show. but here you were, and you couldn't complain about the experience.

his pace quickens , and you let out a whimper as michael bottoms out, his fat dick hitting your cervix with perfect precision. the old, worn couch beneath you damp from the wetness dripping from your pussy.

"fucck it feels so good," you cried, your body already sensitive from his previous ministrations. michael's free hand reaches down to rub circles on your clit, sending you into a frenzy.

"i know, baby. i know. you wanna cum, huh?" his words only make you moan louder as he continues to fuck you senseless. "you're such a good girl, cum for me mama i wanna feel it," he groans, biting his lip in pleasure. and just like that, the intense feeling washes over you again, your legs shaking as you babble incoherently, completely drunk off his dick.

he smirks, his eyes locked onto yours as he watches you writhe beneath him. "that’s it baby, let it all out. show me how good i make you feel.”

your eyes roll back, a fucked out expression on your face as you release, your cream soaking and saturating his dick. michael's own release is triggered by feeling you clench and pulsate around him, his dick twitching inside you. he gives you three hard strokes through your orgasm, before finally pulling out and cumming all over your stomach. some spurts even shooting your belly piercing, covering the dainty gem.

"fuck," he groans, collapsing on top of you, his body spent. "you're amazing," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "thank you for letting me have you." you smile, completely satisfied and content in his arms. you truly just had the best night of your life.

[ytrhbz]

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ type : one-shot (requested)

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ genre(s) : smut & angst

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ pairing : michael jackson x reader

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ tags : thradera!!michael, friends to lovers (friends with benefits too), toxic relationships, angst, manipulative mike, smut, michael is very possesive and jealous, angry sex, little fluff at the end.

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ a/n : tried writing a darker michael because i need to see him being possessive and manipulative so bad omfg

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ michael just can't stand seeing you getting back with your toxic ex boyfriend, cause after all, you're his aren't you ?

it always started with the same quiet knock on his front door past midnight, the kind of sound only someone who knew the exact rhythm of his house would make. michael never had to ask who it was. he’d just lay there on his back for a fraction of a second, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to the heavy silence of havenhurst before sliding out of bed. when he opened the door, she was always standing there. sometimes she was crying, sometimes she just looked completely drained, her makeup a little smudged under her eyes, holding her jacket tight around her shoulders like a shield against the world outside. and every single time, without a word, michael would just step aside, opening the door wider to let her melt into his warmth.

they had been a fixture in each other's lives for as long as anyone could remember. it was the kind of closeness that defied simple labels. to the rest of the world, they were just best friends—the girl who could make the notoriously shy pop star laugh until his chest ached, the one person who saw past the stage lights and the intense pressure of his career. she knew how he took his tea, she knew the exact look in his eyes when he was overwhelmed by a crowd, and she knew how to ground him when his own thoughts became too loud. they spent hours sitting on the floor of his home studio, her listening to him hum unfinished melodies, their legs tangled together under a blanket without either of them thinking twice about it.

but there was a hidden, unspoken side to this friendship, a blurry line they both crossed whenever the world became too heavy. it wasn't a relationship, at least not officially. it was a mutual understanding, an unspoken pact born out of absolute trust and a deep, simmering physical attraction that neither of them could quite suppress. it would happen naturally—a lingering gaze over the rim of a glass, his hand resting on her waist just a second too long while they walked through the gardens, or the way his voice would drop an octave, becoming soft and velvety when they were alone in the dark. and then, it would lead to quiet, breathless nights in his oversized bed, nights filled with gentle touches, whispered secrets, and a fierce intensity that felt a lot more like love than either of them dared to admit.

the problem was the ghost that always hovered between them: her ex. a guy who knew exactly how to pull her back in just when she was finally starting to breathe. their relationship was a vicious, exhausting cycle of screaming matches, tearful breakups, and toxic reconciliations. every time he pushed her away or made her feel small, she ran straight to michael. michael was her safe harbor, the one who rebuilt her piece by piece, holding her through the night while she cried over another man’s cruelty. michael hated him. he absolutely despised the way that guy treated her, the way he dimmed her light. but as long as she kept going back, michael kept his mouth shut, playing the role of the devoted best friend who was just happy to have her in his arms for a little while, hiding the dark, possessive spark that was slowly beginning to ignite deep within his chest every time he had to let her go again.

very long time, the toxic shadow of her ex seemed to completely vanish from the picture. the final breakup had been messy, filled with the usual slammed doors and late-night tears, but weeks turned into months, and she hadn't gone back. michael watched her slowly heal, watching the heavy tension leave her shoulders and the bright, genuine laughter return to her voice. they were spending more time together than ever, their days blurring into a comfortable, domestic routine that felt dangerously like a real relationship. they cooked late-night meals together in his kitchen, watched old movies until the sun started to rise, and shared quiet, comfortable silences that didn't need to be filled with words.

but while she was finding her footing and celebrating her newfound freedom, something inside michael was shifting, growing into something far more intense and consuming. before, when she was constantly running back and forth, he had managed to keep his feelings locked away in a dark corner of his mind, convincing himself that being her safe harbor was enough. but now, having her all to himself for months without the constant threat of that other guy changed everything. the casual, no-strings-attached nature of their physical moments started to feel like a beautiful torture to him. every time he held her in his arms after they crossed that line, listening to her soft breathing against his chest, a fierce, protective warmth would wash over him, quickly followed by a desperate, aching hunger.

he found himself memorizing the exact way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him, the scent of her perfume lingering on his pillows long after she left, and the soft, breathless sound of his name slipping from her lips in the dark. it wasn't just attraction anymore; it was an all-consuming need. michael was falling for her, hard and fast, and the realization terrified him just as much as it intoxicated him. he didn't want to just be the best friend she turned to when she was lonely or healing. he wanted to be the only one who got to touch her, the only one who got to love her. every time she brushed her fingers against his arm or leaned her head on his shoulder, his heart would hammer violently against his ribs, his thoughts spiraling into a deep, possessive territory he had never experienced before. she was finally free, and in michael's mind, she was finally, truly becoming his.

it was a quiet, rainy tuesday afternoon when they found themselves tangled up on her living room couch, the soft hum of the rain hitting the windowpanes providing a steady backdrop to their comfortable silence. a half-empty mug of tea was cooling on the coffee table, and she was leaning back against his chest, her hair brushing against his chin while michael lazily traced gentle, random patterns on her bare forearm with his fingertips. everything felt completely peaceful, the kind of safe, insulated bubble they always managed to create whenever they were alone together.

but the peacefulness shattered the moment she took a deep breath, her body turning slightly in his embrace so she could look up at him. she started talking, her voice low and hesitant at first, but then the words just began to pour out of her like a dam breaking. she needed to vent, to finally empty her mind of the lingering weight she had been carrying around. she started talking about her ex, looking back on the relationship with a mix of confusion and exhaustion. she confessed to michael how hard it had been to completely untangle herself from him, how she still sometimes felt the ghost of his toxic words in the back of her head, and how weird it felt to finally be completely done with that chaotic chapter of her life.

"i just... i don't know, mike," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she stared down at her own hands, nervously tangling her fingers together. "some days i feel completely fine, like he's just a bad dream. but then other days, i catch myself wondering why i let him treat me like that for so long. it’s like he still has this tiny, stupid hold on my mind, and i hate it. i just wanted to completely erase him."

michael swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he forced himself to stay still. he reached out, his long, slender fingers gently catching her chin to tilt her face up so she had to look at him. his dark eyes were intense, burning with an emotion she couldn't quite read in the dim light of the room.

"then let him go," michael murmured, his voice incredibly soft, almost a hypnotic purr, though his thumb pressed just a fraction too firmly against her jawline. "he doesn't deserve a single second of your thoughts. not anymore."

she let out a heavy, weary sigh, leaning into his touch, completely blind to the dangerous spark igniting inside him. "i know. you're right. it’s just hard to forget someone who was such a huge part of my life, you know? sometimes i wonder if he ever thinks about me, too. or if he'll ever try to come back."

at those words, michael’s hand dropped from her chin to her neck, his palm resting against the warm skin of her throat, his thumb feeling the sudden, rapid skip of her pulse. his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. the gentle, patient best friend was fading fast, replaced by something much darker.

"it shouldn't matter if he does," michael said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously low and thick with a possessive weight. he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her lips, his eyes locking onto hers with an unyielding grip. "because you're done with him. you're here. with me. he doesn't get to touch you anymore, and he sure as hell doesn't get to have you back."

the heavy, possessive edge in his voice passed completely over her head, misinterpreted as nothing more than the fierce, protective loyalty of a best friend. a soft, incredibly grateful smile touched her lips, melting away the lingering sadness in her eyes. without a word, she shifted her weight and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. she pulled him close, holding onto him like he was the only anchor she had left in the world.

"thank you, michael," she whispered into his skin, her warm breath sending a sharp shiver straight down his spine. she squeezed him a little tighter, sighing with absolute relief. "i don't know what i'd do without you. i'm just so incredibly lucky to have a friend like you in my life. you're the only constant i have."

at the sound of that word—friend—michael froze completely, his entire body going rigid beneath her embrace. it felt like a bucket of ice water pouring over the dark, roaring fire in his chest, only to turn it into a suffocating, toxic smoke. his eyes widened slightly in the dark, staring blankly at the wall over her shoulder. a friend. after everything they had shared in the quiet hours of the night, after the way he had held her, after the way his heart practically bled for her every single day, she still neatly categorized him into that safe, harmless little box.

slowly, almost mechanically, his arms came up to wrap around her waist, but his grip wasn't gentle anymore. he pulled her body flush against his, tight enough to bruise, his large hands anchoring her against him with a sudden, desperate force that made her let out a tiny, surprised gasp. he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply, his mind spiraling into a dangerous, dark place. he didn't want to be just her friend. he hated the word. he wanted to scream at her that friends didn't do the things they did, that friends didn't look at each other the way he looked at her. as he held her captive in his arms, his jaw clenched, a quiet, terrifying vow settling deep into his soul: she could call him a friend all she wanted right now, but he was going to make sure she belonged to him completely, and no one else would ever touch her again.

as the days bled into weeks, michael found himself sinking deeper and deeper into the sea of his own feelings, completely unable and unwilling to swim back to the surface. every single morning started with her on his mind, and every night ended with the memory of her laughter echoing in his head. it was a beautiful, overwhelming shift that colored his entire world. he noticed a change in the way he wrote music, the melodies coming to him more easily, softer and sweeter, completely inspired by the way her presence seemed to anchor his chaotic life.

what made him truly happy—a deep, glowing kind of joy that he hadn't felt in years—was watching her bloom again. the heavy, suffocating cloud that her ex had left over her was finally, completely gone. michael watched her with a quiet, reverent awe as her natural luminosity returned. she smiled more, her eyes danced with that old, vibrant spark he had missed so much, and her laughter filled his quiet home with a warmth that no amount of fame or success ever could. she was glowing, radiant, and completely free, and michael took immense pride in knowing he was the one who had helped her find that light again.

with her healing, the dynamic between them began to clarify, clearing up the messy, confusing boundaries of the past. they weren't just running to each other in the dark to escape pain anymore; they were actively choosing each other in the bright light of day. their shared moments became lighter, filled with a beautiful clarity that made michael’s heart swell with hope. when she reached out to hold his hand while they walked, or when she gave him those long, lingering looks across a crowded room, it didn't feel like a temporary comfort. it felt like a promise. the unspoken bond between them was growing stronger, purer, and more defined, making michael believe that very soon, the painful word 'friend' would naturally fade away, leaving only the beautiful reality of what they were meant to be.

michael’s growing affection began to manifest in the quietest, most beautiful ways, turning their daily routine into a series of soft, romantic gestures that she never saw coming. he had always been a generous soul, but now, every little thing he did for her carried a deeper, hidden weight. he became hyper-attentive to her smallest desires, making it his personal mission to bring a smile to her face before she even realized she needed one.

sometimes, he would show up at her apartment door completely unannounced after a long day in the studio, hiding his hands behind his back with a shy, boyish grin playing on his lips. when he stepped inside, he’d present her with a single, perfectly bloomed pink rose, its petals still damp with morning dew. he didn't make a grand spectacle out of it; he would just hand it to her gently, his fingertips lingering against hers for a second too long, whispering that he saw it and immediately thought of her. soon, her kitchen counter was constantly adorned with small glass vases, each holding a token of his quiet devotion.

it wasn't just the flowers, though; it was the overwhelming thoughtfulness behind every single attention. if she casually mentioned in passing that she was craving a specific sweet from a bakery on the other side of town, she would open her door the next morning to find a fresh box of them sitting on her welcome mat with a small, handwritten note from him. when she was stressed, he would show up with her favorite comfort foods, dim the lights, and rub her shoulders with a quiet, intense focus, listening to her talk for hours without ever asking for anything in return. he was slowly wrapping her entire world in his care, spoiling her with a tenderness she had never experienced in her life, desperately hoping she would see that the man who loved her like this could never be just a friend.

but beneath the surface of her bright new life, a quiet, unsettling secret was beginning to take root. while she truly appreciated every single rose and every tender gesture michael showered her with, she couldn't completely shut off the back of her mind. the truth was, her ex hadn't entirely vanished. a few weeks ago, a random, late-night call had rang on her phone from his number—a simple, manipulative 'i miss you, can we talk?'—and it had completely sent her head spinning. she hadn't replied, but she hadn't blocked him either.

since then, he had tried to reach out a few more times, leaving vague voicemails and checking up on her through mutual acquaintances. every time the phone rang, a familiar, toxic knot of anxiety and old habit would tighten in her stomach. she felt incredibly guilty about it, especially when she looked into michael's sweet, devoted eyes, which is exactly why she made the conscious choice to never mention it to him. she knew how much michael hated her ex, and she didn't want to ruin the beautiful, peaceful dynamic they had built over the last few months. she convinced herself that she could handle it on her own, that it wasn't a big deal because she wasn't giving in.

the air was crisp and quiet around two in the morning when michael pulled up to her apartment complex. he had spent the last five hours in the studio, but his mind had been entirely focused on her, prompting him to leave early just to surprise her with her favorite late-night snacks and a fresh bouquet of white roses. he walked up the stairwell with a soft, eager hum vibrating in his chest, anticipating the sweet, sleepy smile she always wore whenever he knocked on her door at odd hours.

but the moment he stepped onto her floor, the gentle warmth in his veins turned to pure, freezing ice.

there, sitting right outside her doorway, was a pair of dirty sneakers. michael stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching in his throat as his eyes locked onto the shoes. he recognized them instantly. he had seen them a hundred times before, abandoned on her floor during those horrible months when that man was systematically breaking her heart. it was her ex. he was inside.

for a long, agonizing second, michael couldn't move. his knuckles turned white around the stems of the roses, crushing the delicate leaves until the scent of crushed greenery filled the narrow hallway. a sudden, violent wave of raw jealousy and absolute fury surged from the pit of his stomach, hot and suffocating, making his heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped animal. his teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached, a dangerous, dizzying rush of adrenaline clouding his vision. she had lied to him. she had kept this from him. after everything he had done to rebuild her, she had let that toxic bastard back into her apartment, back into the space that was supposed to be safe.

then, through the thin wood of the front door, a sound bled into the hallway. it was the deep, smug laugh of her ex, followed by the faint muffled sound of her voice answering him.

the sound of that man's laughter snapped something profound inside michael’s mind. he froze completely, his entire body turning to rigid stone as he stood right in front of the door, staring at the peephole with wide, unblinking eyes. the sweet, gentle boy who brought her flowers vanished entirely, replaced by a dark, terrifyingly possessive monster. his chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths as the laughter mocked him from the other side. according to michael, she didn't belong to that ghost anymore; she belonged to him. she was his girl, his sanity, his creation. hearing another man in her space made him want to rip the door off its hinges, his hands trembling with a sudden, vicious urge to tear everything apart.

the silence that followed that night was deafening. days bled into one another, and for the first time in years, michael completely vanished from her life.

at first, she didn't think much of it, assuming he was just trapped in an intense, overnight recording session where he lost all track of time. but by the third day, a cold, nagging knot of anxiety began to tighten in her chest. she called his personal line—the private number only a handful of people possessed—but it went straight to voicemail every single time, his soft, recorded voice offering her a mocking contrast to the heavy silence on the other end. she sent texts, starting with casual check-ins and gradually spiraling into frantic paragraphs, asking if he was okay, if he was hurt, or if something had happened at havenhurst.

the phone never rang back.

nearly a week passed in this agonizing vacuum. she found herself pacing around her apartment, her eyes constantly darting to her quiet phone, her mind spinning in desperate circles. she felt entirely lost without him; the daily roses had stopped coming, the comforting late-night texts were gone, and the sudden absence of his warmth left her apartment feeling freezing and empty. she started questioning everything, her thoughts taking a darker, more paranoid turn. had his management taken his phone away? was he sick? or worse... was he mad at her?

she racked her brain, trying to remember their last conversation on the couch, wondering if she had accidentally said something to hurt him or push him away. she never once connected his sudden disappearance to the brief, unwanted visit from her ex that rainy night—a visit she had quickly shut down after realizing the guy hadn't changed at all. she had no idea that michael had been standing right outside her door, listening to that laughter. she had no clue that his silence wasn't a sign of absence, but rather the quiet, suffocating calm before a massive storm, and that michael was currently sitting in the dark of his own home, deliberately ignoring her calls while his jealousy twisted into something completely uncontrollable.

unable to handle the suffocating silence for another second, she finally cracked. she grabbed her keys, drove over to havenhurst, and prayed he would be alone. her heart was beating like a drum in her throat as she walked up to his front door, her hands trembling slightly as she knocked, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet afternoon air.

for a long minute, nothing happened. she was just about to knock again, tears of frustration pricking her eyes, when she heard the heavy lock click.

the door swung open slowly, and the breath completely caught in her throat. it was michael, but it wasn't the michael she knew. he looked completely unraveled, his curls slightly messy and his eyes shadowed with dark, exhausted circles. there was no welcoming smile, no gentle warmth in his gaze. instead, his eyes were bloodshot, burning with a cold, terrifying intensity that made her instinctively step back. he looked entirely drained, yet under the surface, a dangerous, volatile anger was practically vibrating through his skin.

"michael..." she breathed, her voice shaking as she reached a hand out toward him. "oh my god, you're okay. why haven't you been answering me? i've been so worried—"

"why did you lie to me?"

his voice cut through her words like a razor blade. it wasn't a shout; it was a low, guttural whisper, thick with an agonizing mix of betrayal and raw, unadulterated fury. he didn't open the door any wider, standing there like a dark barrier, his long fingers gripping the edge of the wood so tightly his knuckles were stark white. the sheer possessive rage in his stare pinned her to the spot, making her realize in one terrifying second that he knew exactly what she had been hiding.

she stared at him, her mind completely blank as a wave of genuine confusion washed over her. the intense rage vibrating off his body was terrifying, but she honestly couldn't connect the dots in her frantic, panicked state.

"michael, what are you talking about?" she asked, her voice trembling as she took a small step closer to the threshold. "what do you mean lie to you? i haven't lied about anything, i swear! please just tell me what's wrong."

michael didn't answer. instead, a dark, bitter scoff slipped from his lips, his shoulders shaking with a terrifying kind of laugh that had absolutely no joy in it. he didn't want to look at her face, because seeing her look so innocent, so clueless, only fueled the blinding fire screaming in his chest. filled with an uncontainable rage, he suddenly spun around on his heel, abandoning the front door entirely, and began walking down the long, dimly lit hallway toward his bedroom. his steps were heavy, deliberate, and practically radiating a dangerous aura that made the entire house feel small.

"michael! stop!" she cried out, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she quickly stepped into the house, slamming the front door behind her so she could chase after him.

she followed him down the corridor, her smaller steps running to keep up with his angry, long strides. "michael, talk to me! you can't just ignore me for a week and then accuse me of lying! look at me!" she pleaded, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his shirt, but he ripped his arm away without breaking his pace. she followed him right into his bedroom, the large doors swinging open as he stormed inside, completely desperate to get to the bottom of the terrifying storm that had just taken over her best friend.

he stormed into the deep shadows of his bedroom, finally spinning around to face her the second her feet crossed the threshold. the large doors clicked shut behind her, locking them both inside an incredibly tense, suffocating space. his chest was heaving, his breathing ragged and uneven as he glared down at her, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"why did you go back to him?" michael demanded, his voice cracking under the sheer weight of his fury. he stepped closer, towering over her, his dark eyes absolutely wild with an intense, possessive rage. "after everything he did to you... after every single night i held you while you cried over his name... why was he in your apartment, laughing? tell me!"

the words hit her like a physical blow. she froze completely, her entire body locking up as the blood completely drained from her face. her eyes widened in pure shock, her breath hitching painfully in her throat as the realization slammed into her mind with terrifying clarity.

he knew. he had seen him.

the puzzle pieces fell into place instantly—the sudden silence, the ignored phone calls, the terrifying anger radiating from him now. she stood there completely paralyzed under his suffocating gaze, realizing that the quiet secret she had been keeping to protect him had just unleashed the darkest, most dangerous side of michael she had ever seen.

her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. she looked up at him, completely trapped beneath the crushing weight of his stare, her mind scrambling for words that simply wouldn't come.

"m-michael, no... i-it's not what you think," she stammered, her voice shaking violently as a thick, painful knot tightened in her throat. she took a small, hesitant step forward, reaching her hands out in a desperate plea. "he—he just showed up... i didn't invite him, i swear, i—"

she couldn't even finish the sentence. the sheer intensity of his fury, combined with the crushing guilt of having kept it a secret, completely broke her. a hot, heavy wave of tears rushed to her eyes, blurring her vision until michael’s angry silhouette became a dark smear in the dim light of the bedroom. she blinked, and the first tear spilled over, tracking a burning line down her pale cheek, quickly followed by another. her shoulders trembled as she swallowed down a sob, staring at him through her tears, utterly terrified by how twisted and ugly a simple misunderstanding had become between them.

michael took a sharp step closer, closing the distance between them until he was looming directly over her, his shadow completely swallowing her small frame. the sight of her tears didn't soften him; if anything, the raw vulnerability in her face only fueled the desperate, ugly knot of jealousy tightening around his throat.

"why do you love him so much?" he asked, his voice dropping into a ragged, breathless whisper that vibrated with absolute pain and fury. he grabbed her by the upper arms, his grip firm and unyielding, forcing her to look up into his dark, chaotic eyes. "what does he give you that i don't? tell me! why is it that every single time he throws a crumb of attention your way, you run right back into his arms like nothing else matters?"

he shook his head, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he stared down at her tear-stained face. his chest was heaving against hers, the proximity suffocating and charged with an intense, dangerous energy.

"after every single night we spent in this bed... after the way i look at you, the way i take care of you... you still choose him?" his voice cracked, thick with a possessive despair that made his eyes burn. "he breaks you, and i have to patch you back up, just for you to hand yourself right back to him on a silver platter. why, because you think he owns you? because you think nobody else can love you like that? look at me! why do you keep letting him ruin us?"

the accusation cut deep, and the sheer possessive weight of his words snapped something inside her, replacing her paralyzing fear with a sudden, desperate surge of defensiveness. she yanked her arms back, trying to break his firm grip, her chest heaving as a fresh wave of hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

"how do you mean us, michael?!" she cried out, her voice breaking completely, a breathless, sobbing gasp escaping her throat. she looked at him through her blurred vision, her face pale and distorted by misery. "i don't—i don't owe you anything to begin with! we are friends, michael! you are my best friend!"

she swallowed hard, her voice trembling violently as she tried to force the words past the thick lump in her throat, desperately needing him to understand the nightmare she had actually been dealing with.

"you don't understand," she stammered, her hands shaking as she pressed them against his chest, not to hold him, but to desperately keep some distance between them. "he... he just showed up. it’s his manipulation, michael! you know how he is. he knows exactly when i'm weak, he knows exactly when i'm starting to feel better, and he uses it. he profits off my vulnerability just to force his way back into my life! i didn't ask for him to be there, i didn't want him there! he manipulated his way into my apartment and i was just trying to get him to leave without making a scene!"

at her words, something shifted completely in michael’s eyes. the dark, simmering fury broke into a cold, terrifyingly sharp clarity. he didn't flinch when she screamed that they were just friends; instead, a slow, dark smile touched his lips, completely devoid of any warmth. it was a terrifying look on a face usually so gentle.

"friends?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr that vibrated right against her skin.

before she could even register the shift in his tone, his hands moved from her arms to her waist, his long fingers digging into her hips with a sudden, bruising force. he jerked her forward, slamming her body flush against his chest so violently she lost her breath. he loomed over her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a fierce, suffocating intensity that made the entire bedroom feel like it was closing in on them.

"don't you dare lie to yourself like that," michael growled, his breathing ragged, his face just inches from hers. "best friends don't cross the lines we've crossed in the dark. best friends don't touch each other the way i touch you. i am not your friend, and i am done playing that stupid little game."

he leaned down closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, his voice thick with a raw, terrifyingly possessive weight that made her whole body tremble.

"you think you don't owe me anything? you belong to me. you’ve belonged to me since the first night you came crying to my doorstep and let me put you back together. i rebuilt you piece by piece while that bastard broke you. he doesn't get to touch you anymore. he doesn't get to profit off your vulnerability. you are mine, do you hear me? mine. and i am never letting you go back to him."

the breath completely trapped itself in her throat, her chest locked tight against his as his words echoed through the silence of the dark bedroom. she stared up at him, her eyes wide, completely paralyzed by the sheer shock of what was happening. this wasn't the sweet, gentle michael who brought her roses and rubbed her shoulders after a long day. the boy standing before her was completely unrecognizable, his voice dripping with a raw, dominant authority that she had never heard from him before.

he slowly leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against hers, though there was no real warmth in the gesture—only a heavy, suffocating pressure. his breathing was deliberate, casting a hot, uneven rhythm over her lips. when he spoke again, the hard, dominant edge in his voice suddenly fractured, shifting into something terrifyingly fragile and wounded.

"look at what you're doing to me," michael whispered, his voice cracking with a fragile, trembling emotion that made her heart instantly twist with guilt. "you're sitting there looking at me like i'm a monster. like i'm the one trying to hurt you. after everything i've sacrificed for you... after how much i've bled just to keep us together."

he let out a ragged, trembling sigh, his long fingers trailing up her arms with a delicate, shaking touch, acting as if he were the one who was completely broken and defenseless in the dark.

"i'm the victim here, sweetheart. not you. i'm the one who has to stay up all night, tearing myself apart, wondering why the only person i love would rather let another man touch her than protect my heart. you threw my love right back in my face, and now you're punishing me just because i'm desperate enough to fight for you? because i'm bleeding out right in front of you?"

he squeezed his eyes shut, a single, perfectly timed tear escaping down his cheek as his chest heaved against hers, making himself look entirely helpless and undone by her apparent cruelty.

"you did this to me," he choked out, his voice dripping with a tragic, agonizing despair that was entirely calculated to destroy her defenses. "you broke me first. i'm only like this because you drove me to it. please... tell me you see what you've done to me. tell me you're going to fix the man you broke."

the words left her lips in a panicked, trembling rush, her hands pressing weakly against his chest as she tried to find some ground to stand on. "m-michael... stop, please. you're talking crazy. you're saying completely ridiculous things."

the moment the protest left her mouth, michael's entire demeanor shifted. the fragile, weeping victim vanished in an instant, his jaw locking tight as a chilling, icy stillness washed over his features. he didn't pull away; instead, he leaned down even heavier, trapping her beneath his frame so completely that she could barely expand her lungs to breathe.

"crazy?" he echoed, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm whisper that vibrated right against her lips. "you think i'm saying ridiculous things?"

he let out a sharp, humorless chuckle that sent a cold shiver straight down her spine. his dark eyes bored into hers, completely devoid of the warmth she usually found there.

"i'm the one who's crazy? after i watched you welcome him into your space? after i had to sit in the dark and feel my entire world collapse because you couldn't be bothered to protect us?" his grip on her jaw tightened, just enough to keep her completely still, forcing her to look at the cold fury masking his face. "don't you dare try to rewrite what you did to me. don't you dare sit here and gaslight me into thinking my pain isn't real just because you don't want to face the guilt of what you've done."

he leaned in closer, his hot breath brushing against her ear as his voice turned dangerously sharp.

"you don't get to dismiss me. you broke me, and now you're going to stay right here and look at exactly what you created."

he leaned back just enough to force her to look into his dark, unyielding eyes, his fingers tightening firmly around her jaw. the cold fury in his expression suddenly shifted into a terrifyingly intense, dark conviction.

"you still don't get it, do you?" michael murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated deep in his chest. "you really don't understand. you think this is a game? you think you can just choose when you want to be with me and when you want to play around with someone else?"

he let out a sharp, breathless exhale, his chest pressing down flush against hers, crushing any space between them until she was entirely pinned beneath his heavy warmth.

"you belong to me. every single piece of you. your body, your breath, your thoughts—they all belong to me," he whispered fiercely, his eyes scanning her panicked, flushed face with an absolute, frightening certainty. "i didn't spend all this time loving you, protecting you, and tearing myself apart just to let you slip away. you are mine. you don't get to decide anymore."

he slid his hand down from her jaw, his long, warm fingers wrapping possessively around her throat—not to squeeze, but to claim, feeling the frantic, rapid flutter of her pulse beneath his palm.

"there is no one else, and there never will be," he purred darkly against her lips, his gaze completely devouring her. "you're locked in this room with me, and you're going to stay right here until you finally understand that you are completely, entirely mine."

the air in the bedroom grew thick, heavy, and suffocatingly hot. with his lips brushing her skin and his hands pinning her hips, the space between them vanished entirely, and a completely different kind of tension began to coil in the pit of her stomach. it wasn't just fear anymore. it was a sharp, dizzying rush of adrenaline that made her whole body tingle, a sudden, dangerous spark igniting right in the middle of all this chaos.

as she stared up at his mouth, her heart hammered so hard against her ribs she was sure he could feel it. the sheer weight of the situation finally crashed down on her with full force. michael—her sweet, gentle, protected michael—was completely out of control, consumed by a fierce, dominant hunger for her. and the most terrifying part? a small, dark corner of her mind was secretly thrilled by the absolute certainty in his voice.

she swallowed hard, her throat dry, her eyes locked onto his dark, burning gaze. she could feel the erratic rise and fall of his chest against hers, the raw male power he was using to hold her still, and the dangerous promises dripping from his tongue. the realization that she was entirely at his mercy, trapped in his bedroom with a man who was ruthlessly claiming her as his exclusive possession, sent a violent shiver right through her core. she was caught in a trap of her own making, and looking into his wild eyes, she realized she didn't even want to run away anymore.

the raw, suffocating intensity of michael's grip finally broke through her defenses, dissolving the last of her confusion into a desperate need to make him understand the truth. she didn't want her ex. she was terrified of him.

"michael, please... listen to me," she choked out, her voice cracking as a fresh wave of tears spilled over her lashes. she stopped trying to pull away and instead let her hands clutch the fabric of his shirt, leaning into his solid chest as her knees threatened to buckle. "i don't want him. i swear to you, i don't. i am so tired, michael... i can't take it anymore."

she swallowed hard, a ragged sob escaping her throat as she confessed the secret she had been carrying alone for weeks. "he... he scares me. he won't stop, michael. he always finds a way to show up, he forces his way into my space, and he doesn't care when i tell him to leave. that night... i was just so paralyzed and terrified of making a scene that i didn't know what to do. i never wanted him there. i never wanted anyone but you."

hearing her voice tremble with genuine fear shifted something volatile in the room. she looked up at him through her blurred vision, her heart hammering wildly as she laid her vulnerability entirely at his feet. she was completely exhausted from running from her past, and in that moment, looking into michael's dark, fiercely protective eyes, she realized she was begging for him to save her—even if it meant completely surrendering herself to his dangerous, absolute control.

the tears she had been trying so hard to hold back finally spilled over, rushing down her cheeks in hot, heavy streams. her shoulders shook violently as she completely broke down under the crushing weight of her exhaustion, her fear of her ex, and the sheer, dizzying intensity of everything happening in this room.

seeing her completely unravel like this caused a subtle shift in michael’s expression. the blinding, volatile fury melted into a dark, suffocating tenderness—something far more dangerous and possessive than his anger had been. his tight grip on her hips loosened just enough for him to bring one hand up to her face. his long, slender fingers, incredibly gentle yet unyielding, brushed against her wet cheek. with his thumb, he slowly, almost religiously, wiped away the tears pooling at her lashes.

"shh... don't cry anymore. don't you ever cry for him again," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, caressing cadence that carried an absolute, undeniable authority.

he leaned in even closer, pressing his forehead directly against hers, forcing her to drown in the depths of his dark gaze as his presence entirely swallowed her up.

"you never have to be afraid of him again. i’m here now. he’s never going to get near you again, do you hear me?" his hand slid around to the back of her neck, his fingers anchoring themselves into her hair to keep her pinned right against him. "you belong to me. you are mine, and no one else’s. i’m going to protect you from him, i’m going to protect you from everything. but you have to understand that you are my girl now. never again do you let him in. never again do you hide anything from me. you are mine, okay?"

every word he whispered as he wiped her eyes felt like a sacred, unbreakable pact being sealed in the shadows of the bedroom. he wasn't leaving her an exit, erasing the entire outside world until there was absolutely nothing left but the two of them in the dark.

she could barely breathe, her throat so tight with sobs that the words caught and tangled on her tongue. she shook her head weakly against his forehead, her small hands clutching desperately at the front of his shirt as she tried one last time to make him understand the absolute terror her ex had put her through.

"m-michael... p-please," she stammered, a broken, breathless gasp escaping her trembling lips as fresh tears instantly replaced the ones he had just wiped away. "i—i didn't want... i tried to tell him to leave, i swear... i was just so scared... you have to believe me, mike..."

but her frantic explanations seemed to fade into nothingness against the heavy, dominant rhythm of his breathing. michael didn't look at her like a friend listening to a story; he looked at her like a man claiming what was rightfully his. his thumb continued its slow, deliberate path across her damp skin, smoothing away the moisture with a touch that felt entirely too heavy, entirely too possessive to resist.

"shh... it doesn't matter anymore," he murmured, his voice dropping into an even deeper, darker whisper that vibrated straight through her chest.

with every word, he moved closer, pressing his body so firmly against hers that she could feel the hard line of his thighs and the terrifying, steady beat of his heart. he nudged her chin upward, backing her up just an inch until the back of her knees hit the edge of his mattress, trapping her completely between him and the bed.

"forget about him," michael whispered, his lips brushing against her cheek now, traveling down to the corner of her mouth as his hot breath fanned over her skin. "he’s gone. you don't answer to him, you don't look at him. you only look at me. you are mine now. every single part of you belongs to me."

"n-no... michael, we can't... we can't do this," she stammered, her voice cracking as a sudden wave of panic cut through the heavy tension.

with a desperate surge of strength, she pushed her hands against his chest and managed to tear herself away from his suffocating grip. the sudden loss of his heat made the bedroom air feel freezing cold. her heart was hammering wildly against her ribs as she began to pace back and forth across the dark hardwood floor, her hands gripping her own hair, her mind spinning out of control. "this is wrong... you're my friend, michael, we are crossing lines we shouldn't be crossing... i'm so confused, i can't think straight..."

michael stood completely still by the edge of the bed, watching her frantic movements with a calm, unbothered intensity. he didn't chase after her; instead, he just leaned back slightly, a soft, almost disappointed sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head.

"what do you mean we can't do this?" he asked, his voice dripping with a smooth, gaslighting gentleness that made her stop in her tracks. he took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his expression a picture of pure innocence and concern. "sweetheart, look at how worked up you're getting over nothing. you're the one who came into my room crying. you're the one who always comes to me when he breaks you. i'm just giving you the security you've been begging for this whole time."

he walked closer, his dark eyes locked onto hers, completely twisting reality until she felt like she was the one losing her mind.

"don't act like i'm forcing this on you," michael murmured, a faint, condescending smile touching his lips. "you know you want this just as much as i do. you're just scared because for the first time, someone actually wants to take care of you completely. why are you pretending this is a mistake when you've been leading us right to this moment every single night?"

"b-but we're friends, michael! we've always just been friends," she cried out, her voice cracking as she stopped her pacing, her eyes wide and desperate as she stared at him fromacross the room. she was practically begging him to validate the reality she had been clinging to for months, her hands trembling against her sides. "you're the person i trust most in the world, but as a friend... we can't just change that."

michael let out a low, bitter laugh, a sound that sent a cold chill straight down her spine. he closed the distance between them in a few slow, predatory strides, not stopping until he was looming right over her again, his presence completely trapping her against the wall.

"friends? really?" he whispered, tilting his head down so his dark, intense gaze could pierce straight into hers. his voice dropped into that low, dangerous purr, utterly dismissive of her panic. "after everything we’ve done behind closed doors? you're really going to stand there and tell me that?"

he reached out, his long fingers firmly wrapping around her waist once more, pulling her flush against his chest so suddenly that a soft gasp escaped her lips.

"best friends don't hold each other the way we do in the dark. they don't look at each other the way you look at me when you're lonely," michael murmured, his lips brushing against her temple as he tightened his grip, completely shattering any illusion of innocence left between them. "we passed 'just friends' a long time ago, sweetheart. we are so much more than that now, and you know it. stop lying to yourself."

he slowly leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against hers, though there was no real warmth in the gesture—only a heavy, suffocating pressure. his breathing was deliberate, casting a hot, uneven rhythm over her lips. when he spoke again, the hard, dominant edge in his voice suddenly fractured, shifting into something terrifyingly fragile and wounded.

he leaned down even closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her earlobe, his hot breath sending a violent shiver straight down her spine. even with his hand resting possessively over her throat, his touch suddenly became agonizingly slow, almost tender, contrasting terrifyingly with the raw dominance in his voice.

"tell me the truth, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic purr. "did he ever make you smile the way I do? when he looked at you, did your heart race like it's doing right now?"

he trailed his lips down her jawline, planting a slow, burning kiss just beneath her ear before looking back down into her wide, glassy eyes. a dark, deeply confident smile pulled at his lips.

"and what about when we're together? during our little secret adventures... did he ever even come close to making you feel that kind of pleasure? did he ever make your body shake and shatter the way i just did?"

he slid his hand down from her neck, his fingers trailing a burning path over her collarbone before digging firmly into her hip, pinning her completely against the wall.

"he couldn't touch you, and you know it," michael whispered fiercely, his dark eyes burning with an absolute, undeniable triumph. "nobody can love you like i do. nobody can make you feel alive the way i do. you're ruined for anyone else, sweetheart, because no one will ever compare to me."

his fingers slowly dragged down from her hip, tracing a burning line across the sensitive skin of her stomach. the movement was agonizingly deliberate, making her stomach muscles tense instantly under his touch.

"did he even know how to touch you?" michael whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly murmur that vibrated right against her skin. "did he know the exact spots that make you lose your mind?"

his hand slid lower, moving past her waist and slipping between her thighs, his long, warm fingers making direct, heavy contact with her slick warmth. he didn't push inside right away; instead, his palm pressed firmly against her core, applying a torturous, rhythmic pressure that forced a soft, helpless gasp from her lips.

"did he make you burn like this, sweetheart?" he purred fiercely, watching her face closely as a fresh wave of heat made her hips twitch weakly against his hand. "did he ever make you open up for him this easily? look at how your body answers me. you were made for my hands, and only mine."

"m-michael... what are you doing? please..." she breathed out, the words trembling past her lips in a weak, desperate gasp.

but even as the protest left her mouth, her body completely betrayed her. she didn't pull away. she didn't try to close her legs or push his hand away. instead, her fingers clutched tighter into the wall, her hips melting helplessly into the firm, heavy pressure of his palm. she was completely paralyzed by the sheer intensity of him, trapped in a daze where her mind wanted him to stop, but her body was already entirely surrendered to his touch.

michael let out a low, deeply satisfied hum against her skin, noticing instantly how she wasn't fighting him. he loved the contradiction—the way she questioned him with her voice, while her entire body opened up for him, pleading for more.

"i'm taking what's mine, sweetheart," michael whispered fiercely, his dark eyes locking onto hers as his long fingers began to move against her, sliding through her slick warmth with a slow, deliberate friction.

he leaned down, his lips brushing against her burning cheek as he witnessed her complete, silent submission.

"look at you... you're asking me to stop, but you're shaking for me. you're soaking wet for my fingers," he purred darkly into her ear, his rhythm turning heavier, driving her right back into a state of absolute delirium. "you're letting me do exactly what i want with you, because you know this is exactly where you belong."

"m-michael, please... if you don't stop, i won't be able to..." she trailed off, the words dying in her throat as a sharp, sudden knot of emotion cut off her breath. she couldn't finish the thought, couldn't voice the terrifying truth that she was losing every ounce of her resolve under the heavy weight of his hands and his words.

michael stopped the movement of his fingers just for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes narrowing in the dim light as he leaned down closer, his face mere inches from hers.

"you won't be able to what, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a low, challenging rasp that vibrated with dangerous curiosity. "finish the sentence. tell me exactly what you can't do."

but instead of answering, instead of letting him drag another piece of her confession out into the open, she completely snapped. a wave of raw, overwhelming emotion crashed over her—a suffocating mix of devastating sadness from his cruel manipulation and a sudden, burning anger at how easily he could make her crumble.

before he could utter another word, she reached up, her hands tangling desperately into his hair, and pulled his face down to hers, slamming her lips against his.

the kiss was completely chaotic, filled with a bruising intensity that caught him completely off guard. there was nothing sweet or gentle about it; it was a desperate, messy collision of all the pain and frustration she was holding inside. she poured every ounce of her heartbreak into the friction of their lips, crying out silently against his mouth in a furious, grieving surrender that told him everything her words couldn't.

the kiss deepened, turning into a frantic, breathless struggle as michael instantly met her intensity. he didn't back down for a single second; instead, his arms locked around her waist and shoulders, crushing her chest against his with a sudden, bruising force that threatened to squeeze the remaining air right out of her lungs.

it was a chaotic collision of passion and underlying fury. every movement of his lips against hers felt like a battle for absolute control, a heavy, desperate possessiveness that was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. he was holding her so tightly it almost hurt, his large hands digging deep into her skin as if he wanted to physically meld her body into his own, ensuring she could never pull away from him again.

she could taste the raw anger in the way his teeth grazed her bottom lip, but beneath the violence of it, there was a desperate, suffocating need that made her head spin. she clung to him just as fiercely, her fingers ripping through his curls, matching his heavy, demanding rhythm as the dark room seemed to completely vanish around them. they were drowning in each other, completely consumed by a storm of hurt, desire, and mutual ruin.

without breaking the kiss, michael suddenly locked his arms beneath her thighs and hoisted her up in one powerful, effortless motion. her instinct kicked in instantly, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he slammed her back hard against the bedroom wall. the sudden impact jolted through her, but before she could even gasp, his mouth crushed back down onto hers with an even more aggressive, unyielding fury.

the kiss completely devolved into something primal and frantic. he was dominating her mouth, his tongue forcing its way inside with a heavy, demanding friction that completely stole her breath away. there was no gentleness left, no hesitation—just a raw, bruising hunger that made her head spin as he pinned her body flat against the wall with his heavy chest.

she clung to his shoulders for dear life, her fingers digging desperately into his skin as the sheer intensity of the collision threatened to pull her under. every ragged breath they shared felt like fire, the toxic mixture of anger, desire, and mutual destruction burning hot between them as he held her aloft, completely at his mercy.

her hands tore away from his shoulders, dropping down to the collar of his shirt with that same frantic, aggressive energy. she didn't care about being careful; her fingers gripped the fabric tightly, pulling and tugging at the buttons with a desperate impatience that nearly ripped the material apart. she needed the barrier gone, needed to feel his bare skin against hers to match the suffocating intensity burning in her chest.

michael let out a low, rough growl against her mouth, his grip on her thighs tightening even more ruthlessly as he felt her nails graze against his chest. he helped her, shifting his weight just enough to let her slide the shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

the moment her bare palms made contact with his hot, tense muscles, the kiss grew even wilder. she dragged her hands up his chest, her touch a chaotic mix of anger and absolute need, while his mouth continued to dominate hers, pinning her to the wall as they completely lost themselves in the friction of the dark bedroom.

her hands tore away from his shoulders, dropping down to the collar of his shirt with that same frantic, aggressive energy. she didn't care about being careful; her fingers gripped the fabric tightly, pulling and tugging at the buttons with a desperate impatience that nearly ripped the material apart. she needed the barrier gone, needed to feel his bare skin against hers to match the suffocating intensity burning in her chest.

michael let out a low, rough growl against her mouth, his grip on her thighs tightening even more ruthlessly as he felt her nails graze against his chest. he helped her, shifting his weight just enough to let her slide the shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

the moment her bare palms made contact with his hot, tense muscles, the kiss grew even wilder. she dragged her hands up his chest, her touch a chaotic mix of anger and absolute need, while his mouth continued to dominate hers, pinning her to the wall as they completely lost themselves in the friction of the dark bedroom.

breaking the kiss for a split second, michael leaned back just enough to look at her, his chest heaving violently against hers, his dark eyes wild and completely consumed by the chaos between them. a rough, breathless laugh escaped his lips, his voice dropping into a ragged, fierce whisper against her mouth.

"you're completely insane," he growled, his grip on her thighs tightening until it almost bruised.

"so are you," she shot back instantly, her voice trembling with that same volatile mix of anger and devotion, her eyes staring right back into his with a defiant, burning intensity.

before the words could even fully leave her lips, michael crashed his mouth back down onto hers, and they completely lost their minds. the kiss became a frantic, desperate collision, a beautiful ruin of lips and teeth as they devoured each other in the dark room.

while keeping her pinned firmly against the wall with the weight of his upper body, michael slid one of his large, warm hands down from her thigh. with rough, impatient movements, his fingers hooked into the waistband of her bottoms, dragging the fabric down her legs with a desperate urgency. she kicked her legs out of them blindly, never once breaking the suffocating depth of the kiss, her hands gripping his bare shoulders as her body completely opened up to his touch, entirely surrendered to the madness.

he pulled his lips away from hers just an inch, his hot, ragged breath brushing violently against her mouth as he kept her pinned hard against the solid wood of the wall. his eyes were pitch black, completely consumed by that toxic, relentless jealousy that he just couldn't shake.

"did he ever do this to you?" michael demanded, his voice a rough, breathless rasp that shook with possessive anger. "did he ever have the balls to slide his hands up your thighs, lift you up, and slam you against a wall like this? did he ever look at you and make you feel like you were going to break in half?"

she let out a desperate, shaky gasp, her fingers clutching his bare shoulders as he pressed his heavy frame even closer, giving her absolutely no room to escape his questions.

"tell me, sweetheart. did he touch you right here? did he make you shake the way i do?" he purred darkly, his words dripping with a bitter, obsessive curiosity that was entirely meant to torture them both.

she couldn't take it anymore. the words, the accusations, the suffocating guilt—she just wanted all of it to vanish into the dark. she didn't want to think about the past, and she didn't want to fight the monster he was being.

"shut up," she breathed out, her voice a fierce, broken whisper as she stared straight into his wild eyes. "just shut up and make love to me."

the words left her lips like a direct challenge, and it instantly woke something fierce and predatory deep inside him. a dark, dangerous wave of pride surged through his chest, smoothing out the rough edges of his anger into an absolute, intoxicating sense of victory. he let out a low, gravelly chuckle against her skin, the sound vibrating with a supreme, masculine satisfaction. she was begging him now, entirely consumed by him, completely blind to anyone else.

with his ego fully fed and his possessiveness validated, he slowly lowered her just enough for her feet to touch the hardwood floor, though he kept her pinned firmly against the wall with the heavy, unyielding weight of his bare torso. he intentionally loosened his iron grip on her, giving her arms just enough freedom to move.

"do it then," michael whispered right against her ear, his breath hot and commanding. "take it off me."

her hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers instantly, her fingers trembling but filled with that same frantic, aggressive urgency. she unbuckled his belt with a sharp, metallic click that echoed loudly in the quiet bedroom, her nails scratching lightly against his skin as she undid the button and slowly dragged the heavy zipper down. michael stood perfectly still, his head tilted back slightly against the wall, a dark, triumphant smirk playing on his lips as he watched her through hooded, burning eyes, completely enjoying her desperation.

she hooked her fingers into the fabric, pushing his trousers and briefs down past his hips in one smooth, impatient motion, completely baring his lower body to the cool air of the dark room. his manhood was already fully exposed—thick, heavy, and pulsing with a fierce, hot readiness that completely dominated the small space between them. a thin sheen of pre-cum glistened at the dark tip, catching the faint glint of light in the shadows as his erection strained upward, a raw testament to how much her submission and her words had driven him crazy.

she stared down at him for a fraction of a second, her breath hitching at the sheer size and heat radiating from his lap, but before she could even process it, michael’s hand locked firmly around the back of her neck, tilting her head up to force her to look at him.

"look at what you do to me," he purred darkly, his long fingers sliding down to grip her thigh, lifting her leg up high to completely open her up to him. "now tell me exactly who you belong to."

"you," she gasped out, her voice a broken, breathless whisper as she clung to his bare shoulders for support. "i belong to you, michael. only you."

the answer was exactly what he needed to hear. that dark, possessive pride flared up in his chest again, and without another word, he lifted her leg higher, hooking it securely around his hip to completely expose her center to his heat.

he positioned himself directly against her entrance, the broad, smooth tip of his length brushing firmly through her slick warmth, teasing the very edge of her core. she let out a sharp, involuntary whine at the sensation, her hips instinctively tilting forward, begging for the friction, but michael paused for one agonizing second, staring deep into her eyes to make sure she was looking right at him when it happened.

"stay right there. look at me," he murmured, his voice a dark, commanding growl.

then, with one heavy, unyielding thrust, he drove himself straight inside.

the sudden, massive fullness of him filled her completely, stretching her tight walls so perfectly that a loud, choked gasp tore from her throat. her fingers dug deep into the muscles of his back, her nails scratching against his skin as her body adjusted to the intense, burning heat of him burying himself all the way to the hilt. michael let out a low, ragged groan against her neck, his entire body shuddering as her slick, tight core clamped down fiercely around his length, trapping him inside her suffocating warmth.

he didn't give her time to recover. holding her firmly against the wall with his hands locked under her thighs, he pulled back slightly and drove in again, establishing a heavy, aggressive rhythm that made the headboard rattle against the drywall. each deep, possessive stroke was a reminder of exactly who she belonged to, plunging them both headfirst into absolute madness.

the rhythm became completely frantic, a heavy, seamless friction that echoed loudly in the dark bedroom. each time he drove himself deep inside her, the impact jolted straight through her core, sending a violent, paralyzing wave of pleasure through her entire body. she was completely undone, her head rolling back against the solid wall as ragged, breathless moans tore from her throat with every single thrust.

she absolutely loved it. she loved the terrifying intensity of his weight against her, the bruising grip of his hands on her skin, and the undeniable truth that, despite all the anger and the tears, her body was completely wired for his touch. she clung to his bare shoulders, her fingers digging deep into his muscles, pulling him closer and tilting her hips forward to meet every heavy stroke, matching his aggressive energy with a desperate hunger of her own.

michael let out a low, gravelly groan against the column of her neck, his chest heaving violently against hers. the feeling of her tight, slick walls clamping down ruthlessly around him with every movement was driving him completely insane. he could feel how perfectly she welcomed him, how her body shaped itself entirely around his length, and it fed that dark, possessive pride inside him until it was completely intoxicating.

he loved the absolute certainty of having her pinned here, hearing her voice break as she cried out his name, knowing that no matter what happened outside this room, she was entirely surrendered to him in the dark.

"look at you... you love this," michael panting, his voice a rough, breathless rasp as he pulled back and drove right back in, burying himself to the hilt. "you love how hard i'm taking you, don't you, sweetheart?"

she couldn't even answer with words; she just let out a sharp, shattered cry, her legs wrapping even tighter around his waist as she buried her face into his neck, biting down gently on his shoulder to anchor herself through the overwhelming storm of pleasure. they were both completely drowning in the madness, losing themselves in a chaotic, beautiful ruin where anger, passion, and mutual devotion were completely indistinguishable.

he slowed his pace just a fraction, but the depth of his thrusts remained heavy and unyielding, keeping her completely pinned against the wall as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. his hot, ragged breaths were sharp against her skin, vibrating with the sudden, raw return of that suffocating memory.

"you have no idea..." michael growled, his voice dropping into a rough, fractured whisper that shook with a toxic mixture of pleasure and lingering fury. "you have absolutely no idea how much rage i had burning inside me when i saw him standing there. in your apartment. in your space."

he drove into her again, a hard, possessive stroke that forced a broken gasp from her lips, his hands tightening on her thighs until his knuckles turned white.

"i tried so hard to be a gentleman," he panted, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of her jawline as he fought the memory of that suffocating anger. "i stood there, i played the part, i didn't lay a hand on him... but i had nothing but pure hatred in my chest. i wanted to tear the place apart. i wanted to destroy him for even looking at what belongs to me."

he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes forcing her to look straight at him through the shadows, his expression a chaotic mix of intense pleasure and raw, vulnerable bitterness.

"seeing another man in your life... it was killing me, sweetheart," he whispered fiercely, his rhythm picking right back up, driving into her with a renewed, desperate intensity that made her head spin. "and right now, i'm wiping every single trace of him out of your mind."

"m-michael... ah! michael..." she moaned out his name, the sound breaking from her throat in a shattered, breathless sob as his words and his body crashed into her all at once.

she tightened her legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper, wanting to swallow up all that lingering bitterness he was pouring into her. she could feel the raw pain behind his jealousy, and it broke something inside her, melting away the last of her own anger.

"there’s no one else..." she panted, her voice trembling as she clutched his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her through the dark. "it was only ever you... it's always been you. i don't care about him, michael. i don't care about anyone else."

she kissed him again, a deep, desperate reassurance that tasted like salt and heat, trying to heal the wound she had caused.

michael let out a low, shuddering growl against her lips, her words hitting him right in his chest. that final validation completely broke his remaining restraint. his rhythm turned wilder, faster, driving into her with a fierce, possessive desperation that completely consumed them both, erasing everything else from existence until there was nothing left but his name on her lips.

the tension in the room coiled so tight it felt ready to snap. the heavy, desperate rhythm of his hips against hers grew faster, shallower, driven by a sudden, electric urgency that gripped them both at the exact same moment. a familiar, blinding heat began to bloom deep in her lower stomach, spreading rapidly through her veins like wildfire.

"michael..." she gaspsed out, her fingers tightening into his damp hair, her entire body arching off the wall as her internal muscles began to contract around him in tiny, frantic waves.

michael felt the sudden, tight squeeze of her core, and it pushed him right over the edge. his breathing turned completely ragged, his chest heaving violently against hers as a dark, guttural groan tore from his chest. he recognized that look in her eyes—the way her focus shattered, her gaze rolling back as she clung to him for dear life.

"i know, sweetheart... i feel you," he panted fiercely against her lips, his hands locking around her thighs with an iron grip, holding her up as he delivered a few final, devastatingly deep thrusts. "come on... right now. give it all to me."

the pleasure crashed over them like a tidal wave. she let out a long, broken cry against his shoulder as her climax ripped through her, her body shuddering violently in a beautiful, prolonged release. the sensation of her undoing was too much for michael to handle; with one last, powerful surge, he buried himself to the hilt and let go, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his own release flooded her core, locking them together in a shared, breathless oblivion.

the intense waves of pleasure slowly receded, leaving her body completely heavy and exhausted. her legs gradually slipped down from his waist, her feet finding the cool floor as she leaned weakly against the wall, her forehead resting against michael's bare shoulder. her breath was still coming in short, uneven gasps, but then, the heavy silence of the room was broken by a soft, hitched sob.

a single hot tear slipped down her cheek, quickly followed by another, until she was silently crying, her shoulders trembling against him.

michael noticed instantly. the post-climax daze vanished from his eyes, and his entire demeanor shifted in a fraction of a second. all the rough aggression, the jealousy, and the dark pride completely melted away, replaced by an immediate, protective panic.

"sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice instantly dropping into a soft, worried caress.

he wrapped his large arms securely around her, pulling her close to his bare chest as he felt her shaking. one of his long hands came up to cradle the back of her head, while the other gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at him through the dark. his dark eyes were wide with genuine anxiety, searching her tear-stained face for answers.

"hey, hey... look at me. what's wrong?" michael whispered tenderly, his thumb gently wiping away the damp streaks on her cheeks. his heart was suddenly hammering against his ribs, but this time out of fear. "why are you crying? did i hurt you? tell me, please... you're scaring me."

the moment he asked, the dam completely broke. all the anxiety, the guilt, and the suffocating weight she had been carrying inside for months finally spilled over, and she just couldn't hold it back anymore. she buried her face in his bare chest, her hands clutching at his shoulders as the tears came faster, her voice coming out in a broken, trembling rush.

"i'm just... i'm so scared, michael," she sobbed out, the confession tearing from her throat before she could stop it. "i've been so terrified to start anything with you. every single time i look at you, every time i let myself feel how much i love you, i panic."

michael didn't say a word; he just held her tighter, his chest rising and falling heavily as he listened, his heart aching at the raw pain in her voice. He kissed the top of her head, soothing her silently, letting her get everything out.

"i'm so scared that everything is going to repeat itself," she choked out, looking up at him through her blurred vision, her eyes filled with a deep, devastating vulnerability. "my past relation... the way it ended, the way it ruined me. i'm terrified that if i let myself fully belong to you, it's all going to happen again. i can't survive that a second time, michael. i'm so scared that i'm going to lose you."

the raw honesty of her words hit him like a physical blow. the protective instinct in him flared up instantly, fierce and unyielding. michael didn't hesitate for a single second; he cupped her face gently in both of his large hands, using his thumbs to brush away the fresh tears, forcing her to look directly into his eyes so she could see the absolute sincerity burning inside them.

"hey, look at me," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, yet completely solid and grounded. "look right at me, sweetheart. i am not him. and i am not going anywhere."

she squeezed her eyes shut as another fresh wave of tears spilled over, her voice dropping into a small, fragile whisper that completely broke his heart.

"that's why i kept pushing you away," she confessed, her fingers tightening into the fabric of his shirt as if she were trying to anchor herself. "that's why i wanted to just limit us to this... to these little adventures, these casual moments that didn't have a label. i kept telling myself that if it wasn't founded on anything real, if we didn't call it a relationship, then i'd be safe. i thought it would protect me if things went wrong."

she let out a shaky, exhausted breath, finally opening her eyes to look at him, her gaze completely raw and stripped of any armor.

"but it didn't protect me, michael. it just made me miserable. I'm so tired... I'm so incredibly tired of suffering, of being trapped by my own fear. i don't want to hide behind these walls anymore. i don't want to pretend. i just want to love you."

michael’s expression softened so deeply it looked like a physical ache. a low, tender breath escaped his lips as he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against hers. he felt a profound wave of humility and fierce devotion wash over him; hearing her final surrender, her desire to just let go and love him, completely healed whatever lingering trace of jealousy he had left.

"oh, sweetheart..." he murmured, his hands moving from her face to wrap securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest so she could feel the steady, rapid beating of his heart. "you don't have to protect yourself from me. you're safe now. i've got you, and i'm never letting go."

michael held her even closer, pulling her completely into his warmth until there was no space left between them. he wrapped his long arms around her shoulders and lower back, rocking her gently in the quiet darkness of the room, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe her frantic breathing.

"listen to me very carefully, okay?" he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, like a warm blanket wrapping around her. he leaned down and pressed a long, tender kiss against her wet temple, keeping his lips brushed against her skin as he spoke. "you don't ever have to be scared with me. i know you've been hurt, and i know how terrifying it is to give your heart to someone again. but i promise you, with everything that i am, everything is going to be alright."

he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands moving up to cup her face with absolute gentleness. gone was the aggressive, jealous man from before; his eyes were filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated devotion.

"i am not going to repeat the past, and i am never, ever going to ruin what we have," he whispered, his thumb wiping away the very last of her tears. "with me, you don't have to build any walls. you can just let go. I'm going to protect you, sweetheart. I'm going to take care of you every single day, and we're going to build something so beautiful, so solid, that nothing can ever break it."

he smiled gently, a small, reassuring curve of his lips that instantly made the dark room feel safe again.

"you just want to love? then let me love you back. just trust me. we're going to take it one step at a time, together. you're safe now, i promise."

without another word, michael slipped one arm securely beneath her knees and the other around her upper back, effortlessly lifting her up into his arms in a gentle bridal carry. she instinctively buried her face into the crook of his neck, her hands clinging to his bare shoulders as he carried her away from the cold wall and across the dark bedroom.

he walked over to the bed and carefully laid her down against the soft, mattress, pulling the plush duvet over her body to keep her warm. instead of pulling away, michael immediately climbed into the bed right beside her, shifting his weight to lie down and pull her flush against his side.

he gathered her back into his arms, resting her head comfortably on his chest while his long fingers gently stroked her hair.

"just let it all out, sweetheart," he murmured softly into the darkness, his voice a soothing, rhythmic whisper as his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. "i'm right here. if you need to cry, just cry. i've got you."

he held her tightly, completely surrounding her with his warmth and creating a safe, quiet haven where she didn't have to be strong anymore, giving her all the space she needed to finally heal.

rested in the deep quiet of the bedroom, the heavy rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek was the only sound for a long moment. michael kept his fingers moving through her hair, his touch incredibly light, but his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, dark with the weight of a truth he had been holding back for a very long time.

he let out a long, heavy breath, his chest shuddering slightly under her head.

"can i tell you something?" he whispered into the shadows, his voice dropping into a low, vulnerable rasp. "something i've never had the courage to say out loud?"

he didn't wait for her to answer, his hand coming down to gently squeeze her shoulder, drawing her just a fraction closer to him.

"i hated it," he confessed bluntly, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through the quiet room. "from the very first day, i absolutely hated that relationship you were in. every time i saw you with him, every time you spoke about him, it felt like a knife twisting right in my gut."

he paused, his fingers tightening slightly in her hair as the memory brought back a faint echo of that old, suffocating frustration.

"it wasn't just because i wanted you for myself—even though god knows i did," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips gently against the top of her head. "it was because i had to sit back and watch what it was doing to you. i saw the way it was draining your light, the way you were constantly carrying this heavy, quiet sadness around. i was so sick of it. i was so damn tired of seeing you suffer for someone who didn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you."

a soft, self-deprecating chuckle escaped his lips, a confession of his own desperation.

"i've never been a manipulative man, sweetheart... but with him, i swear i lost my mind sometimes. there were moments where i did everything i could think of, entirely on purpose, just to push the two of you apart. i'd drop hints, i'd create excuses to keep you away from him, i'd do whatever little things i could just to make that relationship crumble. i didn't care if it made me look bad in the dark. i just wanted it to end. i wanted you out of that prison so i could finally give you the happiness you deserved."

the silence stretched out between them, thick with the weight of everything they had finally laid bare. as michael’s confession hung in the shadows, a strange, heavy realization settled over both of them.

they had been trapped in a beautiful, chaotic cycle, spinning around each other for months. in their own way, they had been almost mutually toxic.

she had kept him at arm's length, intentionally reducing their deep, undeniable connection to fleeting, casual encounters—unintentionally torturing him with a calculated emotional distance just to build a fortress around her fractured heart. and he, driven by a desperate, suffocating need to save her, had crossed lines he never thought he’d cross, manipulating circumstances behind the scenes and letting his fierce jealousy bleed into pure possessiveness tonight against the wall.

but as she lay there listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, they both understood the dark truth of it: every toxic move, every sharp edge, and every mind game had been born from a place of desperate survival. it was a twisted, backwards way of protecting one another. she had been trying to shield them both from a repeat of her tragic past, and he had been trying to tear down her prison walls before the misery could completely destroy her light.

"we really put each other through hell, didn't we?" she whispered into the dark, her voice trembling slightly as she tightened her grip on his torso, finally acknowledging the beautiful madness of how they had fought to survive.

michael let out a soft, rough sigh, his long fingers tracing gentle patterns along her spine as he pulled her even closer into his chest.

"maybe we did, sweetheart," he murmured against her hair, his voice dropping into a tender, unconditional promise. "but it was only because i couldn't let you drown. we don't have to fight like that anymore. we're on the same side now."

she lifted her head from his chest slightly, her eyes searching his face in the dim light of the bedroom. the tears had finally stopped, but her gaze was still fragile, carrying the heavy remnant of all those months of fear.

"can i really do it, michael?" she whispered, her voice small and tentative, breaking the quiet safety of the blankets. "can i really just start a completely new page... without constantly looking over my shoulder, without always worrying about my past ruining everything?"

michael didn't answer with words right away. instead, he shifted closer, his long fingers gently cupping the side of her face to tilt her head up. he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a deep, slow kiss. it wasn't like the desperate, frantic kisses from earlier against the wall; this one was tender, incredibly soft, and filled with a quiet, solid reassurance that seemed to pour directly into her soul.

when he finally pulled back just a fraction, his lips were still brushing against hers as he spoke, his breath warm and certain.

"yes," he murmured, his voice a steady, unbreakable promise in the dark. "yes, you can, sweetheart. the past doesn't get a say in this room anymore. we're writing the rest of the story together."

[michaelpilled]

━━ BEND OVER, BABY .ᐟ𝜗𝜚

SUMMARY: after wondering if your boyfriend ever signed a girl's boobs, you wonder if he ever spanked someone.

PAIRING: 𝖳𝖧𝖱𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖤𝖱!𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖤𝖫 x 𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖱.

TAGS: 𝖳𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖦 ╱ 𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖧𝖤𝖣 𝖱𝖤𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖯 ╱ 𝖲𝖯𝖠𝖭𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖦 ╱ 𝖫𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳 𝖡𝖣𝖲𝖬 ╱ 𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖲𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖨𝖲 𝖲𝖤𝖷𝖸 ╱ 𝖢𝖮𝖱𝖱𝖴𝖯𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪 ( 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖫𝖫𝖸 ) ╱ 𝖳𝖤𝖠𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪 ( 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖫𝖫𝖸 ) ╱ 𝖥𝖨𝖱𝖲𝖳 𝖳𝖨𝖬𝖤 𝖲𝖯𝖠𝖭𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖦 ╱ 𝖥𝖫𝖴𝖥𝖥 ╱ 𝖲𝖴𝖦𝖦𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤 ╱ 𝖲𝖧𝖸!𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖤𝖫 ╱ 𝖬𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 𝖮𝖥 𝖵𝖨𝖳𝖨𝖫𝖨𝖦𝖮 ╱ 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖥𝖴𝖫 𝖣𝖮𝖬/𝖲𝖴𝖡 𝖴𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱𝖳𝖮𝖭𝖤𝖲 ╱ 𝖯𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖲𝖤 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖨𝖥 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖲𝖰𝖴𝖨𝖭𝖳.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this can be read as a sequel to sign the girls or as a standalone. i just want to find new ways for the reader to tease a shy michael in all the sweet ways possible ━ oops.

SHE WATCHED HIM from the arm of the sofa, chin propped in her palm, legs swinging lazily. She had been doing that for half a year now, six months of watching him get all shy around her, as if she had not already mapped the constellation of patches on his chest and neck with her lips.

"You’re staring," Michael murmured without looking up, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m admiring," she corrected. "It’s an act of devotion."

Her boyfriend finally glanced up, those big brown eyes catching the late afternoon light.

"Devotion, huh?"

"Mmm," she slid off the arm of the couch and crawled across the carpet toward him on all fours, her backside swaying scandalously in the air. "I’m devoted to making you blush. It’s my life’s mission."

She saw the way his eyes slightly looked down in shyness before he laughed, that soft, breathy giggle that made her stomach flip, and ducked his head, focusing very hard on the tuning pegs.

"You’re impossible…"

"And you’re flushed already and I haven’t even done anything yet," she bit her lips to stop herself from laughing.

"You don’t have to do anything," he mumbled, still not looking at her. "You just… exist."

She settled beside him, close enough that her thigh was pressing against his. He smelled like baby powder and the faint, clean musk of his cologne ━ something expensive he had picked up on a trip to Paris. She hooked a finger into the belt loop of his black trousers and tugged gently. He took a deep breath at the contact.

"Michaeeeel…" she sang.

"Mm?"

"I have a question."

That got his attention. He set the guitar aside carefully and turned to face her, his fingers now fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The last time she had told him she had a question, he had ended up signing her breasts. Don’t get it wrong ━ he had liked it, but he had been so shy about it he still blushed from the thought only.

"That generally means trouble…"

"You don’t know me at all," she pouted before putting a lock of hair behind her ear. "Have you ever spanked anyone?"

In the silence that followed, Michael’s entire face underwent so many emotions in a short amount of time. It went from confusion, processing, comprehension, and then ━ a flush, a deep, warm deepening of his brown skin that started at his collarbone and climbed all the way to the tips of his ears, turning them into a richer mahogany.

"I… what?"

"Span-ked," she repeated for him, savouring each syllable. "You know… a playful smack on the ass that can lead to… more intimate activities."

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"Why would you━why are you always requesting, I━"

"So that’s a no?"

Michael pressed his palms against his heated cheeks.

"That’s a why are you asking me this?"

"Because I think you’d be very good at it," she grinned wickedly.

He made a sound like a teakettle coming to a boil before shifting on the carpet, crossing and uncrossing his legs, suddenly very interested in a loose thread on his sleeve.

"You can’t just say things like that."

"Or what?" she leaned in, lowering her voice to a murmur. "You’re so gentle all the time. So careful. I love that about you. I love everything about you," she watched his throat bob as he swallowed. "But I also love the idea of you losing just a little control. Just for me."

Michael was fully flustered now, avoiding her eyes.

"You want me to… hit you?"

"No! Not hit! That’s not the word!" she hastened to correct ━ oh God! ━ she did not want him to think that. "Spank. It’s different, it’s playful and intimate, and I promise━" she touched his chin gently, guiding his gaze back to hers. "━I will tell you if I don’t like it."

Michael was quiet for a long moment, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. She could practically see the gears turning behind those eyes ━ shy Michael vs. curious Michael vs. the part of him that secretly loved how she pushed him just past his comfort zone into somewhere thrilling.

"I don’t know how…" he admitted finally, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

"That’s okay," she shifted onto her knees, facing him fully. "I’ll teach you."

His breath hitched.

"You’ll… You’ll teach me?"

"First lesson," she took his right hand and placed it on her hip. "You start by putting me over your knee," she felt his fingers flex against the curve of her waist.

"Here? Now?"

"Unless you’d rather be somewhere else?"

Michael glanced around the living room ━ the open blinds, the guitar, the juice glass ━ and then back at her. Something shifted in his expression, the shyness did not disappear, but it settled underneath something else.

"The bedroom," he said. "We should━the bedroom. Anyone could be home at any moment. If we’re going to━"

He could not finish the sentence. She rose to her feet and extended both hands to help him up. He took them, letting her pull him to standing, and for a moment they just stood there, nose to nose. She could feel the rapid flutter of his pulse where her fingers circled his wrists.

"You know…" she murmured. "… for someone who’s never done this before and who’s very shy, you seem very eager to try it."

Michael swallowed again, but his eyes did not leave hers.

"I just━I want to do it right. If we’re going to do it."

She kissed him then, soft and brief before she started to walk. He followed her down the hallway like a man walking toward his own sweet, trembling doom. And if his hand slipped into hers and squeezed a little tighter than usual ━ well, she did not mention it. Some things were too precious to tease… For now.

The bedroom was softer than the living room ━ lamplight instead of sunset, the low hum of the space heater Michael insisted on even in the Californian Autumn, and the faint scent of the sandalwood candle she had smuggled in last week. He stood near the foot of the bed, fidgeting with his rings again, looking eager and terrified.

She let him have a moment as she wandered over to his dresser, trailing her fingers along the edge, pretending to admire the framed photo of him with a baby chimpanzee.

"You're stalling."

"Me?" she turned, all innocent. "I'm giving you space. This is your first time, remember?"

He groaned softly and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"You and your strange demands…" he sighed.

"I recall you love my strange demands," she floated across the room toward him, her voice dropping. "Remember signing my breasts?"

Now, Michael was blushing again ━ that deep, beautiful flush that made the pale patches of his vitiligo stand out. She loved those patches, loved tracing the edges of them with her fingertips, loved kissing the places where his melanin had made its quiet exit. He used to hide them under long sleeves and heavy makeup. Now, around her, he did not bother.

Progress, she thought, my favourite thing.

"You're doing it again," he murmured.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like I'm━" Michael gestured vaguely at himself.

"Like I want to eat you whole?" she teased, closing the distance between them, hooking her fingers into his belt loops again ━ her favourite handle ━ and tugged him closer. "Now… about that spanking."

Before he could argue ━ not that he looked like he wanted to ━ she turned and walked toward the armchair in the corner of the room. It was his reading chair, overstuffed and upholstered in faded velvet, piled with sheet music and a discarded novel. She cleared it with one sweep of her arm, sending papers fluttering to the floor.

Michael watched from the bed, wide-eyed.

"Come here."

He started to walk. Of course he did, he always came when she used that voice ━ the one that was half a request, half a command, and entirely irresistible to the part of him that secretly loved being told what to do.

"You're going to stand right here," she positioned him beside the chair, facing the bed. "And you're going to watch."

"Baby━"

"Shh," she pressed a finger to his lips. "Observation is a form of learning."

She sat down in the chair, arranging herself by smoothing her skirt, crossing her ankles, leaning back like a queen about to be entertained. Then, she crooked her finger at him.

"Clooooseeeer."

Michael stepped closer, his hands clenching at his sides. His chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

"Turn around."

He blinked.

"What?"

"Turn around. Walk toward the door. And then walk back past me. Try to look like you're not paying attention."

"I am paying attention. I'm paying so much attention I think my heart is going to━"

"Michael," she smiled up at him. "Trust me."

He trusted her ━ that was the thing, against every shy instinct, every carefully constructed wall, every lesson the world had taught him about protecting himself. He trusted her.

So he turned. Michael walked toward the door and she watched the way his shoulders moved under his white shirt, the way his hips shifted with each step. The man had no idea how gorgeous he was from behind. He reached the door and turned and started walking back. As he passed her chair ━ close enough that she could have reached out and touched his thigh ━ she did exactly that. Her palm connected with his backside in a sharp, playful smack that echoed in the quiet room.

Michael yelped.

It was not a sexy yelp, it was a startled, undignified, completely genuine yelp that made him jump sideways and clutch at his rear like she had branded him.

"Ow!" he spined to face her. "You━you spanked me."

"I did," she examined her hand with a mocking expression. "That was the point, baby."

"You were supposed to let me━"

"This was a demonstration," she stood up, closing the space between them before he could retreat. "Lesson one: it doesn't have to be a whole thing. Sometimes it's just━" she smacked his thigh lightly this time, just for emphasis. "━a surprise, a reminder that I'm thinking about you… That I want you."

Michael was breathing hard now, his warmth spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. One hand was still pressed to his rear, which she found unbearably endearing.

"I've never━" he stopped, swallowed, and started again. "Nobody's ever━"

"I know," she stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. "That's why I wanted to be first."

Michael was quiet for a moment. Then, his arms came up around her, tentative at first, then firmer. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured into her hair.

"Don’t be so dramatic. We still have so much things to try!"

He laughed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back, and she felt some of the tension leave his body.

"So…" he trailed off, clearing his throat. "Lesson two?"

Her grin could have lit up all of Encino.

"Lesson two," she agreed.

She pulled him down onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under their weight. Michael landed with a soft oomph, his hands flying out instinctively to brace himself, landing exactly where she wanted them ━ on her hips, fingers splayed against the fabric of her skirt.

"Good start," she murmured, swinging a leg over his lap, the denim riding up a little. "But we're aiming lower."

She settled onto his thighs, straddling him, the warm weight of her pressing against his belt buckle. His hands slid down her sides like they were on rails ━ hesitant, questioning, until his palms cupped the swell of her backside. There.

His breath left him in a rush.

"Baby━"

"Shh," she looped her arms around his neck, playing with the soft curls at his nape. "Lesson two: hand placement."

Michael swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against her.

"Like this?"

"Perfect," she rocked forward slightly, just to watch his eyes flutter. "Now, you’re not just holding me. You're in charge. My butt is yours. What do you want to do with it?"

Michael made a strangled sound. His thumbs moved, almost unconsciously, tracing small circles against the denim that was covering her curves.

"I━I don't know. What am I supposed to want to do?"

"Whatever feels right," she leaned in, brushing her nose against his. "There's no script. Just you and me and this."

He looked down at where his hands were, then back up at her face. The shyness was still there, flickering behind his lashes, but so was something else ━ something that looked a lot like wonder.

"You're really letting me━"

"I'm inviting you," she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Lesson three: it's not about force, it’s about the intention. A light smack can be playful, a harder one can be... sexy," she grinned.

He wet his lips.

"How do I know which one to━"

"You ask," she took one of his hands and lifted it, pressing a kiss to the pale patches on his knuckles. "Or you start soft and pay attention to how I react. I'll tell you if I want more."

Michael nodded slowly, processing. Then, his gaze dropped to where their bodies met, and his voice came out softer than before.

"Can I... can I try?"

"That’s why we’re here, my love."

He laughed nervously, then, his hands tightened on her ━ just a little, just enough to make her breath catch ━ and he shifted her weight on his lap like he was getting comfortable.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

His right hand lifted away from her, hovering in the air for a moment like he was gathering courage. She watched his face ━ the furrow of concentration between his brows, the way he bit his lower lip, the vitiligo patch on his jaw that looked like a lip stain from her.

Then, his hand came down. The smack was light ━ barely more than a pat, really ━ but the sound of it in the quiet room made them both freeze. Michael's eyes went wide.

"Good. Again."

He did it again, a little firmer this time. His palm connected with the curve of her ass and she felt the warmth of it even through her skirt.

"Michael."

"Y-Yeah?"

"You can go harder than that, I won't break."

He looked at her face, searching for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he tried again ━ a proper smack this time, with a satisfying thwack that made her hips press down into his lap.

"There," she breathed. "Good boy. Just like that."

His hand stayed where it landed, palm flat against her, and she could feel him trembling.

"I like it," he admitted quietly. "Is that━is that weird? That I like it?"

She cupped his face in both hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

"It's not weird and I like it too. That's why I asked."

He let out a shaky exhale and rested his forehead against hers. His hands were still on her ━ both of them now, cupping her rear like he was holding something precious and fragile.

"Lesson four," she whispered against his lips. "Spanking isn't just about the smack. It's about what comes after," she kissed him and felt his fingers curl into the fabric of her skirt. "We could stop there… or you could do so much more to me."

Michael kissed her back like he was starving. His palms kneaded her gently, experimentally, and she felt his body respond beneath her ━ the subtle shift of his hips, the way his breath stuttered against her mouth.

"I love you," he said urgently like he needed her to hear it above everything else. "I love you, I love you, I━"

"I know," she pulled back just enough to see his face. "I love you too, even when you're shy…. Especially when you're shy… And when you let me teach you things."

He laughed wetly, blinking too fast.

"You're going to teach me everything, aren't you?"

"Everything you'll let me," she kissed the tip of his nose. "Now. Lesson five━"

"There's a lesson five?"

"━is that sometimes after a spanking, a girl likes to be bend over and fucked senseless. But━" she added, tapping his chest. "━I'm flexible. What do you want to do next?"

Michael looked at her, taking in the mess of her hair, the flush on her cheeks, the way she was sitting in his lap like she belonged there.

"I want… to try that thing you showed me. The one with your hand on the back of my neck while you━"

"Oh? That thing?" her eyebrows shot up. "You remembered that?"

"I remember everything you do," his hands squeezed her again, more confident now. "I just... I'm shy about asking."

"Michael," she kissed him hard, once, twice, three times. "Never be shy about asking. Not with me."

"Okay," he nodded. "Then can we... maybe move this to the middle of the bed? My back hurts from sitting on the edge."

She laughed and climbed off his lap just long enough to crawl backward onto the mattress, pulling him by the belt loops to follow her.

"Your wish━" she breathed, falling back against the pillows with him half-sprawled on top of her. "━is my absolute favourite command."

Michael propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her with dark, wondering eyes. His hands found their way back to her hips, then lower, settling into place like they had never left.

"Lesson six?" he asked, almost shy again.

"Lesson six," she agreed, guiding his palm where she wanted it the most. "You're a natural."

And when he blushed, she kissed him before he could hide it, tasting the smile on his lips and the future in his breath.

[dollhabits]

decorating michaels private jet … ⸰ 𖥔 ͙ࣳ

˓𓄹 ࣪˖ the body guard had stopped trying to intervene nearly forty minutes ago.

at first he attempted to be the masculine hunk of pure steel he was, he really did. the moment he saw you stepping onto michaels private jet carrying three massive shopping bags overflowing with decorative pillows, magazines, and enough pink accessories to completely transform the multi million dollar jet into a feminine oasis had him reminding you that michael hand picked the designs for this aircraft down to the leather stitching.

but the problem was that you were michaels favorite person in the world, he cherished you as if you invented breathing itself.

so after watching you casually drape a pearl garland around one of the cabinets and hearing you announce that the entire jet ‘looked flat,’ and ‘gave an overbearing masculine vibe,’ he had simply stepped aside and accepted his fate.

now he stood near the entrance basking in all the shimmering glitter, arms folded while you continued your mission.

“what’cha think? pretty, right?” you nudged the tough man, trying to get him to crack a smile but all you got was a begrudging hum.

the jet no longer resembled anything michael had purchased, every black leather seat had somehow acquired a pearlescent print pillow. expensive fashion magazines were stacked neatly on tables and tucked into the armrests, soft blankets with little satin hearts were folded over the chairs. and for a final boyish touch you visited an expensive antique shop, purchasing a diamond crusted guitar jewelry dish—popping your much needed lipglosses in it.

when michael had finally boarded after his painfully boring meeting, he stopped so abruptly the bodyguard behind him nearly walked straight into his back.

for several moments he didn’t say anything, his eyes slowly traveling from the pearlescent pillows to the cheetah print chairs, then the fashion magazines that already had circles written on the outfits you wanted.

then, finally to you. hands clasped over your mini skirt with a wide pearly smile meeting your plump, glossy lips.

“tada!” you giggled, making jazz hands with a quick twirl to show how proud you were of the new and improved jet.

“baby..” he muttered, still taking in all the pink and cheetah he was seeing. “what happened to my plane?”

“your plane?” you repeated with a playful attitude, arms folding over your chest. “interesting, because i remember someone telling me whatever is his is mine.”

you watched as the smile creeped up on his face, slotting his bottom lip between his teeth. seeing how carefree and happy you were about this made it impossible for him to actually be mad you.

“see this is your problem, wanna know what it is? nobody ever tells you no.” his gaze flicks to the bodyguard whose posture screams guilt, but realistically he would’ve fired the man if he even thought about stopping his baby from doing something she desired.

“well ive never heard the word come out of your mouth, cant be too mad can you?” you purred, standing on your tip toes as you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

he sighed in defeat knowing he really couldn’t, he’s never told you no—not even once. this was all the product of his spoiled doing.

but as he watched the sweet curves of your body excitedly straighten his blanket and continue to fuss over the placement of the decorations like you were preparing a palace, he couldn’t fight the smile that etched onto his lips.

because the truth was no matter how much pink, pearls, ribbons, fashion magazines and ridiculous cheetah print blankets you managed to squeeze into his aircraft, the place always felt better when it looked like you had been there.

and unfortunately for everyone involved, especially the bodyguard who had spent an hour witnessing the chaos unfold, michael had never been very good at telling you no.

“this blanket is pretty nice..” he mumbled, pulling it over his tall frame.

“told you!”

a/n: this is just something super short because i don’t want to bore people with super long stories 😭😭 but a peak into spoiled!reader and michael becuz i can’t live without it he would be so good w a spoiled brat gf like omfg

[brownsugarletters]

Let's Go Half Pt. 2

Michael Jackson x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: Michael's plans for him and reader to go half on a baby might be coming to fruition after all. Neverland needs some little Jacksons running around.

CONTENT: fluff, super sweet fluff, comfort, needy!Michael, dangerous era!Michael, era 1993, established relationship, emotional intimacy, discussion of pregnancy, no use of y/n

Author's Note: AHHHH thank you guys for all the love y'all showed to part one. I hope you guys love pt. 2, lmk what you thinkkkk. It's a long one, enjoy 💕

PART ONE

Taglist: @nesiris21 @anonymou000000 @therubyeffect @serathines @kayybaereads @vigilantlysassypact @whosrafey @delictezz @humannatvre @4lulai @exerlover

Weeks later, you knew something was off when certain smells had suddenly started attacking you personally.

You were at rehearsals with Michael, and he had been acting strange all morning. Not bad strange. Michael strange. Which was a very specific category.

The Dangerous tour rehearsals were already intense. Everyone knew that. The room was hot from bodies moving, stage lights testing, dancers running formations again and again until every step looked effortless. Music blasted through the speakers loud enough to make the floor vibrate beneath your shoes.

Michael loved it. You could tell by the way his entire body moved the second the music started.

Offstage, he could be soft-spoken and shy, hiding smiles behind his hand and dodging compliments like they were physical objects. But when he was on stage? Gone. Completely gone.

All of the hesitation disappeared. The softness sharpened. His voice dropped when he gave direction, not loud, but firm enough that everyone listened immediately.

“No, no, no. Stop.”

The music cut. The dancers froze. Michael stood center floor, one hand lifted, head tilted slightly as if he were listening to something the rest of you couldn’t hear.

“The hit is late.”

Someone near the soundboard frowned.

“It’s on count, Mike.”

Michael shook his head immediately.

“It’s on count, but it’s late.”

The room went quiet, nobody argued. You had learned a long time ago that those were two different things to Michael. A thing could be technically correct and still wrong.

He stepped backward, demonstrated the move once, then again.

“See? It has to snap right there. If you wait, the whole thing falls.”

And just like that, everyone understood, or at least pretended to.

You were sitting near Janet, watching from a folding chair with your legs crossed and a bottle of water balanced against your thigh. Janet leaned closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

“He’s been like this since he was little.”

You smiled without looking away from him.

“Bossy?”

“Passionate about everything.”

That made you look over. Janet’s eyebrows lifted knowingly.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, then closed it.

Because unfortunately, Janet knew Michael all too well. And that man had it bad for you.

The evidence was prominent all morning in between sets. A stolen glance here. Another there. Sometimes a small smile, he'd blow you kisses.

Later, you felt heat on you, as if someone was watching you. Across the room, despite the fact that there were at least twenty people between you, Michael’s eyes found yours immediately.

Then, that slow, pleased look that made you feel like he was remembering something he had no business remembering in public.

You narrowed your eyes at him. Michael’s smile widened. His curls framed his face gently under the brim of his hat, which cast a subtle shadow over his features. He leaned against a loudspeaker like he didn't have a care in the world, one ankle crossed over the other, lazily chewing his gum. And watching you. Not glancing. Watching. The corner of his mouth tugged upward. Then his brows lifted twice.

A tiny gesture. Barely there. But there was nothing innocent about it. Then he turned back to the dancers like he hadn’t done anything at all.

Janet made a noise beside you.

“Oh, he’s terrible.”

You laughed.

“Stop.”

“I’m serious.” She sat back, arms crossed, looking entirely too entertained. 

“I don’t know what you did to him, but he’s been unbearable.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

That was not entirely true. You had, in fact, done something.

Or more accurately, the two of you had done a lot of something. Several times, in several locations after the conversation.

After Debbie Rowe had apparently decided to submit an application to be the mother of your future children. The memory alone made your face warm.

“Things are just really good.” You said, biting back a smile as you turned away, trying not to be obvious.

Janet noticed immediately.

“Oh, I’m sure they are. You got that bedroom glow, girl.” She teased, nudging you with her shoulder.

You covered your face, turning away and squealing.

“Jan!”

“I didn’t say anything!” You both dissolved into a fit of giggles, but yours faded quicker than hers.

Because suddenly the room smelled wrong. Not bad. Just wrong. Someone had opened a container of food near the far wall, and the scent drifted across the rehearsal space before you could prepare yourself. Something greasy and warm. And that immediately turned your stomach.

You sat up straighter. Janet noticed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

The answer came too quickly. You reached for your water. Took a sip, swallowed. For three seconds, everything seemed fine. Then suddenly it wasn’t. Your stomach rolled so violently that your hand flew to your mouth.

“Oh no.”

Janet sat forward instantly.

“What?”

You stood too fast, your chair scraped loudly against the floor. Michael heard it, of course he did. His head turned before anyone else’s. You barely had time to see his expression change before you were already moving toward the restroom.

“I’ll be right back.”

Janet called your name, but you were halfway down the hall before she finished saying it. The bathroom door had never looked more beautiful in your life. By the time you made it inside, you were already regretting every decision you had ever made. Every meal and every smell.

Every confident little statement you had ever tossed at Michael about being the one to have his babies. Because apparently your body had heard you and taken that personally.

You gripped the edge of the sink afterward, breathing hard, forehead damp, eyes watery. For several seconds, you just stood there. Staring at yourself in the mirror. You looked fine, but you felt awful

A soft knock came at the door. Then Michael’s voice. Soft and gentle enough to not startle you in your frazzled state.

“Baby?”

Your stomach flipped again. For an entirely different reason.

“I’m okay.” The answer came quickly, and unfortunately for you, your voice cracked.

“No, you’re not. Can I come in?” His response came immediately. You closed your eyes and sighed.

When Michael didn’t hear an answer back, he began to grow worried. He softly tapped his knuckles against the door and said,

“Please?”

As if he had said the magic words, the warmth in his tone made you open for him immediately.  The man could miss an entire conversation because he was daydreaming, but God forbid you shifted wrong in a chair.

You unlocked the door, and it opened slowly. Michael stepped inside, one hand still on the handle, eyes already searching your face. He had changed from performer to caretaker so quickly it almost made your chest ache. The sharpness from rehearsal was gone.

Now he looked worried. Deeply worried.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t say nothing.”

“Michael.”

Instinctively, Michael stepped closer to you. He rested a hand on your hip protectively, touching the back of his fingers to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then behind your neck. He was checking for fever like he had suddenly become a medical professional.

You tried to swat his hand away and he ignored you completely.

“You feel warm.”

“Well, I just threw up so, yeah.”

His entire face changed.

“You threw up?” The horror in his voice would have been funny if you weren’t still recovering.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

You stared at him.

“Why?”

“Yes.”

“Michael, I didn’t schedule it.”

He did not laugh. Which told you he was genuinely worried. Instead, he guided you gently toward the small couch outside the bathroom, one hand at your back, the other holding your elbow like you might collapse at any moment.

You wanted to tell him he was being dramatic. Unfortunately, sitting down felt incredible. Michael sat next to you, pulling your legs across his lap

“Was it something you ate?” 

He asked as he gently rubbed your legs, massaging them.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what'd you eat today?”

You hesitated.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. There it was. The warning sign. He shook his head

“Baby.”

“I had crackers.”

“Just crackers?”

“And coffee.”

His expression became deeply offended, like you had betrayed him personally.

“That’s not food, baby.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You gotta eat.”

“I know.”

You sighed. He leaned closer, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

His voice softened.

“I’m serious.”

You looked down at your joined hands. And there it was again. That warm, inconvenient ache. This was the part people didn’t see. The part hidden beneath the glittering jackets and stage lights and moonwalks.

When it came to those he loved, Michael fussed. He worried. He noticed. And once Michael decided something mattered to him, he wrapped both hands around it and refused to let go. You had learned that years ago.

Still, somehow, it felt different now. Probably because the last serious conversation you’d had with this man involved rings, cribs, Christmases, and six children. Maybe five. Depending on how generous you felt.

“I’m taking you home.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“You’re sick.”

“Michael, you’re rehearsing.”

“They’ll live. I'll come back.”

“You cannot leave rehearsal because I threw up once.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

The answer came so quickly, so plainly, that you almost laughed. Then you remembered who you were talking to. Technically, he was right.

“Michael.”

“What?”

“You are not canceling rehearsal.”

“I didn’t say cancel.”

“You implied cancel.”

“I implied I’m taking care of you.”

Your face warmed.

Before you could answer, Janet appeared in the door frame, arms folded, expression amused and concerned all at once.

“She alive?”

Michael looked deeply offended.

“Janet.”

“What? I’m asking.”

You lifted a weak hand.

“Barely.”

Janet’s eyes moved between the two of you. Then to Michael, then back to your face.

A slow smile appeared.

“Oh, this is serious.”

Michael rolled his eyes which only made Janet’s smile worse. His sister was nosey like him.

“She threw up,” he said.

Janet’s eyebrows lifted.

“Oh?”

The single syllable carried entirely too much meaning.

Your head snapped toward her.

“Don’t.”

"Now I know where the glow is coming from." She smirked mischievously.

Michael looked between you, confused.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you and Janet said at the same time.

That only made him more suspicious.

But before he could ask, another wave of nausea twisted through your stomach. You pressed a hand to your mouth. Your face must have changed because Michael immediately stood.

He moved fast, one hand on your back as he guided you right back through the bathroom door.

Behind you, Janet’s voice floated down the hall.

“Well.”

A pause. Then, entirely too amused:

“Congratulations to somebody.”

You would have cursed at her if you had the strength. Michael, however, paid no mind to his sister's teasing. Or if he did, he was too busy holding your hair back to respond. And that was when the first real thought came. Small. Ridiculous. Impossible.

You shoved it away immediately. No. Absolutely not. It couldn’t happen that fast, could it?

It was probably the coffee. Or nerves. Maybe rehearsal-room heat. Or, that terrible food someone had opened. Anything else.

Later when you arrived home, Michael asked his chef to prepare you a filling lunch before he tucked you into bed like you were made of glass, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and told you he’d be back after rehearsal.

Once he was gone, the thought returned. Quieter this time, and it was gnawing at you in an unnerving way. You waited until his car disappeared down the driveway. Then you sat up slowly. Your eyes drifted toward the calendar on the nightstand.

For a moment, you simply stared at the date. That’s when your stomach dropped. And it wasn’t from nausea this time. It was from realization.

“Oh no.”

For a long moment, you simply stared at the calendar. But the dates stubbornly refused to change. You checked again, then again. Then once more because apparently you had become the sort of person who thought repeatedly looking at the same information might somehow produce a different answer.

It didn't.

"Oh no." The words came out louder this time. The empty bedroom offered no solutions. No explanations or miracle calculations. Just silence. Your stomach dropped. Because suddenly every strange thing from the past week came rushing back all at once.

The exhaustion, the nausea. The way coffee had started tasting wrong. The fact that you'd cried over a commercial three days ago. At the time, you'd blamed hormones. Now— Well.

You sat heavily on the edge of the bed and your brain immediately started doing math. The sort of math that changed lives. The kind that ended with tiny shoes and cribs and baby blankets…the sort of math that ended with Michael Jackson becoming a father.

Your stomach flipped when another memory surfaced.

Michael's fingers had toyed with the hem of your panties.

"So, when are we getting started?"

30 minutes later, and after a trip to your local pharmacy, you stood staring at three pregnancy tests. Different brands.

Those three minutes were the longest three minutes of your life.

Long enough to reconsider every decision you'd ever made. Long enough to mentally prepare for both possible outcomes.

The timer finally beeped and you held your breath, looking down. Two lines.

Frantically, you picked up the other two tests. Positive. All three.

Your knees nearly gave out.

"Oh."

The word escaped on a whisper.

The bathroom suddenly felt too small. Too quiet, and too real. You stared at the test. Shut your eyes tightly, then looked back. Just to make sure.

And somewhere across Los Angeles, Michael was completely unaware that his life had just changed forever— or so you thought.

The front door opened suddenly. From the bathroom you heard the familiar sound of keys and the click of the lock.

Then:

"Baby?"

Your stomach immediately dropped. 

Panic hit instantly. You snatched up all the evidence and scanned the bathroom for a place to hide everything.

"Baby?"

Closer now. You could hear him moving through the house. He was setting things down, probably taking off his shoes. Definitely looking for you.

Your eyes darted around the bathroom. There was nowhere to hide any of it. The trash can? Too obvious. The drawer? He opened those all the time, nosey ass. Under the cabinet? Maybe.

You shoved everything beneath the sink approximately two seconds before Michael’s voice drifted down the hallway. Softer this time, he called your name.

"Y'alright?"

The concern made your chest ache. Like he was already preparing himself for bad news. You took a breath and opened the bathroom door. Immediately you regretted it.

Michael was standing right outside of it, he nearly fell into the bathroom when the door opened.

One hand braced against the hallway wall, and his curls were damp with sweat from rehearsal. A black rehearsal shirt clung to his chest. The second he saw you, his entire expression softened.

"There you are." He leaned in, softly kissing the side of your mouth. The words left him naturally. Like he'd been looking for something, found it, and could finally relax. He searched your face intently.

"You still look tired. You should be resting."

"I was."

"You were hidin' in the bathroom."

Your heart stopped.

"No I wasn’t.” The answer came quickly. Too quickly. Michael narrowed his eyes. Not suspicious, curious. Which was somehow worse. Because now this was a puzzle he had to solve.

"You usually yell hello." He wasn't wrong. "You didn't yell hello."

A shrug, suddenly the carpet under your feet became interesting.

"I was sick." You mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek as you avoided eye contact.

Michael slipped past you into the bathroom. Reaching for the faucet. He placed a washcloth in the sink, wetting it with cool water. You froze, completely.

Because the pregnancy tests were currently sitting underneath the sink approximately four feet away. Your pulse immediately doubled.

Michael glanced up. His reflection caught yours in the mirror. A smile slowly tugged at the corner of his lips.

"There she is."

"What?"

"You got that look."

Your stomach flipped.

"What look?"

"The one where you're thinkin'."

You looked away immediately because unfortunately he was right. You had been thinking. Thinking so much your brain hurt.

Michael sauntered out of the bathroom, cloth in hand. Cupping the back of your neck gently, he pressed it to your forehead. Both of your cheeks, and your neck. You closed your eyes, your body naturally melting into his touch.

He was still watching you, patiently. The way he watched everything. A beat passed.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?"

The question was gentle. There was no trace of accusation, demand or pressure in the words. Just Michael.

He was standing close enough that you could smell rehearsal sweat and cologne. In your newly fragile and hormonal state, the smell was intoxicating. Almost like your body was craving him.

Michael gazed at you like he genuinely wanted to carry whatever was bothering you. Your eyes burned with tears unexpectedly. You grew annoyed, because now you were crying. Again.

"Oh." He cooed softly, pulling you into his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Defeated, you couldn’t find it to wrap your arms around him. So you just let him hold you.

His concern was replaced by curiosity so fast it almost gave you whiplash.

"Baby talk to me"

You laughed through the tears, which only confused him more. Michael looked genuinely alarmed.

Your gaze drifted toward the cabinet beneath the sink. Just for a second. A tiny glance. 

And suddenly one horrifying realization hit you. The cabinet was ajar.

And Michael followed your gaze immediately. Of course he did. And suddenly your stomach dropped all over again. You could have kicked yourself for not picking a better hiding spot.

Because Michael Jackson had always been exceptionally good at noticing things.

"What is happening? I don't understand."

The confession was adorable because he genuinely didn't.

Michael sounded genuinely bewildered now, and the concern laced through his voice was growing. One second you were laughing. The next you were crying. Then laughing again. And somehow neither of you seemed entirely sure why.

His hands found your face immediately. Gentle and careful. His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes, wiping away tears almost as quickly as they appeared.

He knew you were upset. He knew you were overwhelmed. And he knew you needed something. Unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea what that something was. Michael looked toward the ceiling, briefly.

"Janet says this happens."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

"What?"

He immediately regretted making the comment.

"Nothing."

His face scrunched.

"It’s just... she says women cry sometimes."

The silence that followed was spectacular. You stared. Michael stared back.

Then:

"That's your explanation?"

"I don't know!"

His gaze narrowed, flipping the line of questioning back to you.

"What're you hidin'?"

Your stomach dropped.

"Nothing?" The upward inflection at the end of the word undoubtedly gave you away.

His eyes moved toward the cabinet beneath the sink. Then back to you. Michael pointed.

"What'd you put under there?"

"What do you mean?"

The answer came entirely too quickly. Michael gasped, amusement and curiosity dancing in his eyes dangerously.

"Oh. You’re hiding something."

"What?"

He pointed at you teasingly.

"Oh, that's bad, baby. You lyin'."

You looked offended.

"I am not."

He pointed dramatically toward the cabinet.

"You looked right at it, come on now."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did." The smile threatening the corner of his mouth was making everything worse. Somehow he seemed amused, and he was definitely not going to let this go. It had become a game. A very concerning one.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you princess?” He asked in a sultry tone of voice, not breaking eye contact.

Then, he took a step backward toward the cabinet, keeping his eyes trained on your face as a smile tugged at his lips. You were caught.

You immediately moved, blocking him. His eyes widened and he tilted his head, smirking at you.

“Oh god, you are so hiding something! Now I definitely gotta look."

"No!"

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I said so." You said quickly. You placed your hands on his chest, keeping him away from the evidence you tried, and failed, to hide.

Michael erupted into a fit of giggles, he was genuinely amused. The sound echoed through the bathroom.

He gently grabbed your hips, moving you from in front of the cabinet you had been guarding with your life. Then he crouched, opening the cabinet.

And he went completely still. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Michael stared. There it was. The box, the instructions, and of course, the tests. Plural.

His eyes moved over them once. Then twice. Then a third time. It was as though his brain needed help catching up.

The silence stretched long enough that panic started creeping in. And suddenly— his entire face changed. Pure wonder.

The breath left him in a rush.

"Oh."

The sound was barely audible.

Then:

"Oh."

This one stronger. His eyes lifted. Finding yours immediately.

“These are yours?"

You nodded. The room blurred instantly because tears were back. Michael stood so fast he nearly hit his head on the sink. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

"You—"

A laugh escaped him. Halfway between disbelief and joy.

"You—"

Another laugh.

His hands covered his mouth. Then his face. Then his mouth again. The man looked completely overwhelmed as he leaned back against the counter, steadying himself.

"Oh my God."

You started crying again which somehow made him laugh harder.

"I'm gonna be a dad."

The words escaped before he could stop them. Soft and awestruck.

Like he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to say them.

"I'm gonna be somebody’s daddy."

His eyes immediately filled with tears. You watched the realization spread through him. It grew bigger, brighter and warmer until it seemed too large to fit inside one person.

He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you against him so carefully it almost hurt. Like you'd become precious overnight. Like he was afraid you'd disappear.

A kiss landed against your temple. Then your forehead. Then, your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

Michael couldn't seem to stop smiling long enough to do anything else.

"We did it, baby."

Hours later, you were still trying to process the fact that life had just changed for you. Michael, however, appeared to have skipped several emotional stages ahead. 

Somehow, at some point in the last hour, you had ended up sprawled across him, your chest flush against him and your legs on either side of him. He wanted you as close as possible.

He had also covered you with two blankets that you absolutely did not need.  Tucked against his chest, he held you, like the world had become something fragile. Or perhaps precious. There was a difference.

His touch had not left you since, not once.

One hand remained spread across the small of your back, his fingertips moving in slow circles against your skin under your shirt. Comforting circles. The kind mothers used on sleepy children. The kind of touch people gave when they were soothing someone they loved.

His chest rose and fell slowly against yours as he breathed calmly. 

Every few moments he would press another kiss somewhere. Your forehead, your temple. Then your cheek. Your lips repeatedly. Not rushed or dramatic, just constant.

It was as though affection had become a language his body no longer knew how to stop speaking.  

The room had gone quiet now. The kind of quiet that only happened after life changes. Real quiet.

The pregnancy tests still sat on the coffee table. Neither of you had moved them. Michael kept looking at them. Then at you. Then back again. Like he still couldn't decide which miracle was more unbelievable.

His baby.

What Michael was feeling was deeper than excitement. Like he had spent his entire life wanting something and was still trying to understand how it had ended up in his arms.

You shifted slightly against him.

"You comfortable?"

The question was soft against your hair. You smiled despite yourself. There it was again. He'd asked at least four times.

"Yes, I’m fine Mike."

"You sure?"

You laughed quietly.

"I promise."

His lips brushed your temple as though kisses had somehow become punctuation.

"You got cramps?" The concern in his voice nearly undid you.

"No."

"Nauseous at all?"

"A little."

That earned an immediate frown. One that meant he had entered problem-solving mode.

"You need to eat."

"I'm really not hungry."

His hand stilled against your hip. Just for a moment. Long enough for you to realize you'd said the wrong thing.

"Baby."

The word came soft. And yet somehow carried all the weight of a warning. You looked up. His eyes had gone impossibly gentle.

"Our baby needs to eat."

Your breath hitched. Not my baby or the baby.

Our baby.

Like he'd already rearranged the entire world around his child. Your family. The thought hit you so suddenly that you felt you eyes welling up again.

Michael noticed immediately. He always did. His hands moved before your tears even fell. One cupping your cheek. The other rubbing slow circles against your back. Grounding , steady circles.

He shifted you to his hip, arms still wrapped around you.

"Hey."

His forehead rested against yours.

"You cry all you want, baby."

A kiss to your forehead.

"It's okay, I understand."

Another.

"You don't gotta hold nothin' in."

Another. Each sentence punctuated with a kiss, patient and certain.

As though there was nowhere else in the world he needed to be. You laughed through tears. Which only made him smile. That soft smile. The one that always felt private.

His hand drifted lower then, toward your stomach. And for the first time all evening, he hesitated.

The hesitation caught you off guard. Michael rarely hesitated with affection.

But this, this was different.

His eyes lifted to yours, asking permission. Your throat tightened, but you nodded.

The breath left him slowly. Like relief, awe.

Then very carefully, with a tenderness so profound it felt almost intrusive to witness, Michael spread his hand across your lower belly.

His fingers splayed there naturally. Protectively. As though they'd been searching for that place all evening. Nothing had changed. Still, his entire face transformed. Pure wonder.

His thumb moved delicately, slow strokes. The kind people used on precious things.

His eyes never left your stomach. And suddenly you understood something heartbreaking.

Michael had spent his entire life around babies.

He remembered his mother carrying Randy. Then Janet.

He'd watched his older sister become a mother. Watched his brothers' wives carry nieces and nephews he adored.

He knew pregnancy. The exhaustion, the tears and wavering emotions, the nausea. He had seen joy arrive for everyone else. Again and again.

And now, for the first time, it was his turn. His turn to become somebody's dad. The realization seemed to strike him all over again.

Your breath caught as Michael’s fingertips brushed against you, gently rolling your shirt up just above your stomach. He leaned down, pressing his lips against the skin of your belly. He repeated this motion three times, like he already loved someone he hadn't met yet.

When he finally lifted his head, he didn't move far. Instead, he rested his cheek against your stomach and closed his eyes.

One arm was wrapped securely around your waist. The other hand still spread protectively across your belly. Holding both of you.

As though somewhere deep inside himself, Michael had already decided, this was home.

[loveaffaire]

Obsessed

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Summary: Michael is obsessed with you and you know it all too well.

Or where Michael sucks at hiding his tiny (gigantic) crush on you and you have fun with it.

Warnings/tags: shy!thriller!michael, some fluff, suggestive content, mention of oral s*x, f*ngering, the reader is bold and confident. MINORS DNI.

Word count: 800+

A/N: Wanted to write something short and sweet after the last long ass one shot I posted lmao. Reblogs and feedback is GREATLY appreciated!!

Previous one shot.

Michael was obsessed with you.

His obsession was so intense that it scared him.

He loved how your skin glistened in the sunlight, how your hair fell down your back, how your nails were always polished pink, how you smelled like vanilla every time you walked past him, how your gloss was always intact on your lips.

He dreamt about smudging it. With his fingers, his lips.

He knew he was gone the second you had walked through Hayvenhurst’s door hand in hand with Janet, giggling about something together.

He felt guilty for fantasising about his little sister’s best friend but he couldn’t help it. He was mesmerised by your smile, your scent, your eyes. He was obsessed.

It wasn’t long before you caught onto his little crush. He barely ever had the courage to lock eyes with you but you still caught him staring one too many times.

“I like your sweater”

Michael froze, he recognised the sound of your voice. Velvet.

He slowly turned around and saw you taking out a tub of ice cream from the fridge. He had sneaked into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich at 1am.

“We are watching a movie” you said, a wicked smile on your lips, “Janet and I”

You knew you had him in a chokehold when you saw the look in his big bambi eyes. This was the first conversation and his face was pale, oh he was starstuck.

“You don’t speak?” you laughed softly.

Michael cleared his throat then, “I do”

He internally giggled at the words that just left his mouth, god knows he was already writing his wedding vows in his little notebook that was tucked away under his pillows.

“Good, someone’s gotta sing” you smiled, leaving the kitchen. You didn’t look behind but you knew he was looking at you.

This first encounter was 3 weeks ago. Long, painful 3 weeks for Michael. Small talks were made but he was always at a loss of words when he would converse with you.

You teased him a lot. Wearing short skirts whenever you visited Janet, biting your lips mid conversation with Michael, complimenting his hair. You mostly did it because it made his checks red and because you enjoyed making him stumble over his words, a broken ‘thank you’ leaving his mouth with every flirty compliment you passed on.

“I thought you liked me” you said, once again crossing paths with Michael in the kitchen in the middle of the night.

“I do” he said quickly, almost dropping the bread.

“Then why haven’t you asked me out yet?”

The question caught him off guard. His mouth opened but no words escaped it.

You slowly walked over to him, biting your lips making him melt. He was a puddle in your hand.

“I think you should take me out to dinner” you stated softly, your eyes flickering to his lips just for a second.

“Please” he whispered.

You raised your eyebrows, a confused look on your face.

“I mean, yes, yes I will” he said, straightening up his posture.

He was red in the face, short of breath and his palms were sweaty. He wanted to die, in your arms.

The first date was now 5 weeks ago. Lovely, blissful 5 weeks for Michael.

And you.

Sneaking around, hand in hand, running up the stairs so no one can see you two together. Soft kisses pressed against your lips, giggles passing mouth to mouth.

He loved the way you held him, the way you touched him, the way you kissed him. He was shy but needy. Timid but whiny. Needed you to guide him but as soon as he was hot enough, he would relish you.

He was gentle and generous, would make you cum with his mouth before you would even have the chance to unbuckle his belt.

He was possessive. No one knew you were with your best friend’s older brother so every time you came over to meet Janet, all the other Jackson brothers would come by and say hello in the most flirty way.

Michael hated it. He made sure you knew who you belonged to that very night.

“Why can’t we tell them” he whined as his fingers softly brushed your entrance.

He had almost started crying when you entered his room. He hated his brothers for flirting with you and he hated the fact that he couldn’t tell them to back off.

Before you could answer, his fingers were dipping in you. And they were rough, he wanted you bad.

“You’re mine” he said through clenched teeth as his eyes watered from frustration, almost making it sound like a threat.

You held his face in your palm, your thumb quick to wipe the tear that escaped his waterline, “I’m yours, Michael” you breathed out, struggling to keep up because that’s just how good his fingers felt inside you.

As you threw your head back, he realised that he loved the way you moaned his name like it was a prayer. You were his goddess and your body a religion that he worshiped every chance he got.

God, he truly was obsessed.

A/N: wanted to make this a blur with like 500 words and it still stretched out to 800+ words oof.

If you liked this, please consider reblogging/liking/commenting below, it really helps! :)

Also, I’m looking for my MJ moots so you know what to do mwah mwah

Thank you so much <3

© loveaffaire

[buckysgirlll]

stay there & take it

⋆ FEATURING: mature!michael x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: michael is sick and tired of you running from him when he’s trying to eat. based on this request

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI — oral (f receiving), mention of squirting, soft dom!michael, bratty!reader, soft launching my daddy kink if you squint, small mention of michael wanting to tie reader up with his belt

WC: 1.1k

AN: i lowkey hate this so if this doesn’t make a single ounce of sense im sorry lol

michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi

“come here.” michael curls his pointer finger towards you as soon as you both step into the hotel room.

you blank him, sitting down on the edge of the bed so you can take off your heels.

you are so mad at him. how dare he take you to another city so you can watch him get an award, just for him to practically ignore you the whole night.

from when you both arrived at the award show, he spent his time mingling with others, and completely forgetting that you were on his arm.

he didn’t even kiss you once tonight. didn’t even curl his hand around your waist like he normally does, he just made you look pathetic, holding on to his arm while he drags you around like some sort of accessory.

he says your name, running his tongue over his bottom lip. you can tell he’s getting frustrated by you ignoring him.

ha, now he understands how you felt for the past three hours.

you hear the sound of his footsteps against the carpeted floor as you rub the soles of you feet, feeling the ache from walking around all night in heels.

michael squats in front of you, placing his hand on your thigh, exactly where the slit of your dress is, leaving that side of your thigh bare. “what’s your problem? you’ve had an attitude all night.”

“tch.” you stand up, pushing his hand off of you, and making your way into the bathroom.

before you can even take two steps, michael grabs you by the arm, turning you around so you’re chest to chest. “michael leave me alone. i just want to shower and go to bed.” you snap, avoiding his eyes.

“no.” michael says, using his free hand to grip your chin so you’re forced to look at him. “tell me what your issue is.”

you let out a frustrated sigh. “you. you’re my issue. you were the one that wanted me to be in new york with you for this award thing and then you just decide to ignore me the whole night.”

you see him raise a single eyebrow at your words. “i never ignored you.”

“yes the fuck you did.” you snap back.

“don’t swear at me, i’m trying to understand what your issue is and you’re here acting like a brat.”

you scoff at his words, shrugging his hands off of you.

“you’re so insufferable.” you mutter under your breath, going into the bathroom and shutting the door.

“michael!” you exclaim, when the bathroom door opens and he steps inside.

“michael i’m done speaking to you tonight.” you state, when he keeps on walking towards you until your whole body is pressed against the sink.

“michael.” he ignores you yet again, his hands sliding up your waist, and pulling you towards him.

you are now squished between him and the sink, and you can’t even move even if you wanted to.

he drops his head, his lips so close to yours that you can smell the minty gum that he was previously chewing.

“mikey.” you whisper against his lips, putting your hands against his chest to try and get some distance.

he knows exactly what he’s doing. and unfortunately it’s working.

“i never ignored you.” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “you were by my side the whole night.” he continues peppering kisses along your jaw. dropping to your neck, gently biting it.

“micha— baby.” you gasp at the feeling, your hand going to the back of his neck.

“i never let you out of my sight. but because my girl is so clingy, she hates it when i talk to other people.”

“m’ not clingy.” you whine.

“mhmm.” michael hums, raising his head and seeing how lust crazed your eyes are.

he smirks, knowing that he has you exactly where he wants you.

"please." you beg, trying to run away from michael's mouth.

you hear him hum, the vibration against your clit making you jerk.

he's just pulled three orgasms out of you and with the way he's still going, it's like he's trying to make you pass out.

"stay." he growls, spreading your quivering thighs wider. he drops his mouth back onto your pussy, causing your head to drop back in pleasure.

“fuckkk… i can’t—” you whine, when you feel his tongue circling your clit, before he sucks it into his mouth with a wet pop. “oh godddd!” you gasp, your legs starting to twitch in his hands.

“this is what you wanted right? you wanted daddy’s attention?”

“ahhh— ngh” you babble, not able to get out your words properly. you clutch the headboard above you, trying to pull yourself up from his lethal tongue.

“fuckin’ stay put.” michael drags you back down to his mouth, his tongue working you harder, sucking up all of your slickness.

you cry out, your voice raw and broken from all the orgasms michael has drawn out of you.

your breathes are shaky when you feel the familiar, heat and pressure building up in your stomach. your toes curl, and you throw your head back, clutching the dark tresses of michael’s hair.

“i’m… i’m…” you hiccup, “fuckkk… i’m gonna—” your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling a warm liquid gush out of you. your legs shake uncontrollably in michael’s strong grip, but he just keeps going, slurping every last bit of your juices, not caring about the mess you’ve made.

once you’ve calmed down from your fourth orgasm, michael raises his head, his face soaked with your liquids, his lips swollen and glossy, his hair a tangled mess, but what stands out the most is the smirk on his face.

“i hate you.” you pant, dropping your head back onto the mattress.

michael laughs, crawling up your body and crashing his lips against yours. you groan, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“you made a mess.” michael pants, after he pulls away from your mouth.

“oh shut up.” you laugh, hitting him in his chest. “you’re so annoying, i was trying to be mad at you.” you pout.

“and are you still mad now, or do i need to tie you up with my belt this time?” you bite your lip at his words, knowing that he actually will tie you up, especially with the way you kept running from him.

you look down between your bodies, at your swollen cunt, and decide against it.

your pussy needs a break.

you cup his cheek, running your finger across his bottom lip. “how about you pay more attention to me next time and then ill forgive you just this once.” you giggle.

“you just want me all to yourself huh.” michael grins.

“exactly.” you laugh, kissing him and pulling him on top of you.

tags: @loveposiie @delictezz @crystal-love46 @bluegangstaaaa @alohaluz @raefoxiegirl @xoxogossipgirl02 @khxna @jxngwons-pinkyy @sofisidera @animegamerfox @its-jennarose @anglfac @michaeljacksonfan01 @a-motherfcking-fish @carmykisses + add yourself here!

[3leni]

DON’T STOP ‘TIL YOU GET ENOUGH! ; off the wall!michael jackson / f!reader

summary; Dinner is ready at Hayvenhurst; you and your boyfriend just need to get down before it runs cold.

word count; 1.2k

warnings/tags; 18+ mdni. established relationship, fooling around, explicit sexual content: edging, overstimulation, dry humping, mutual inexperience, teasing, shyness. all the good stuff. and of course, the thing that put this all in motion: belt buckle riding (thank you amy). yum.

A/N; well @humannatures i wrote this in about an hour because. well. Because. here's the original post(s) for those interested in a little behind-the-scenes moment. #needthatbad. also, this is the shortest thing i've ever written which is amazing for me as an exercise bc your girl cannot write short-form to save her life! they always end up as beasts but i loved keeping this short!

⭒ ݁ . read on ao3. my masterlist. reblogs and comments and feedback are deeply cherished, feed your local writer!!! <3

“Mother asked you a question…” He breaks out in a shit-eating grin, biting his lips in that characteristic way of his. “It’s–a–ah… rude not to answer…”

A big ass smile on his face and eyes sparkling, even though just a minute ago he was up in your ear whining even louder than he did in Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough that’s still whirring on the record player. His hold had tightened to a bruising grip on your hip to stop your grinding, making you huff and puff as Katherine’s presence still lingered at the door.

(This was the third interruption. First, it’d been La Toya: knocking loudly because of course she knew, making Michael nearly throw you off the bed as he panicked. Both of you froze like deer in headlights as her voice rang out. “Just lettin’ you know dinner’s almost ready. Mother’s gonna come knocking soon…”

Then came Tito and Marlon, who didn’t actually knock at all. They just made the hallway their home for almost five whole minutes, laughing loudly and making sure you heard their very special rendition of Michael’s spoken intro of Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.

“Y’know I was, I was wondering, y’know... If y’could keep on…” whined Tito with a shrill voice behind the door, making you contemplate if jumping out the window would be less painful. 

That’s when Michael yelled a flushed and whiny, “Get lost!” that made them laugh even louder before finally leaving you be.)

And here’s where you both are now; edged, overstimulated, just on the precipice. The mutual grinding had long turned into a desperately sloppy push-and-pull, sweat dripping down your backs, the dry-humping anything but dry.

“We’ll be down in a few, ma’am!” you answer her, trying to keep your voice steady even though you’re almost heaving.

“What?” whines Michael in a hurried whisper, brows scrunched and lips pursed in a pout. His curls are wet and sticking to his skin. The setting sun peeking from the window makes his skin glow, and he looks real pretty like this. “No, nononono, no, tell her you’re not hungry. Baby, please—”

“But isn’t that rude, Mike?” you smile cloyingly sweet, and his eyes narrow because he knows exactly what the fuck you’re doing.

Your thin linen pants do nothing barrier-wise, and he can feel you pulsing as you’re resting right on top of his own aching bulge. At every interruption, you’d fall down from his large silver belt buckle, instead resting against him. And even though they were technically cock-blocking you, he loved it; he loved feeling you like this. Knowing you needed him as much as he did. Knowing that the longer you’re both denied, the better it’ll feel. The thought makes his head swim.

“Alright, sweetheart,” sighs Katherine from the door. “Don’t you take too long now, or it’ll get cold…”

“We won’t!” you shoot back. It takes a few moments of silence to hear her heels clicking down the staircase, and then it’s on.

Michael’s hands are bringing you onto his belt buckle again, not that you need any encouragement. It’s grown cold again, and you whine as it makes contact with your damp center. Your pants are going to need washing… 

“Why’d you say thaaat?” moans Michael, lips searching yours in a messy kiss.

You don’t answer him, at least verbally. You just grind harder, sharper, smiling like a devil when he sweetly gasps and squeals. His feet start kicking under you as you make the buckle squeeze against his sensitive tip; he’s been edged for a while now, you both have. You could drink his sounds right up.

“That’s not fair,” he cries out, his pretty face all scrunched up again. “You’re not bein’ fair, baby…”

He guides your hips suddenly, making you grind at an angle that leaves you keening against his breathless mouth; drenched panties stretching over your clit, right against the ridged motif of the buckle.

You slap his shoulder halfheartedly, and he smiles even wider. “You’re not being fair!”

Your neck burns. Your everything burns. You’re so flushed because it suddenly dawns on you what you’re doing with only his flimsy unlocked door as a barrier. He’d told you to trust him, that actually locking it would’ve been more suspicious. Oh, God… 

The feeling hits you sharply. It only takes about half a minute of that particular angle until you’re writhing over his frame, back arching inwards as he whines louder in your ear, your orgasm washing over you in a deep and overstimulating wave. He’s not far behind, either. And, even though you’re real sensitive, you grind harder, desperate to make him feel good too.

His head is thrown back completely, slender neck all in display for you as his hips buck and grind up against you frantically. Arrhythmically, like he’s in a daze. And what are you supposed to do, not pepper kisses over that pretty neck?

He comes, and he’s almost louder than his own vocals on the vinyl. Almost. It has him clutching you so tight against him that it hurts. Your achy and sticky and downright disgusting mess of a state makes you moan as he kisses you, and he doesn’t stop until you’re both left panting and shaking.

The few minutes you promised Katherine surely have trickled by now.

“S–shouldn’t we, um... go now?” you whisper against Michael’s mouth. His arms are wrapped all around your waist, and you feel warm inside them. You could stay like this with him forever.

“We,” he laughs a bit, voice soft, “we should clean up firs—”

“Did you,” you cut him off suddenly, “d’you… like it?” You don’t know why you sound so… meek. Might be because you’re not exactly an experienced femme fatale. He’s no casanova either, yet that knowledge does nothing to calm your racing heart.

He looks at you so brightly it has you flushing all over again. He starts to speak, but it’s like he’s reminded of the situation currently sopping his jeans, and it leaves him stuttering too.

His arms unwrap around your middle to come up and cover his face, mumbling around a smile: “Y’know I did…”

(“Finally,” laughs Marlon as you and Michael trail down the staircase, hands clasped together, both sporting a different pair of pants. You, a spare you’d left in his bottom drawer for emergencies. Him, identical jeans to the ones he wore before so as not to arouse too much attention. “What took y’all so long?”

Janet slaps a fist on his shoulder. “Leave them alone!”

You liked Janet the best. Even though your boyfriend’s fourteen-year-old sister defending you is nothing short of humiliating, it’s appreciated nonetheless. And as you both take your seats to eat Kathrine’s lovely meal, you feel Michael’s hand trailing on your thigh. He squeezes you, and you have to fight the urge of launching your mashed potatoes in that smug face of his.

Dinner is almost over when Katherine calls your name in concern. “Sweetheart, what happened to your pants?”

Tito and Marlon burst into laughter so hard they get breathless. Randy’s giggling too, the little shit, and you spot La Toya hiding a smile behind her fork.

“We spilled the pitcher,” Michael offers. The flush on his cheeks is not really convincing, though.

“I’m sure y’all did!” laughs Tito.

Oh, God…)

3leni © 2026 — i do not consent to my work being republished on other platforms or put into ai. do not copy or plagiarize.

[mvsticmoony]

where is my husband!

SUMMARY: inspired by this request. Michael spends months hiding an engagement ring and waiting for the perfect moment to propose. unfortunately, Y/N doesn’t know about either of those things and writes a song making that everybody else’s problem.

CONTENT: michael jackson x singer!reader. established relationship. raye inspired reader. “where is my husband!” - all credits go miss raye! fluff. comedy. public shenanigans. michael needs to hurry up. did no proofread.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .

Everyone had accepted one simple truth: Michael Jackson and Y/N were going to get married.

Nobody questioned ‘if’ anymore. They only questioned the ‘when’.

Which, unfortunately for Michael, had become the most frequently asked question in entertainment journalism.

They had been together for nearly four years now.

She was the industry’s newest darling—a powerhouse vocalist whose soul, jazz and pop influences had made her one of the fastest-rising artists at the time. Every awards season belonged to her just as much as it belonged to him.

Together, they were impossible to ignore.

Magazine covers.

Award shows.

Movie premieres.

Charity galas.

Somehow they always ended up photographed laughing in corners, stealing little glances when they thought cameras weren’t paying attention.

And every interview somehow eventually became the same conversation.

“So…” The interviewer smiled knowingly. “When’s the wedding?”

Y/N always laughed. “Don’t look at me!” She shook her head and held out her hands. “It’s not me you should be asking that!”

The audience laughed.

Michael laughed.

The interviewer laughed.

Then the camera inevitably cut to Michael.

He’d smile innocently. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” she’d tease. “They’re asking you!”

He’d simply shrug. “I don’t know what everyone’s talking about.”

“Oh, you know exactly what they’re talking about.”

“I really don’t.”

“You’re such a bad liar!”

Another interview. Another city. Another red carpet.

“So,” another reporter grinned, “have you started planning the wedding?”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Well, I’ve started.”

Michael blinked beside her. “You have?”

“Yes, I have.” She nodded throughly. “I’ve picked flowers.”

Michael tilted his head at her. “You have?”

She nodded once again. “I’ve picked music.”

“…You have?”

“Oh, honey, I’ve even picked the cake.” She stated in a very serious tone.

Michael laughed. “Of course you have.” He said, pulling her closer with the arm he had around her shoulder and placing a kiss on her temple.

The clip aired everywhere.

Fans adored them.

The jokes became a running thing.

Whenever Michael left for another leg of his tour, Y/N would wave him goodbye dramatically.

“Come back with a ring!”

He’d point at her. “No promises.” She threw hands every time.

Months passed. Another tour. Another album. Another awards season.

And still…

No proposal in sight.

But what nobody knew—not the press, not the fans, not even Y/N—was that tucked safely inside the back drawer of Michael’s dresser sat a navy velvet ring box.

Inside rested the most beautiful marquise-cut diamond he’d ever seen.

He’d spent nearly six months searching for it.

Six long months of sneaking around in jewelry stores.

Six long, exhausting months of yearning to drop on one knee and call the woman he loved his fiancée and eventually wife already.

But Michael simply refused to rush something he’d dreamed about his entire life.

He wanted the moment perfect. She deserved nothing but perfection.

Y/N, meanwhile, was getting very impatient.

Not genuinely, thought. Comically impatient.

On one specific afternoon she stormed into the studio chewing on some gun and carrying righteous indignation.

Her producer looked up from the piano. He grimaced. “Should I be worried?”

“Yes.” She answered, dropping onto a chair near the piano.

He sighed, turning on the bench to face her. “What happened?”

“My boyfriend is testing me.” She pressed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes harshly.

“…Michael?”

“Michael.” She affirmed in a low voice while nodding.

“He do something?”

“Absolutely not.”

“…Okay?” The producer frowned. That man was getting confused.

Y/N groaned and dropped her head dramatically. “He won’t propose.”

Silence.

He pondered for a few seconds before nodding. “Yeah, that’s actually fair.”

“Thank you!” She threw herself dramatically onto the chair one more time. “I’ve been so, so patient.”

He snorted at her, getting up from the bench and placing his hands on his waist. “Darling, you’ve been making jokes about it on national television.”

“Exactly.” She pointed a sharp finger at him.

“So what’s your plan?”

Y/N sat up slowly, a mischievous smile slowly spreading across her face.

“I am about to write the most direct song of my entire tiny career.”

Her producer immediately started laughing. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

Three hours later she walked into the vocal booth.

The band watched through the glass.

The backing vocalists waited beside their microphones.

She adjusted her headphones. Smiled and cleared her throat.

Then announced: “Okay, this one goes out to my wonderful boyfriend,” A beat. “who apparently needs some instruction.”

Her producer snorted, shaking his head at her. This girl was impossible.

When the recording was finished, the producer slowly removed his headphone. “You’re going to send Michael Jackson into cardiac arrest.” He noted.

“Oh, I know.”

“You’ve publicly declared war.”

“Well, you know what they say,” She said through the microphone while shrugging slightly.

The producer shrugged and frowned. “Uh, I actually have no idea what ‘they say’” He paused. “Please, enlighten me.”

Y/N smirked. “All’s fair in love and poetry.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

She kept the song secret for a few weeks.

Even from Michael. Well, especially from Michael.

Which made the invitation to perform at a major Award show ceremony all the more dangerous.

Nobody knew what she planned.

Not the audience.

Not the press.

Certainly not the man sitting front row in a black tuxedo who believed he was simply there to support his girlfriend.

The auditorium lights dimmed. A spotlight illuminated center stage. The curtain lifted and the audience erupted.

Y/N stood beneath a vintage microphone wearing a floor-length crimson gown that glittered beneath every light in the room.

The silhouette hugged her perfectly before flowing elegantly to the floor.

Her hair curled softly beneath her jaw.

She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a 1950s Hollywood film.

Behind her waited an entire live band.

Piano.

Double bass.

Drums.

A brass section.

And three women in matching satin gowns standing behind vintage microphones.

Michael smiled immediately at the sight. But something about this entire setup made him a bit nervous, what he couldn’t place a finger on it.

“You know, she didn’t let me hear this one yet,” Michael commented casually to the man sitting beside him. It was Y/N’s producer, who didn’t take his eyes off the stage.

“Oh, trust me, I know.” He answered with a scoff.

Michael frowned a little at that response. “She just keeps saying it’s ‘special.’”

The man scratched the back of his neck and clicked his tongue. “It is.”

“You’ve heard it?” Michael asked, turning towards him.

“Unfortunately.”

Michael laughed. “Unfortunately?”

“Yeah, yeah,” The producer finally looked at him. “You’ll see.”

Then the lights dimmed.

The pianist played the opening chord.

Y/N wrapped one elegant hand around the microphone.

Smiled sweetly.

“Oh, baby…” She sang, her voice floating through the room like velvet. Warm. Playful. Dangerously theatrical. Then she tilted her head, a mischievous grin appeared on her red lips. “Where the hell is my husband?”

The audience exploded.

People gasped and screamed before she’d even finished the sentence.

Michael covered half his face with one hand.

“Oh my God…” He murmured under his breath.

The cameras immediately found him. Worst possible thing ever for Michael.

Because Michael Jackson looked like he was trying to decide if he should laugh, cry or faint.

Y/N caught him looking. Smirked. Then continued.

God, how he loved her.

Michael slowly turned to her producer with widened eyes.

The producer was doing his absolute best to not look back at him.

Michael shook his head in disbelief, a smile starting to appear on his face. “You knew about this?”

“Mhm.”

“And you let her do this?”

The man shook his head with a tiny smile, but after a few seconds the nods turned into a negative head shaking, the smile vanishing from his face as he stared at a very amused Michael Jackson. He gulped.

“Michael, I value my life.” He kept glancing between Y/N and Michael. “Do you know how stubborn your girlfriend is?”

Michael grinned and nodded knowingly.

“Your wife can be very persuasive—No, not wife—I mean, I—girlfrie—wife to be—I mean—“ Michel roared with laughter at the poor man. “I’ll just…” He sealed his lips shut and turned towards the stage once again with cheeks as red as Y/N’s gown.

Michael stared at him for a few more seconds before sighing with content and turning his eyes to his girlfriend on stage.

The backing vocalists answered every phrase behind her like a mischievous Greek chorus.

“Woo-hoo…” She wandered slowly across the stage. Shielding her eyes dramatically as though searching the audience. “What is taking him so long…” She scanned the balcony, the orchestra and the celebrity tables. “…to find me?” She pointed at herself.

By the second verse the audience had completely surrendered to her.

“I’m doing lonely acrobatics…”

She dramatically reached behind herself pretending to unzip the back of the gown.

Then threw one hand dramatically into the air. “This where your wife is!”

Without missing a beat she pointed directly toward the front row. Toward Michael.

Every head in the theater turned.

Michael slowly leaned back in his chair.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

When the bridge of the song came through entire room somehow got louder.

“I would like a ring…” She lifted her left hand beneath the spotlight. Completely bare, no ring in sight.

She admired the nonexistent engagement ring as though it were worth millions. Turning her wrist elegantly, smiling proudly at absolutely nothing. “I would like a diamond ring…”

She extended the imaginary diamond toward the audience.

“I would like a biiiiig…” Her hands spread dramatically apart. “…and shiny diamond…” She suddenly gasped and shielded her eyes.

“Oh!”She stumbled backward theatrically. “It’s blinding.” She said, a little comment in between the verses.

Then the choreography began.

All four women lifted their left hands simultaneously.

Waving their empty ring fingers around the theater, turning their wrists and admiring invisible diamonds from every angle.

One backing vocalist pretended to faint over Y/N’s imaginary engagement ring.

Another applauded.

The third dramatically shielded her own eyes from the ‘sparkle.’

The theater roared.

Michael had both hands over his mouth now, shoulders shaking with laughter. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet about it.

Y/N looked directly at him and grinned wider.

She was loving every second of this.

The music softened, brass disappearing and drums fading away, until only the piano remained.

Y/N glanced toward the ceiling.

Then slowly lifted one finger upward. “…Grandma?” She nodded to herself, pointing upwards once again. “Oh, there she is.” She smiled with satisfaction.

Then, through the speakers, a female elderly voice echoed through the speakers.

“Your husband is coming.”

The audience yelled at the iconic line.

Michael looked at the producer in disbelief, his cheeks starting to hurt from smiling and blushing. “She even got grams involved?” He couldn’t believe it!

The producer nodded once like it was obvious.

“Oh, yeah, the whole family’s is out to get you.” He said bluntly. Michael laughed loudly once again.

Then, Y/N clutched her chest dramatically.

She laughed into the microphone at herself before stepping away from it completely.

And instead of returning to center stage she wondered towards the very edge of it.

Toward the front row.

Toward Michael.

Every camera followed.

Every screen in the theater showed only them now.

She stopped directly in front of him.

Only a few feet separated them.

Michael looked up at her with the expression of a man realizing he was absolutely not surviving this performance.

Then—to everyone’s surprise—Y/N gracefully lowered herself onto the edge of the stage, onto her stomach and resting on her elbows. Her chin settled into her hands. High heeled feet kicked lazily behind her in the air. Completely girlish. Completely shameless. Like she was lying on her bedroom floor gossiping with her best friend instead of performing in front of Hollywood.

The crowd completely lost whatever composure they still had left.

Michael threw his head back laughing before looking back at her with the most loving and tender eyes known to mankind.

“Oh, my love…” He mumbled through smiles.

She smiled innocently at him and batted her eyelashes. Then pointed directly at him.

“Where…” She tilted her head, singing in a paused voice. “…is my husband?” She smiled so sweetly it was almost criminal.

The cameras immediately cut to Michael.

He bit his lip, a big, big smile on his face.

The audience screamed louder.

He shook his head lightly before looking around the theater innocently. Then—that teasing, teasing man—pointed towards himself. “Me?”

The audacity of this man! Y/N only raised a sharp brow in response.

The building practically shook.

People were already standing.

Cheering.

Screaming.

Whistling.

Y/N laughed so hard she had to pull the microphone away from her mouth.

She leaned forward just enough to tap the tip of Michael’s chin with one finger before gracefully pushing herself back to her feet.

She smoothed down the shimmering red gown as though she hadn’t just publicly confronted the biggest pop star on Earth just because she could.

Then she turned and walked back toward center stage with the effortless elegance of an Old Hollywood leading lady.

The band exploded back to life.

The brass returned.

The backing vocalists joined her one last time.

She held the final note effortlessly.

The lights cut.

Blackout.

Then, half a second later, the standing ovation hit.

It was deafening.

Michael stood immediately. Still laughing. Applauding louder and harder than anyone in the room.

She caught his eye from across the stage.

Blew him a kiss.

He caught it.

Pressed it dramatically against his heart.

Then mouthed “You’re unbelievable.”

She simply winked. Not sorry. Not even a little bit.

The ovation continued.

And then, something nobody noticed. Not the cameras. Not the audience. Not even Y/N.

As the applause kept going Michael quietly slipped one hand inside his tuxedo jacket.

His fingertips brushed against the small navy velvet box resting inside of his inner pocket.

He smiled and looked down at the object. Then his eyes traveled back to woman taking her final bow beneath a shower of applause.

She thought she’d just cornered him.

She thought she’d declared war.

She thought she’d just spent four minutes publicly bullying her boyfriend into proposing.

Little did she know the ring she’d spent the entire performance pretending to wear already existed.

And was less than two feet away from her.

Michael closed his hand around the little velvet box for a second longer than necessary before slipping it carefully back into his pocket.

Beside him, Y/N’s producer happened to glance down at that exact moment, his eyes catching the corner of the small box. He blinked once. Twice. Mouth opened and closed. Then looked slowly back at Michael. Actual relief crossed his face.

“Oh, thank goodness, man!” He ran a hand through his hair.

Michael didn’t say anything, just smiled and bit his bottom lip. He simply looked back toward the stage, where Y/N was taking another bow beneath the thunderous applause, still wearing that triumphant smile she wore whenever she thought she had won a battle.

The producer followed his gaze.

A slow grin spread across his face.

“Well,” he murmured. “Guess she wasn’t singing to the void after all.”

Michael laughed quietly to himself.

“No,” he admitted, unable to take his eyes off her. “She wasn’t.”

The applause kept echoing through the theater.

Y/N waved one last time before disappearing behind the curtain, completely unaware of Michael’s plans.

Michael smiled to himself. ‘Okay,’ he thought. ‘I think I’ve made my future wife wait long enough.’

“She is never going to let you live this performance down, you know that, right?” the producer asked rhetorically.

Michael’s smile only grew. “Oh, I know.” He patted the pocket of his jacket almost absentmindedly.

“I can’t wait.”

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .

Taglist:

@skiicoreee @18lkpeters @ami-kay-01 @bouncylikebouncyball @hewassunshine @umafanficdoidaqualquer @darkgreengrl @boredpretty @thatonegirl412 @velOurnoir @watamotee33 @nodisdino @leipforggy @amoravelee @defmaybesam @niyahctrl @daniela75201 @d3adlyclassrat @bangtan7553 @romansbbg @chims-kookies @needjoekeery @cruelsummer01 @dreyar-palacez @maerawrrr @maxivstappen @iris-xoxo-juhu @cakewiththecreamer @lovern-9 @faercia @ladyjacksonsblog @quietlyscornfulfable @whoscamila @lovern-9 @bakugotypecrashout @heyitsm4di @ieesohees @bakugotypecrashout @this-is-biebers-world @rhodesreignsrollins @itsloveee @victoriarosaline @thrilleronvinyl @officialcaptain @wazabii @meowmeowbby @darlimoi @justboredroaming @asamantis @leillaa

[michaelpilled]

━━ CHERRIES .ᐟ𝜗𝜚

SUMMARY: you have a new piercing and you can't wait to show it to your boyfriend.

PAIRING: 𝖬𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖤!𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖤𝖫 x 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖤𝖱!𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖱

TAGS: 𝖳𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖦 ╱ 𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖧𝖤𝖣 𝖱𝖤𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖯 ╱ 𝖠𝖦𝖤 𝖦𝖠𝖯 ╱ 𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖳𝖳𝖸╱𝖲𝖴𝖡!𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖱 ╱ 𝖲𝖮𝖥𝖳╱𝖣𝖮𝖬!𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖤𝖫 ╱ 𝖭𝖨𝖯𝖯𝖫𝖤 𝖯𝖨𝖤𝖱𝖢𝖨𝖭𝖦 ╱ 𝖲𝖤𝖭𝖲𝖨𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤╱𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖯𝖨𝖤𝖱𝖢𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 ╱ 𝖡𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖲 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖯 ╱ 𝖣𝖱𝖸 𝖧𝖴𝖬𝖯𝖨𝖭𝖦 ╱ 𝖮𝖱𝖠𝖫 𝖲𝖤𝖷 ( 𝖥 𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖤𝖨𝖵𝖨𝖭𝖦 ) ╱ 𝖣𝖨𝖱𝖳𝖸 𝖳𝖠𝖫𝖪 ╱ 𝖡𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖥 𝖬𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 𝖮𝖥 𝖭𝖤𝖤𝖣𝖫𝖤 ╱ 𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖤𝖫 𝖶𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖲 𝖦𝖫𝖠𝖲𝖲𝖤𝖲 ╱ 𝖯𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖲𝖤 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖨𝖥 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖲𝖰𝖴𝖨𝖭𝖳 ╱ 𝖠𝖥𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖤 ╱ 𝖢𝖴𝖣𝖣𝖫𝖨𝖭𝖦.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: inspired by that one video of that fan with her belly piercing but with a twist ━ oops. also me trying to be more comfortable at writing michael that way😭i feel a bit uncomfortable but i hope you guys won’t feel it while reading!

THE GATED DRIVEWAY of Neverland was quiet for once, the last of the evening crew having clocked out an hour ago. Michael had been in the kitchen when he heard the familiar click-clack of heels on the marble foyer. He padded out in bare feet, loose pajama pants, and faded white t-shirt.

She was leaning against the doorframe of the living room, arms crossed behind her back, a wicked little smile playing on her glossy lips. She was wearing a tight, thin, pale yellow ribbed tank top ━ no bra, that he could always tell ━ and some low waisted jeans that she liked.

"Hi, baby," she purred, stepping forward.

Michael tilted his head, suspicious. Despite being together for only a few months, he could already read her like he read himself and, judging by her smile, knew she was up to no good.

"Where did you go? You said you were going to the pharmacy... That was hours ago. I got anxious."

"Mmm," she stopped a foot away. "Sorry, Mike, I made a little detour."

"A detour?" he blinked. "To where?"

"Take a guess," she bit her lower lip. "I have a new… accessory."

Michael let out a soft, airy laugh, the one that sounded like a hiccup of disbelief.

"Aw, c'mon now. I'm tired, woman. Just show me."

She tapped a finger to her chin, pretending to consider.

"Hmm… no. Play with me."

He sighed, a dramatic, theatrical thing, but he obeyed. His hands hovered nervously at her hips, pulling her into his lap as he sat on the couch.

"If this is another one of your pranks with a fake spider…" he mumbled.

"Shh," her voice was a warm whisper near his jaw. "It's better than a fake spider, I promise."

"A ring?"

"No."

"A bag?"

She shook her head.

"A necklace?"

"Getting warmer, baby," she laughed, wetting her lip. "Look closer."

Michael sighed, his eyes observing her face, travelling to her hair for a second. She had obviously not been to the hairstylist and her face was still the same, makeup free like when she had left. Then, he reached up to push his glasses, the thin wire-framed ones he wore when he was reading or working late, further up his nose ━ might as well see whatever prank she was pulling properly.

His eyes lowered to the hollow of her throat where no necklace was present…

And then ━ his eyes gained twice their size.

There, pressed against the thin yellow cotton of her tank top, was an unusual shape ━ two small balls, one on each side of the peak of her breasts, connected by a subtle, rigid bar just visible through the fabric.

Michael stared, his mouth parting. No sound came out for four seconds.

"Wh—"

"Surprise!" she grinned. "Do you know what this is, Mikey?"

His brain short-circuited. He was forty-five years old, he had seen things, done things, but this… this sent him reeling like a teenager.

"You━" Michael shook his head slowly, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up. "Nah. Nah, you playin'. That's not━how is that even possible?"

"With a needle, and a lot of courage, anything is possible," she popped the 'p' with glee. "Right through the little nibble."

"Baby…" he sounded almost wounded.

Flustered pink crept up his neck, clashing with his pale complexion. Michael looked away, then back, then away again, as if the piercings were just too much for him. He pushed his glasses up again, a nervous habit, and swallowed hard. He was definitely too old for this.

"What's the matter, old man?" she laughed. "Never seen a nipple piercing before?"

"N-no," Michael muttered, running a hand over his hair. "Girl, you tryna give me a heart attack."

She leaned closer, pressing her hands flat against his chest.

"That's the opposite of what I want, actually. I want your heart to beat really fast for me."

"It is," Michael swallowed hard. "Trust me, it is."

"Good," she grabbed his hand ━ his long, elegant, trembling hand ━ and pressed his palm flat against her sternum, just above her new accessories. "Want to touch?"

His fingers twitched against the cotton and he could feel the heat of her skin, and then ━ there ━ the faint, impossible hardness of the barbell beneath. His thumb brushed over the shape of the right ball, making her shiver.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Fuck no ━ just sensitive as fuck," she let out a breathy laugh. "So you be nice to me, Mr. Jackson."

Michael looked up at her through his glasses and something shifted in his expression. The shyness was still there, but underneath it, she could see his curiosity.

"Let me see."

Her grin widened. Got him. She hooked her thumbs under the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head in one lazy motion. And there they were ━ her small, perfect, palm-sized breasts with two gleaming silver barbells piercing each nipple.

Michael inhaled sharply, his eyes tracing the metal through his glasses, the way it was sitting flush against her skin, the way her nipples were already hardened around the jewelry...

"God," he breathed, almost reverent. "That's… that's somethin' else, baby."

"You like it?" she sounded genuinely curious now, the bratty edge softening.

He nodded, reaching out before he stopped an inch from her chest, looking up for permission.

"Can I?"

"Go ahead, but be careful ━ they're very sensitive."

His touch was featherlight, a single fingertip tracing the cool metal of the left barbell, following the bar from one silver ball to the other. She gasped, a quick little sound that made him smile.

"Sorry," he murmured, not sorry at all.

"You're doing that on purpose."

"Maybe…" Michael did it again, slower, watching her face through the lenses. "This what you wanted, woman? Wanted me all flustered and dumb so you could have your way?"

"Maybe," she echoed, rolling her hips just slightly against his lap.

His hands shot to her waist, gripping.

"Uh-uh. Don't start somethin' you can't finish."

"Oh, I fully intend to finish," she leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "But first, I want you to take good care of me."

Michael whimpered ━ actually whimpered ━ and flipped them in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath him on the velvet couch. She yelped before laughing, then moaned as his mouth found her neck.

"Is that right?" he kissed down her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. "You want me to take care of you? I'll give you some care."

Michael took his time and kissed every inch of her skin, from her wrists to her ribs to the underside of her breasts, avoiding the piercings just to hear her whine in frustration.

"Michael."

"Patience, woman."

He licked a stripe up her sternum, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of her skin. He paused to wipe them on his shirt, making her snort.

"Seriously?"

"I wanna see," he said like it was obvious. "You went through all this trouble… Let me appreciate it."

Michael pushed the glasses back on and lowered his mouth to her left nipple gently, so gently, his tongue circling the cool metal. She arched off the couch with a cry. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, holding him there.

"Oh my God━"

"That's it," he murmured against her skin, switching to the other side. "That's my good girl. So pretty, so brave for gettin' these for me."

"For you?" she panted, half-laughing, half-moaning. "I got them for me."

"Mmm," he sucked lightly and she bucked beneath him. "And who you gonna let play with 'em, huh? Who gets to touch?"

"Y-you," she admitted, breathless. "Just you. Fuck, Mike━"

Michael pulled back just enough to look at her. She was flushed, her lip bitten, her eyes glassy. Her chest was heaving, the piercings catching the low light, and his glasses were slightly askew on his face. She thought he had never looked more beautiful.

"I love you," he murmured, thumb still brushing slow circles around the barbell without quite touching the peak.

Her heart melted at his words. She loved how he could be all shy and flustered in one breath, more confident and playful in another, but always ━ always ━ loving and ready to please.

"… I'd love you more if you did something else," she decided to tease instead because, well, that was who she was.

She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him flush against her. Through the thin fabric of his pajama pants and her jeans, she could feel him ━ hard and ready. She rolled her hips again just to hear him hiss.

"Looks like I'm not the only one being sensitive," she remarked playfully.

"And I'm the only one having to be careful," Michael soothed a thumb over the other nipple, watching her pupils blow wide.

"And you're being so good at that."

"So I’ve been told."

He lowered his mouth to the left piercing again, but he was not sucking this time, just breathing warm air over the cool metal. Her back arched off the couch, a broken little sound falling from her lips.

"Michael━"

"That's my name," he murmured against her skin. "Don't wear it out."

She laughed despite herself ━ a breathless, helpless thing ━ and tugged at his hair gently. She knew his scalp would still hurt him.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"Course I am," he licked a slow stripe over the barbell, just the flat of his tongue, gentle as anything. "Got my beautiful girl spread out underneath me, showin' me the pretty new piercings she got just to make me crazy. You think I ain't gonna enjoy every second?"

"I didn't get them just to make you crazy━"

"Liar."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he chose that exact moment to close his lips around her nipple to suck. The pull of his mouth against the metal sent a jolt straight through her, making her hips buck against him. Her hands fisted in his hair, a moan tearing out of her that she could not have stopped if she had tried.

When he pulled back, his lips were shiny, his glasses were fogged again, and his eyes were dark as sin.

"Feel better?" he asked innocently.

Her chest heaved as she stared at him ━ this ridiculous, gorgeous impossible man hovering over her with his hair falling into his face, his glasses sliding down his nose, that little smile playing at his lips.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss instead of answering. He melted into her, one hand cradling her jaw, the other still on her chest.

When they broke apart, she was smiling.

"That's not an answer," he murmured.

"I believe it’s pretty self-explanatory, baby."

Michael kissed her again, softer this time. Then, he pulled back, pushed his glasses up, and looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. God, she loved when he was wearing those glasses.

"Lie back."

She did.

He kissed down her body again ━ kissed her sternum, her stomach, her hip bones, mouthing at the waistband of her jeans until she lifted her hips so he could pull them off. His lips hovered above her underwear, a wet patch already darkening them.

"God," he breathed. "Look at you."

"Michael━"

"Shh," he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. "Let me. Please."

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He worked his way up slowly with kisses on her thighs, her hips, the soft skin of her lower belly. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin, avoiding where she wanted him the most, just to hear her whine.

"P-please," she finally gasped.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me!"

"So polite when you want somethin'," Michael slid his hand between her legs, and when his fingers found her slick and desperate, he groaned like he was the one being touched. "All that just for me?" he asked, almost disbelieving.

"W-who else would it be for?" she managed.

He did not answer and just lowered his mouth to her while his fingers worked. The combination of his tongue on her bundle of nerves and the way he kept glancing up at her through his lashes ━ checking, making sure she was okay, making sure she was feeling good ━ sent her hurtling toward the edge too fast.

"Mike, I'm gonna━"

"Let go," he murmured against her. "I got you. I always got you, baby. Let go for me."

She did and shattered with his name on her lips, her back arching off the couch, her hands fisted so tight in his hair she was probably hurting him ━ but he did not stop. Michael worked her through it, his teeth slightly nibbling her there, until she was limp and trembling and completely, utterly satisfied.

He crawled back up her body, kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

She blinked up at him and managed a wobbly smile.

"I think I almost died," she whispered.

Michael smiled and settled against her side, pulling her close. His glasses were crooked, his hair was a mess, his lips were kiss-swollen and his eyes were soft.

"Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "That's all I wanted."

She curled into him, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his stomach. The piercings pressed against his side, cool and solid, and she felt him shiver slightly.

"Cold?"

"No," he breathed. "Just… you, that’s all."

She smiled against his skin. They lay there for a long time ━ him holding her, her tucked against him, the quiet hum of Neverland settling around them.

"You know I'm gonna be thinkin' about them piercings every time I see you now, right?"

She laughed.

"Good."

"Good?" he tilted his head to look at her. "Woman, I'm supposed to be writin' music. How'm I supposed to focus when all I can think about is━"

"Maybe you need a new inspiration," she teased, her hand reaching for still hard length of him.

"Y-yeah," he moaned, pulling her on top of her. "Yeah, maybe I do."

[invinor]

thriller michael x f!stoner gf reader

thriller!michael who doesn’t enjoy that you smoke but doesn’t judge you either. “another one mama?” he asks seeing your second blunt of the day rolled in the palm of your hand. your eyes doe like and a small pout formed over your lips, you sigh. “it’s my night one” as he just laughs and moves along.

thriller!michael who begins to watch you from afar as you puff out the yellow clouds of weed over the backyard. feet curled and under your hoodie as it wraps over your knees, michael watches with a small smile before feeling a bit saddened at the lonely feeling surrounding him—wishing he was next to you outside.

thriller!michael who buys and makes you new things for your smoke sessions in hopes to feel somewhat included. “a plastic BUBBLE!!?” you shout surprised as you watch a plastic dome in the backyard decorated with things you loved the most. michael smiles shyly before tucking his hands in his pockets. “wanted to give you a lil space for your stuff baby.” the gesture itself making your heart warm and your eyes glossy.

thriller!michael who slowly starts asking questions about your lil hobby. “and..what’s that?” he points towards the pink grinder as you pick it up and twist it open, explaining what it was and how you used it—not knowing he was taking silent notes on things.

thriller!michael who ATTEMPTS to smoke with you but ends up in a coughing fit. his chest heaving at a rapid pace as his eyes instantly become glossy. your hands hovering over his back as you call out his name. “baby you have to stop. just stop i promise you’re good” you swore as you let michael go inside soon hearing small curses escape his lips at his failed attempt to smoke with you.

thriller!michael who gains the courage to try one more smoke session to be with you and see how things go. the small yellow clouds passing his lips as he continue to cough yet this time with instructions. “o-oh… this actually isn’t all that bad..?” as you laugh giving him a small kiss on his cheek. “you sure you want more?” you ask as his only response was handing you back the blunt and kissing your lips tasting a sweet mixture of mint and kush.

okok something a lilll small and different as i was smoking a blunt and immediately got this idea😭 slightly or maybe a hugeee ooc michael but its just for funsies!! so hope you guys enjoy this!!

[multifandomposts-blog]

This Month Deserves Better

Can we please take a second and remember all the amazing things that have happened lately that we've barely even had time to celebrate because everyone has been so busy arguing?

The biopic became the biggest music biopic in history. The second movie is already underway. We've gotten new pictures, new clips, World Cup appearances, new fanfics, edits, and so many talented people creating things because they love Michael and his legacy. There is genuinely so much to be excited about.

And honestly, this month of all months should be about peace.

We know what June means. We know what the 25th means. A lot of us are emotional already. I know I am. Every day that date gets closer, I find myself thinking about him more and more, and I've cried more than once this month. So I can't even imagine what this month feels like for the people who actually loved him personally and have spent the last sixteen years living with that loss.

Whether it's his children, his siblings, his nephews, his nieces, or anyone else in the family, this is probably one of the hardest times of the year for them. The last thing they deserve is, more fighting, and more negativity.

And honestly, I think some of us need to remember why we're here in the first place.

We're here because we love Michael. We're here because we love the music, the memories, the stories, the family, and the joy they've brought us. We're here because this legacy means something to us.

So let's celebrate the accomplishments. Let's write fanfiction. Let's make edits. Let's stream the music. Let's talk about our favorite performances. Let's laugh, cry, reminisce, and enjoy being fans.

Because life is too short, and this month especially should be about love, remembrance, and peace.

And if nothing else, I hope the Jackson family gets a little bit of that peace too. 🤍

Tag list : @cocomilaa @blcknebula @stiflersbabymama @callmeoncette @needjoekeery @nuttyrebelflower @1eliana123-blog @ladyearthsea @rastharex @darkgreengrl @bananajoeclone @violet0182 @minghaossv @melynex @thebabykashmere @ghoulxeg @simply-lovley44

@raefoxiegirl @peacemakersbeloved @devynrulesboisdrool @skiicoreee @boredpretty @michaelssparklysocks @sometranslationnoteru @strawberrkiwis @irissunshines @agustdpeach @fluffypuddingatz

@joeburrowife

@1meshugge1 @whyxo @coornballz @plan3tch1ld @juicybigfart @swavydadon @hyperfixawahhhh @melaninjoys @enzo6ekiiii

[buckysgirlll]

oscar winning tears

⋆ FEATURING: michael jackson x fiancée!reader

SYNOPSIS: a big argument between you and michael broke out mere days after he asked you to marry him. you didn’t think it was that serious, which is why you didn’t break off the engagement but michael being the petty man he is, refused to speak or see you for weeks. which leads to you attending the mtv 1995 awards, just to see him.

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI — fem!reader, secret relationship, angst angst angstttttt, hurt/comfort, makeup sex, public sex, petty!michael, toxic ish!michael, reader lowkey folds but who wouldn’t?, janet being the queen that she is, happy ending, no use of y/n

WC: 6.6k (guys i think i cooked a bit too much)

AN: this is based off of when michael ghosted lisa marie for six weeks and the only way she could see him was when he was performing. but also keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and the events in this fic shouldn’t be taken as an accurate piece of media! for reference to the title, i was listening to “oscar winning tears” and that’s how i got inspired for this fic lol.

michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi

neverland ranch, july 27th 1995

“michael you can’t be serious.” you say, watching the way your now fiancée is pacing right in front of you.

he stops his pacing, looking at you like you just told him to go fuck himself.

“i am serious, baby.” he starts, “what part of me askin’ for us to make our relationship public to the media and you moving in with me is a joke?”

you sigh. “mikey, i love you. and i want to marry you, i do. but im just not ready for my face to be revealed on every single newspaper or magazine yet. or for i don’t know,” you throw your hands in the air, “your crazy fans harassing me all because im getting married to their celebrity sweetheart.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose, like this whole talk you’re having with him is raising his blood pressure. “okay let me ask you this one thing.” he says.

you nod.

“you knew what you were getting into when we first started dating, right?”

“well yeah, but—”

“let me finish.” he snaps, holding up a singular finger.

you let out a scoff in disbelief, at the snappiness of his tone.

he’s never spoke to you like that before.

“when we started dating, i told you what it would be like dating someone like me. i even refused many many times because i never wanted you to have to deal with the media or the tabloids. but it was you that was persistent. it was you that wanted me so bad to the point you never cared about what anyone else thought. it was me who decided to keep the relationship secret because i didn’t want you to get hurt. i didn’t want you to have to deal with all of that pressure. and now because i’d rather let the world know who my wife is on my terms instead of the media leaking it, it’s a problem?”

“no, no of course it’s not baby, but—”

“but what?”

you close your mouth at his words, not even attempting to speak. michael is normally a calm and collected person who seems to have a lot of patience. but now at this moment, he’s giving you no grace at all.

“okay listen.” you start, speaking slowly. you’re trying not to say the wrong thing because one thing you’ll hate to do is make this situation even bigger than it needs to be. “i love you. i want to marry you. i hope to someday start a family with you, but when i said all those things about the media finding out about us, yes i still don’t care what they think because my love for you outweighs all of that worry. but it doesn’t erase the fact that im scared. im scared of what people will think because it’s not like im just a girl that you’re sleeping with, or your date to an award show. i’m going to become your wife soon and that’s, michael that’s a crazy jump. and damn me for wanting to enjoy the buildup of us getting married without the unnecessary stress of people finding out about us.”

you take in a lungful of air, after spilling out everything you’ve been bottling up since michael has made it known that he wanted to make you guys’ relationship public.

“mikey, please say something.” you whisper, when you see him take a seat at the other side of the couch. he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at the ground.

“there’s nothing to say.” he shrugs. “you’re not ready so im going to have to accept that.”

“what does that mean?” you ask.

“it means, come back to me when you’ve made up your mind.” he gets up from the couch, walking to the phone on the other side of the room.

“what do you mean, ‘come back to me’ like i work for you or something?” you snap, your tempter starting to rise.

you’ve been so calm throughout this whole conversation but now you just feel angry.

it’s like he can’t understand that you need time. you need time so you can mentally prepare yourself for your life to be completely turned around.

he stays silent, jamming his finger into the numbers before he lifts up the phone and puts it to his ear.

“michael are you even listening to me?” you stand up walking towards him so you two are face to face.

well not exactly face to face since he’s a couple inches taller than you.

he looks down at you and the look on his face makes you take in a deep breath without realising it.

it’s not the normal, loving look he gives you all the time. i mean of course, you can tell that he still loves you a lot because otherwise he would’ve never been so angry. but the look that is pointed right now at you is somehow distant. like he’s looking straight through you, and closing himself in a tiny box.

he’s secluding himself from you already and you both are still together in the same room, inches away from each other.

the person on the other side of the phone seems to pick up because he looks away from you and focuses on something above your head. “hi, yes i need you to send a car up, immediately.”

you gasp, grabbing his arm. he’s sending that car to come and get you.

“michael don’t do this.” you plead. tightening your hold on his wrist but he doesn’t even move an inch. he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence anymore.

he’s shut you out.

“baby we can talk about this. we’re engaged remember. all im asking for is some time to think but this is too much. don’t hide from me.” you beg, your lip starting to quiver at the thought of him dismissing you so quickly without giving you a chance.

“okay, thank you.” he says, hanging up the phone and placing it back where it was. “the car should be here in a second to take you home.” he mutters, shrugging off your hold on his wrist and walking past you towards the spacious kitchen.

you follow him, tears springing to your eyes. you ignore the chef who’s at the stove cooking, and go to michael who’s opening the fridge, and taking out a carton of orange juice.

“michael.” you whimper, your chest starting to feel tight.

he ignores you, opening the cabinet and taking out a fresh glass.

“michael why are you doing this?” you say. “what happened to talking about things? why can’t you have a civil conversation without shutting people out whenever they don’t agree with you?” at this point tears are already starting to fall freely down your face, messing up your makeup.

you’re hurt. you’re hurt that he’s angry at you all because you want to protect yourself.

he should be able to understand. he should be able to see how terrified you are about the world finding out about you.

“michael!” you shout, openly sobbing in the kitchen and not giving a fuck about the chef staring at you like you’re insane.

you hate it when he does this. he does this every time he’s upset or angry. he just stops talking, stops acknowledging your presence. it’s like in his world, you don’t exist.

and you hate that he’s doing this to you. the woman that he went down on one knee to propose to a couple days ago. the woman that he says everyday is the love of his life. the woman that he wants to have kids with.

at that thought, you put your hands over your face, sobbing into your palms.

“the car should be here now.” you hear him say over your sobs.

you sniff, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “okay.” you whimper. you turn to leave, because no matter how much you plead, or beg for him to just listen to you, you know that he won’t. once he’s made up his mind, no one is changing it.

“i love you mikey. ill never stop loving you okay.” you stand there in the kitchen, waiting. waiting to see if there’s a change in his expression or even if he’s going to tell you that it’s all a big fat joke and you can still stay the night like you were meant to.

but no.

he says nothing, in fact he even turns his back on you so the only thing you can see is the back of his head.

with one final glance his way, you walk out of neverland ranch, hoping and praying that you’ll get to come back.

17th august, 1995

it’s been three weeks.

three weeks of voicemails, and you trying everything in your power to get michael to pick up the damn phone.

you never thought he’ll take it this far.

and to make matters worse, the times you’ve tried to visit the ranch, he hasn’t been there.

it’s like he’s actively, avoiding you.

the only times you’ve been able to catch a glimpse of him is from the screen of your television or from the tabloids.

and from the looks of it, he’s living his best life out there.

from the moments you’ve seen, he doesn’t look sad, he doesn’t look miserable. he looks… happy to mingle with his fans. and definitely happy to not be in your presence.

you feel sick. you feel absolutely disgusted with yourself for trying to grasp just a pinch of his attention just for him to prance around and act like you don’t exist.

this is the longest you guys have ever spent apart since you both started dating a year and a half ago.

it’s either you would spend a couple nights at the ranch with him or he’ll come and stay at your apartment.

even when he would go on his tours, you’ll always be there in the audience, making your appearance known.

hell, even his family know who you are, and they seem to love you.

you remember when you first started dating michael and you both tried to keep it under wraps but his family found out in mere weeks.

you’ve even been at their home in havenhurst a couple times.

just the thought, that you’ll probably never go back there and see sweet katherine again, has your stomach forming a knot.

but unfortunately you can’t let yourself go on like this. at the end of the day you are a woman before anything else and you can’t be sitting here being stringed along by a man.

even if that man is michael jackson.

31st august, 1995

it’s been two more weeks and at this point you don’t give a single fuck.

a couple weeks ago, you were still calling his landline, crying when the machine told you to leave a message all because you missed him, and all you wanted was for him to hold you in his arms and tell you it’ll be okay.

but now… fuck him.

honestly, fuck michael jackson.

at first you were calling him so he could just hear you out, and so you guys could fix whatever problems you both seemed to have but now the calls starting turning more serious.

you’re calling him so he can come and take the ring back.

it’s been five weeks of him ignoring your calls, or him refusing to be home when you try and visit him and all you’ve been doing inbetween, apart from crying your eyes out, is looking down at your left hand and seeing the big, 10 carat ring that is sitting comfortably on your finger.

if ghosting his fiancée is the new thing for breaking off an engagement then so be it.

because you’re not going to be here looking so goddamn stupid, when he’s there enjoying his life without you.

and to think all of this was because you wanted to wait just a couple more months before exposing your relationship to the world.

and that’s why you decided to do what you’re about to do.

you never wanted to get his sister involved. or anyone else involved, but at this point you’re desperate.

you’ve even tried to reach out to bill, quincy and even some of the staff at neverland and they’ve all told you the same thing.

“michael is busy.”

busy.

busy doing what? torturing your whole being with his silence?

and now you’ve sought out his baby sister because if it’s anyone that can get michael to talk to you so he can take back the ring, it’ll be her.

“hello.” janet’s voice immediately flows through the phone.

you bite your lip, tears starting to form because for the past five weeks, all you’ve wanted was to hear the warmth of michael’s voice and janet, she just sounds so similar to him.

janet says your name, causing you to clear out your throat so she doesn’t know that you’re fighting back tears right now.

“sorry.” you sniff. “um i just wanted to ask if you know where i can find michael because he’s been ignoring me… for so long and i-i need to give him back the ring.”

silence.

just pure silence on the other side of the phone.

you didn’t hear the click to indicate that she hung up on you so she should still be on the phone. why isn’t she saying anything?

“janet?” you ask.

“im sorry.” she clears her throat. “what do you mean you need to give him back the ring? what on earth has happened?”

you start to tell janet about everything, from the beginning where you and michael started arguing at the ranch five weeks ago, till when he practically told you to leave his home and has been ignoring your calls and visits ever since. at this point you couldn’t even hide the fact that you were crying.

“…i didnt even realise he was going to go this far janet. all i-i wanted was for us to talk about it and come to some sort of conclusion, as couples should do.” you sob.

“oh honey, im so sorry. if he wasn’t in new york right now ill go and kick his fuckin’ ass.”

you laugh at her words, despite the fact your nose is all snotty and your mascara is damaged from your endless tears.

you’ve never cried so much in your life ever. these five weeks have made you feel like all you do is cry.

but then you realise what she actually just said. “wait he’s in new york?” you ask.

“yeah, he flew over there early for a couple of press conferences, and signings before the mtv awards. him and i both got nominations for our music video ‘scream’.”

“oh my god, congratulations!” you say.

you’re only congratulating janet, it’s just unfortunate that michael is nominated as well. it’s such a horrible thought since you can’t help but love him so very much. but you’re hurting. just the thought of him makes your heart clench in your chest.

“well i hope you win,” you smile, emphasising on her winning. “but whenever you see michael just tell him from me that he needs to come and get his ring back.” your smile drops, at that thought.

because giving him the ring back is the last thing you want to do.

but you’ve been waiting for weeks just to hear a simple ‘hi’ from him and you’ve got nothing.

and you have to have some sort of respect for yourself.

“why don’t you come to the award show?” janet says, causing your mouth to drop.

“oh no—”

“yes! you have to come. you can fly with me and i can easily get you a seat in the front row. you know what yes, you’re coming. let me add you onto my list right now.”

“janet—”

she cuts you off, saying your name in such a tone that has you clamping your lips shut.

“you’re coming. pack a couple of clothes, we will be flying out in a couple of days. ill send you a car to pick you up and take you to the private airport.”

“janet, you really don’t have to.” she scoffs on the other side of the phone.

“no but i want to. and also i want you to be there when i give my brother a piece of my mind. because one thing you’re not going to is disrespect a woman, not just any woman, his fiancée.”

you go to argue with her again but you stop yourself. you’re so tired, so fucking tired of battling this all by yourself that it feels so relieving having someone take your side. even if that person is his sister.

“thank you. janet, thank you so much.”

“you don’t have to thank me. we’re going to be sisters soon, see you in a couple days.” as soon as she uttered those words, she hangs up the phone.

you didn’t even have enough time to tell her that you’re still giving michael back his ring and there would be no wedding for you both to be sister in laws.

NYC, september 7th 1995

you feel like you’re about to be sick.

this is the first time you will be seeing michael in six goddamn weeks and you feel like you’re going to throw up in your seat.

and to make matters worse, you’re sitting next to some a lister celebrity that keeps on giving you looks and wondering how the hell you even got a ticket, and especially one for the first row.

you swallow, your eyes shifting to the empty seat beside you that michael will be sitting in after he finishes performing.

just the thought of you watching him on stage, knowing that you’re about to hand him back the ring afterwards is another reason why you just may throw up.

the night has already been going on for quite some time, and you’ve been shifting nervously wearing a beautiful black dress, with a slit in the thigh.

it just so happens that it was michael who bought you that dress, the night he proposed to you.

after the first half of awards were presented, the curtain starts to lower and the whole place goes pitch black. the audience starts to scream when the curtain starts to rise and michael. your michael, steps onto stage.

you gasp, because he just looks so beautiful and majestic, which he has no right to be because you’re so very mad at him.

and it’s so hard being mad, when the first thought that entered your mind after not seeing him for six weeks was that you can’t wait to fuck him. even though you know that you’re never going to feel him inside you again.

damn him for making you feel this way.

you look down at your left hand and play with your ring nervously, watching the way the mixtapes of his music hit and how he immediately came alive on stage.

you sit there, staring in admiration at the way he floats around the stage like he owns it.

after about five minutes of his performance, he stops and everyone claps, congratulating him.

i mean you may want to strangle him or fuck him or both. but you can’t deny that he did amazing on that stage tonight.

“thank you.” he says in the mic.

“thank you so much.”

“i love you.” he points to a screaming fan in the audience.

you clench your eyes shut when he says that, wishing that you could hear him say that to you just one more time.

“some of us… likes to play it safe. and take each day as it comes.” he starts. “some of us like to take that crazy walk on the wild side.” you hear a couple of people scream when he says that.

“so… for those of us who like living dangerously. this one’s for you.” and with that he runs to the back of the stage, as dancers start filtering on, distracting us from him switching outfits.

you shake your head, letting out a small laugh at the fact that you thought he was done performing. your laugh immediately stops when his dancers reveal him wearing a suit and tie, with a black hat on.

he starts performing this part of the performance and it’s honestly like he’s trying to seduce you from the stage.

you cross your legs over each other, squeezing your thighs to try and get some sort of friction because there’s no way he’s there humping the air, grabbing his crotch and running his hands down his chest with orgasm worthy expressions on his face, without you getting turned on.

you let out a breath when the music stops and he grabs a mic saying his thanks to the crowd. you don’t think you would’ve been able to take any more of his dirty dancing without at least losing your mind.

this whole time, he still hasn’t noticed you and you’re glad. you’ll probably burst into tears if he locks eyes with you and acknowledges your presence.

“thank you. and for those of you, who made this record number one, i dedicate this to you.”

when the music hits, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt, that’s when you knew it was a huge mistake coming to this award show.

you should’ve stood your ground and told janet no.

because this is your favourite song from michael and he loves to sing it to you all the time, so just hearing him singing this song on stage infront of thousands of people makes your heart lurch in your chest.

as the song goes on, there’s already tears swarming your vision. he walks to the edge of the stage, taking in the audience as he’s singing, and that’s when his eyes fall on you.

“though we’re far apart…” you let a few tears drop when you see him point straight at you when he sings the words with a raise of his brow and a small smirk.

you scoff, wiping your tears with the pad of your finger. how dare he find this amusing after he’s just literally broken your heart, and made you experience twenty different emotions in the span of his fifteen minute performance.

after that song finishes, everyone including you stand up to give him a round of applause.

he smiles on the stage, giving everyone a bow. his eyes lock with yours again, but this time instead of holding the eye contact, you look down at the ground.

you hate that he has you feeling this way. at this point you just may hate him.

the awards continue on as normal and you start to feel more comfortable, watching all these artists get their awards.

you were a bit too comfortable that you forgot about the empty seat beside you until you smelt that familiar cologne.

you look up, your eyes widening when you take in michael wearing a black leather biker jacket with his collars popped out, and a matching pair of black trousers. oh and let’s not forget the signature sunglasses that he always wears.

he sits down silently in the chair beside you, getting comfortable with his legs spread so wide, you’re surprised they didn’t bump into yours.

you clear your throat awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest and focusing on the two celebrities who are making their way onto the stage.

they start to read out the award and the nominees and you hear ‘scream’ get mentioned. everyone starts to clap including you, and that’s when you see the camera pan to michael who you didn’t notice was staring right at you. he saves himself by pointing to the camera with a shit eating grin.

the camera was already able to catch your face but you still decide to look in the other direction.

“and the winner is,” the announcer calls, “michael jackson and janet jackson.” you start clapping hard when you hear janet’s name get mentioned.

yes you’re that petty.

michael gets up and starts walking to the stage, but stops and waits for janet who was sitting in the front row on the other side.

both of them walk onto the stage together and embrace in a hug. you see janet whisper something into michael’s ear which causes him to give her a terrified look.

they both take turns, saying their thanks to friends, family, producers etc, before they walk off stage holding their awards.

you can’t help but notice that michael is more rigid when he sits back down, instead of his laid back version that you saw before he got up to collect his award.

you still refuse to look at him, keeping your body pushed to the other side of your seat.

at this point, you have no interest in speaking to him at all tonight. at first you wanted to at least do the dramatic ring toss to the chest and then walk out on him but you feel like the only thing you’ll be able to do is cry and beg him to fuck you from the back.

maybe it’s possible to mail him the ring. yeah that sounds like a good idea.

you sigh, when there’s another commercial break and you decide to get up to go to the bathroom. this award show has been going on for hours.

you’re tired, heartbroken, horny and all you want to do is go home.

once you’ve finished in the bathroom, you fix your dress and start to make your walk back to the main room so you can sit back in your seat before the break is done, but you get interrupted by a hand on your arm.

you look up seeing michael, with his eyes still covered by his sunglasses.

“what are you doing?” you blurt out, when he starts to drag you down a long hallway.

“michael let go.” you hiss. trying to pull your arm out of his grip.

he ignores you, the same way he’s been doing for the last six weeks and just keeps on walking.

“michael joseph jackson, let me go before i scream.” you say, still trying to break his grip. but his hand is wrapped around your wrist so tight, that you won’t be surprised if there isn’t already a bruise forming.

you’re still trying to get him to let go of you when michael shoves open a door, that you’re assuming is his dressing room.

“what are you doing?” you yell. “are you— mmphh” your words are swallowed when michael crashes his lips against yours, pushing you up against the door.

at first you start to enjoy the feeling of his slightly chapped lips against yours, tasting just a hint of orange juice but then you remember how he had you leave neverland over a month ago, and didn’t speak to you since.

you push against his chest, panting.

“what. is. your. problem?” you shout, smacking him in the chest.

“you are actually more insane than i thought.” you scoff. “how dare you ignore me for six fucking weeks straight, and then have the audacity to drag me here just to kiss me? have you lost your damn mind?” you can’t stop shouting. after all these weeks of you bottling up your emotions, you can’t help but get it out.

“and,” you let out a dry laugh, “and it was all because i disagreed with you on one thing. not even disagreed, i just asked if we could wait a little more longer and you embarrassed me. you embarrassed me in front of your staff. you embarrassed me in front of quincy and bill when i asked them about you and you told them that you were too busy. yeah right, too fucking busy to check in on your fiancée!”

you didn’t even realise that the whole time you were shouting in his face, michael has been standing there with his hands behind his back with his head down.

he lifts his head up, removing his dark shades.

“you’re not breaking the engagement.” he says, his voice ten octaves deeper than his normal pitch.

you throw your hands up in frustration. “so after all i said, that’s what you have to say? after six fucking weeks of you not speaking to me, that’s what you decide to say to me?” you laugh, in disbelief. “michael i actually can’t believe you. but yes, yes we are done.” you start to twist your ring off of your finger but michael’s hand quickly reaches out to grab onto your wrist.

he pulls you towards him, so you’re flush against his chest.

you look up at him, your eyes filling with tears.

you blink them away, refusing to cry in front of him again.

“well i don’t want us to be done.” he mumbles, pushing your ring back down onto your finger. “i was mad. i was upset because i just wanted the world to see the amazing woman that i want to spend the rest of my life with. so im sorry for shutting you out, and im sorry that i took it out on you without communicating, but one thing i’m not going to allow you to do is walk away from me.”

you try and snatch yourself out of his grip because that was the most shittiest apology you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“baby.” michael says, pulling you back into his chest. “i said i was sorry.”

“i don’t care. you hurt me. you hurt me in the worst way possible and you think that stupid apology is going to work?” you scoff at his ridiculousness.

“i was angry and i just needed time to think.” he says, his grip loosening which gives you a chance to step back from his hold.

“time?” you say, your eyes narrowing. “one night is considered ‘time’. maybe a couple days, but six weeks michael? i called you every single day and you refused to answer. i cried myself to sleep every night, thinking that you hated me. i even called you on your birthday.” your lip quivers at the thought, and nothing could’ve stopped the tears that now start to fall down your cheek.

you start to openly sob, your heart clenching so tight that you’re convinced death would be a better feeling than what you’re feeling right now.

michael steps forward to embrace you in his arms and you hate yourself for the way you clutch onto his jacket, crying into his chest.

“shhh.” michael whispers into your ear, his hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “i’m so fucking sorry for leaving it this long.”

“you hurt me so bad.” you cry.

“i know.”

“i hate you.”

“i know.”

“i hate that i still miss you every single day. even when you hurt me.” you hiccup, pulling away from his hold so you’re looking straight into his eyes.

“i missed you too. it’s just, after i got over the fact that maybe you were right to wait a bit before we realised our relationship to the media, i just got told that me and janet got nominated for scream and… and i got so busy with the multiple interviews and the rehearsals for my performance that if i did try and reach out to you it would’ve gave us away.”

you shake your head, your makeup probably a hot mess from your tears. “if you really wanted to fix things with me you would’ve found a way to contact me without the media detecting us.” you sniff.

“i know. and ill make it up to you, i promise baby. it wasn’t meant to happen like this.”

you shrug, stepping back from his embrace again. “i’m still hurt mikey, and just because i love you that doesn’t mean the wounds aren’t still open.”

“i know.” he says softly, stepping forward. “but just give me this one chance to make it up to you. i don’t care if it takes a month, a year or ten years from now. i just don’t want us to be apart for that long again.”

you look up at him, taking in the utter beauty on his face. the tears that are threatening to fall from his eyes and his hands clenched tight like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing onto you again.

you bite your lip, hating the fact that you’re about to fold after weeks of telling yourself that you’re going to hand him back the ring and move on with your life but you can’t help the way your heart yearns for michael.

“okay.” you nod.

“okay?” he questions, probably shocked that you didn’t try and argue with him.

“okay.” you shrug. “i forgive you but i sure as hell won’t forget and if you ever,” you take a step forward so you finger is pressed to his chest. “ignore me for that long again then i just may cut off your dick and feed it to you.”

michael’s hand instinctively goes to cover his groin.

“i won’t do that again, i promise.” he says, before letting out a loud sigh. “and also because janet basically threatened me when we were on stage.”

you laugh at his words. “good. you deserved it.”

“i know.” he sighs, dropping his head in defeat.

you grab the collar of his jacket. “now come here.” you say, before you pull his lips to yours.

michael doesn’t waste anytime, pushing you against the door and bunching your dress up around your waist.

“i missed this.” michael says against your lips, lifting your leg up so it’s wrapped around his waist.

“you could’ve had this if you didn’t ghost your fiancée.” he smashes his lips against yours as soon as the words leave your mouth. you moan when you feel his hand rub your cunt through your thong.

“im sorry. im so fuckin sorry baby.” he whispers, peppering kisses down your neck as he pushes your thong to the side and slips a finger inside of you.

“shitttt, you’re so fucking tight.” you hold the back of his head, letting out a whine at the thickness of his finger inside of you.

“it’s been so long.” you pant.

“i know. i need to stretch my baby out so ill be able to fit.” he pushes another finger inside of you, curling them so they hit that one sensitive spot.

“ahh— fuck. that feels so good.” you moan, pulling his lips back onto yours. you let out another high pitched moan, when you feel him add a third finger.

he uses his thumb to rub tight circles on your clit, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure.

“im gonna cum.” you grab onto his shoulder, not caring that you’re probably scrunching up the material of his expensive jacket.

“no.” you whine, when he pulls out his fingers and places them into his mouth. he groans at the taste, “fuck baby, you taste so good.”

you pout, undoing his pants just far enough so you can free his cock. “you didn’t let me cum.” you say, when he hitches your leg back around his waist and lines himself up with your entrance.

“baby i need to feel you cum around my cock.” he lets out a deep, guttural groan when he pushes inside of you.

“fuck. ive missed this. ive missed this so much.” he pulls down your dress just far enough so he can suck onto your boob.

you moan, when he starts moving his hips hard against yours.

“you’re so big.” you cry out, wrapping both of your arms around his neck.

“jump.” michael says, letting go of your leg. you jump, wrapping both legs around his waist as both of his hands settle on your ass. he pushes you against the wall, still pounding into you with quick, efficient thrusts.

at this point you’re a blubbering mess as you feel your orgasm build up low in your stomach.

“fuck fuck fuckkkk.” you scream, from the intense pleasure.

“tell me you’re going to cum.” he growls, his hands tightening on your ass so he can manhandle your body to drop you down onto his whole length.

you can’t form words so all you do is nod. you clench, feeling the overwhelming pleasure of your realise.

“shit, im about to cum baby.” michael moans, dropping you down even faster. you hide your face in his neck, as you just let him fuck you like you’re his own personal fuck toy. at this point, you’d love to be.

“godddd— fuckkkk.” you hear michael groan in your ear, pushing you down on his whole length as you feel his cock pulse inside you and the feeling of his seed filling your womb.

you both pant against each other, refusing to break apart.

“that was… the best sex… we’ve ever had.” you pant.

michael places his hand on the door, using it as an anchor to keep him standing.

he sets you down on the ground gently, as you immediately look around his dressing room for some tissues so you can clean yourself up.

you can’t believe you’ve just had sex when there’s literally celebrities right next door.

“i can’t believe we just had sex in public.” you laugh, wiping yourself with tissue and making sure that there’s no bodily fluids on your dress.

“neither can i.” michael scoffs, buttoning up his pants.

just as you two got yourself somewhat presentable, the door bursts open, revealing janet.

“oh my god, there you two are. i was looking for you everywhere.” she says.

you and michael stand there completely frozen. you have never been so grateful in your whole damn life, because if you and michael took any longer, his own sister would’ve walked into you guys having sex.

“are you guys okay? did you sort out everything?” she asks, leaning against the door.

you cover your face in embarrassment. janet has no idea that she is standing in the exact place, her brother just fucked you at.

“we’re fine.” michael says quickly.

“okay.” janet nods. “well just to tell you that the award show is over now and everyone’s starting to go to the after party.” she closes the door but not without giving you a weird glance.

oh she knows.

she definitely fucking knows.

“oh my god.” you say, looking up at michael with wide eyes. “we nearly got caught.”

michael lets out a loud laugh. “it’s okay. we didn’t get caught.”

“yeah but we nearly did.” you sigh, placing a hand on your beating heart.

“anyways,” you start. “i need to go to my hotel room and change so we can head to the after party.” you start to walk out, even though your legs are a bit shaky from the brutal fucking you just endured but you freeze when you realise michael is not behind you.

“what?” you ask.

“you want to go to the after party? together?”

you give him a smile, “yeah.” you nod. “i think it’s time to let all these women know that you’re a taken man.”

michael bites his lip, looking you up and down like he wants to fuck you again.

“i’m never letting you out of my sight again.” he says, grabbing you by the waist, and placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“you better not.” you laugh. “because i won’t be so forgiving next time.”

and with that you both leave the dressing room hand in hand, preparing for your future of being in the spotlight as michael jackson’s soon to be wife.

sequel - running up that hill (tbd)

extra AN: guys im sorry if the smut is shit or if i forgot to tag anyone. this is the longest fic ive ever done and mama is tired.

tags: @lavnderluv @vict-oryy @nuhveah @phenofeesh @tojiswifeforlife @enhapocketz @littlenerdybee @mtcloudsworld @aureliareadsss @unknwnbrii @daemontargaryenwhore + add yourself here!

[ebonymuse]

— 𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ; 𝐁𝐀𝐃 (michael)

through every era, him. 18+ (i got super carried away so enjoy a long one!)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

150 days.

150 excruciatingly long days without him.

150 days since Michael cut the cord — ending your three year long relationship on a whim.

It came as a shock — something you would’ve never thought in your worst nightmare that would come true.

You had crawled into bed with Michael one night, skin glistening from the expensive floral scented lotion you’d just delicately rubbed into your skin, settling comfortably in the sheets next to him. He was quieter that night — he mumbled at dinner, barely conversing with you, playing with his food. Michael didn’t have a large appetite, so his lack of eating hadn’t phased you as much as it did now. You didn’t expect him to be too chatty that night either, you had already had a heated disagreement a few hours earlier that remained unresolved — something that was becoming more frequent in recent times due to his demanding career.

So, when you nestled against him, his hands rigid at his sides, was when you noticed something was undeniably wrong.

“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked, peering up from his chest to glance at his pokerface.

“I think we should split up.”

The words hit you full-force, panic and shock instantly flooding your emotion — sitting up so frantically it made Michael flinch.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your voice was frantic and distressed, face forced into a scrunch of anxiety.

Michael stayed silent for a few moments, not daring to meet your eyes, just staring blankly at the wall next to him.

“Michael, don’t fucking joke with me. Fucking say something.”

“Stop cursing, please.” He forced out, voice hoarse and low, attempting to keep his dignity.

You scoffed in disbelief, “So, you blurt out that you wanna break-up, but all you care about is a curse? Are you fucking serious?” Anger was the emotion at the forefront of your brain now, utterly disgusted with his coldness towards you mixed with the cruelty of his words.

“Things are complicated right now.” He started, still facing away from you, “I’ve got the album and the tour, and we’re fighting too much already because of it. It’s not good for us especially if I’m away for long periods of time. You deserve someone who can be around for you. Someone better.” He sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t want to let this progress and then end up hurting one another more.”

“‘Let this progress?’ Michael we’ve been together for three years, nearly four. You didn’t think to end things three and half years ago if you didn’t wanna get hurt? Are you serious?”

“I still love you, I just want to protect us both from pain.” He spoke quietly.

“Love? This isn’t love, Michael, this is cruel. This is worse pain. Someone who loved me wouldn’t treat me like this. Why are you doing this to me? To us?”

His heart clenched as your voice cracked, not brave enough to look you in your eyes, now brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry.”

The words felt faux as they left his lips — silencing encasing the room. You scoffed, standing up swiftly from the bed, rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door harshly behind you. You missed the way Michael flinched once more as the loud sound echoed throughout the quiet room, a single tear falling down his cold cheek — attempting to ignore your wails of despair from behind the door.

He saw you for the last time as you rushed out of the bathroom — bag full of your toiletries in hand as you raced towards the bedroom door, sobbing.

He called your name, but you cut him off, swearing brutally at him, along the lines of ‘Go fuck yourself, Michael’. Your memory of that night wavered thin now — your brain compartmentalising the pain to the back of your mind, pushing it the furthest away from to prevent you from punishing yourself with the hurtful memory.

You were packed and moved out the same night — moving back in with your parents, who comforted you for weeks on end as you experienced the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt in your life. The one person you loved and trusted the most in your life had been the one to hurt you the most, too. It was a strange phenomenon — to still love and yearn for the person causing you agonising misery.

At month one, you spent most days in bed — wallowing in your despair, reading old love-letters, staring at photos taken on your first tropical vacation, your anniversary, his birthday. You were torturing yourself — a bittersweet pain that you struggled to rid yourself of. Ending most nights by sobbing into your hand as you read the newspapers — headlines of your split plastered everywhere. Utterly devastated at how disgusting tabloids portrayed you as a deadweight on Michael’s blossoming career, that you were only dragging him down, that he made a good decision to free himself of you.

By month two, you got back to work. You had managed to find your new routine — working hard on your own music, pouring your damaged heart into each song, passion flowing from your lips with each lyric. You didn’t cry as much — only now and again when Michael would pop up on the television, his new album ‘Bad’ going world platinum again, just as his others did, his success booming. What irked you most was he looked perfectly fine — smiling happily for the cameras, performing on stage on tour with pure, irrevocable talent, adoration and excitement oozing off of him, like he didn’t destroy someone’s life two months ago.

By month three, you acted unaffected. You’d moved out into your own place — gaining some unwanted independence. You began going about your life like you’d never met him — going on a few dates, dancing at clubs with your friends with guys you were a stranger to, late night calls with men you knew deep down would never compare, but indulging in the fun of it nonetheless— heart fuelled by anger and frustration, desperate to get back at him. When you finally moved on sexually, you were irritatingly disappointed — no man on the planet could please you like Michael had. That’s what filled you with pure rage. Faking orgasms and pretending as though their cock’s even made half the stretch that Michael’s did had you furious — often pushing them away mid sex, ordering them to get out of your apartment.

You were now almost at month six and the ice in your heart towards Michael hadn’t let up.

You pretended, to your family and friends, that you were over it — that it didn’t affect you anymore. That you had totally moved on with your life. Wrong. You were still livid deep down — not a single day going by where you didn’t curl your fists up in fury at the thought of him. Fury that you still had an annoyingly large place for him in your heart — that no matter how bitter you tried to convince yourself you were about him, it did nothing to dilute the sickly sweetness that overpowered your heart.

And that lovesick heart of yours was pounding violently in your chest right now.

Sat in the back of a limousine, dolled up to the Gods — hair, makeup and outfit perfected to a T, you looked divine. So divine you were determined to make a statement — one just as bad his.

Ironic.

The man in question who you were dying to shock, self-proclaimed as ‘bad’, connotations to his new album, was someone you believed to be sweet, tender and loving. An album title you always thought was truly ironic as he was quite the opposite.

Not as of recent.

Diana Ross had been a thorn in your side since the day you and Michael met. Her relentless flirtatious energy towards the man you craved was angering — even before you called it official was she persistent with her teasing.

“So, you’re the girl Michael keeps talkin’ so much about.” She drawled, the day you met her, your handshake harsher than usual as you gripped her bony hand in your own, “Not his girl, yet though, right?” She laughed, “Better snatch that handsome thing up before I do.”

You confessed your love to Michael that night.

You did truly have intense feelings for him — but that old cow had given you the push you needed. No way in hell was she going to take him away from you — not on your watch.

So, rightfully so, you were anxious at the thought of her finding out about your split — wondering what her next move would be. You’d spend everyday reading the newspapers in a panic, skimming through a thousand words a second in an attempt to find any news of them being spotted together.

And the day came — a week before The 1988 Soul Train Music Awards. The very award ceremony you were heading to, looking so beautiful.

Michael and Diana were front page — pressed tightly against one another at a famous club. His smile was bright, wide and genuine — something you’d missed seeing in person, now adorning his captivating face because of that witch. She had looped her arm through his, the picture capturing her pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. The title read ‘MICHAEL MOVING ON ALREADY? — OLD FLAME REIGNITED’

Oh, he had really done it this time.

He knew how much you hated her — loathed her, actually. The older woman often getting in the way of your relationship throughout the years you were together — despite having a husband herself, she was betrothed with your man.

So, even if technically he didn’t owe you a thing as you weren’t his anymore, you silently felt fury at him for letting her kiss him for the cameras.

Therefore, your only response was to fight fire with fire — childish? Maybe. But, clever? Absolutely.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

The sound of Prince’s voice next to you in the limo tugged a devilish smirk onto your face as you nodded.

If Michael wanted to play dirty — you would play real dirty.

The car had rolled to a stop — flashes of the paparazzi’s intrusive cameras burnt into your vision as the driver pulled the door open. You stepped out, smoothing your dress, a wide smile on your face, waving sweetly as you waited for your date to exit the vehicle.

If you thought the flash was bright before, you were mistaken. Spots blurred into your vision as Prince stood next to you, instantly taking your hand in his own, confidence oozing from him as always, before smiling down at you. You turned to him — pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lipstick now smeared across his skin, earning a knowing laugh from his throat.

Cha-ching!

Those pictures, dripping with revenge, were a real moneymaker — something that would put that sloppy, old hag’s attempt to make you jealous to shame.

Everyone knew of the musical feud between Michael and Prince — the two men battling for the title of ‘the biggest star in the world’. You knew that Michael took the cake — but, you also knew that seeing his biggest rival with his ex-girl would shut down any attempt of riling you up.

“Nicely done.” Prince whispered, lips close to your ear as you were ushered inside the building. He was aware of your vengeful plan — and more than willing to help aggravate his arch nemesis.

“You too.” You sent a wink his way, engaging in a childish, unison giggle, knowing exactly what you were doing was going to end messy, “I’ll see you later.”

You parted ways with your exes nemesis, not before letting him press a calculated kiss to your knuckles, peripheral vision burning as more cameras captured your (fake) romantic moment, before being ushered to your assigned seat.

You were fairly near the stage, around three rows in front, next to your favourite female pop-star and close friend, Whitney Houston. A real, genuine smile burst across your face when she seated herself next to you.

“Girl.” She breathed out a laugh, placing her clutch bag gently in her lap.

“What?” You laughed, smiling across at her in confusion.

“Honey, I think you know what.” She shook her head with a grin, “You made quite the entrance back there.”

Perfect.

The corners of your lips tugged up into a deeper smile, “Then my plan is working.”

Whitney chuckled, “I just know that poor man is beyond ticked off right now.”

“‘Poor man’?” You scoffed, “He is far from poor. You saw the papers, right?”

“Everybody did, sweetie.”

“Number one, not helpful,” You pointed a finger at her, ignoring the way she cackled, “And two, he had it comin’” You paused, “Everyone, including him, knows how much I hate her.”

“Hate who?”

You froze — the infamously familiar voice that once had you smiling like a damn idiot before, now had your face falling as your head lurched behind you.

And there he was.

Michael.

In all his annoying glory — sporting a dashing red button-up, a sleek tie around his neck, paired with a black suit jacket, that hugged the curve of the lean muscles in his arms in a way that your breath hitching in your throat.

It aggravated you that he looked so good.

But, you knew that he knew that you looked better.

Your irritation only blossomed as you glanced at the seat to your right — eyes rolling in annoyance as his name, scribbled onto a flimsy piece of paper on the chair right next to you, hit your vision.

Fuck award show assigned seats.

“Well, shit, girl.” Whitney mumbled, laughing under her breath as she turned away from the tension that was rising as Michael took his seat.

“Hello.” He spoke, voice soft and gentle, just like you remembered.

“That’s all you have to say to me?” Your voice came out harsher than expected, an angered frown visible on your face as a grin bloomed on his.

His mouth went to open, but you cut him off, hand shooing him away, “Actually, don’t even speak to me, please.”

“You look beautiful.”

“What did I just say Michael?”

You hated the way he smirked at your snappy tone, lip coming between his teeth as he obeyed your request, getting comfortable in his chair. You also hated the way your heart did an extremely noticeable flip in your chest at the compliment.

This night was going to be the death of you.

And it only got worse as Michael retreated to the stage, not once, but twice — each time looking more gracious and handsome as the next. He won Best Single and Album of the Year for Bad — the trophies enclosed around his beautiful, slender hands, ones that once gave you blissful satisfaction.

You despised your weak mind for the way you let it run away with itself — eyes trailing over his tall, elegant frame each time he’d take the stage. That infamous smile that had you weak at the knees did nothing to cool the desire that was overpowering your anger, the yearn for him only increasing.

Michael thumped into his seat next to you with a sigh, now two awards richer, running a hand through his long curls that cascaded down his shoulders.

You could sense he was looking at you — his smiling face visible in your side eye-line, but you refused to turn, your eyes fixated on the stage as the next category was revealed.

“Saw your little stunt earlier.” He whispered, “Real classy.”

You scoffed quietly, “That’s rich.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You knew that tone — that cocky, teasing tone that had you gritting your teeth.

You finally turned to face him, “Oh, right. I’m sure letting that old crow kiss you is a regular thing now, huh?”

“Saw that, did you?” He was testing you, it was evident in the way the knowing smirk on his face never faltered.

You were halfheartedly listening as your name was read for the nomination, not even bothering to care as you held your gaze with the man seated next to you — a brutal lock of eyes that said a thousand words. You were furious, failing to hide it miserably, and he, well, he was enjoying it.

“I did.” You started, “Nice to see a downgrade was my replacement.”

Michael’s smile flickered at your harsh dig at his life-long friend, “I think I could say the same about your date.”

“At least I have one.”

That sure wiped the smirk off his face.

“And definitely not a downgrade in the bedroom.”

You basked in his shock — the smirk he once sported now adorning your face, nearly missing the way your name was called from the stage, the room erupting in applause.

“Excuse me?” Michael’s voice was bitter, cold, mortified at your admission. A false one at that, but he didn’t need to know. Yet.

“Sorry, can’t hear you.” You shrugged him off, rising to your feet with a proud smile — at your award mostly, but also at your triumphant win in the petty disagreement, as loud cheers exploded in your ears.

You took the stage — a new found confidence oozing off of you, a gorgeous smile on your face as you took the award from the announcer’s hands, pulling them into a small hug. You thanked your producer, musical team, family and friends — humbleness evident in every word you spoke.

You looked perfect — utterly radiant under the bright lighting blaring down onto the stage, award glistening in your hands as your pearly white smile twinkled in the spotlight.

Michael, albeit still in an angered daze over your admission, couldn’t help himself but rake his eyes over your frame — breasts pushed perfectly up your corseted dress, the curve of the plush mounds visible to everyone’s eyes from the audience, eyes never leaving those perfect tits he’d once nestle his face into as he flung your legs over his shoulders and filled you to the hilt with his cock.

The thought had him readjusting his slacks — hard-on now painful against the restrictive clothing at the delicious reminiscing of your love-making.

It was your next words that had the sexual memories leaving his head.

“And I wanna thank my wonderful date for tonight— matter of fact, come up here! Prince, where y’at, honey?”

The room erupted into cheers once more — everyone but Michael, who attempted to drown out Whitney’s disbelieving laughter from two seats down from him, watching as you shielded your eyes from the light, searching for the man in the crowd.

Michael stared lethal daggers into Prince’s back as he sauntered up the stairs to the stage — his chest heaving in undeniable envy as he watched Prince pull you into a tight hug. Those gorgeous breasts now pressed up against Prince’s chest.

He was livid. Hands tightening around the material of his trousers, knuckles white as his grip turned taut.

“Not only is he a Pop King,” The room exchanged hushed gasps at the title, one that everyone knew belonged to your furious ex, “But, he’s also a fantastic plus one.” Laughs fizzled out the shock at your insinuation that Prince was only there with you, not for his own musical nominations.

Michael, however, had never felt fury quite like it.

That title was his.

One he worked so hard for — something him and that idiot, in his mind, up on stage with you had fought over for so many years. And you knew that.

He knew you were aggravating him deliberately.

Prince smirked, eyes finding Michael’s in the crowd, expression darkening, “Sorry, Michael.”

And with a smooth arm wrapped around your back, and a swift dip in the air — he kissed you.

Well, not actually.

His lips attached to the corner of your mouth, barely touching, but to the audience, and more importantly, the cameras, it looked as though your ex-boyfriend’s fiercest enemy was kissing the life out of you on stage.

And, boy, did everyone in the room eat it up.

Standing ovations and screams of joy sounded in the room as they clapped — basking in the pure drama of it all.

Prince pulled away from you with a smile, winking at you as you laughed, shaking your head. He took his hand in yours, guiding you backstage, the noise of the crowd dying down as you were ushered away.

“You’re evil.” You chuckled, chest heaving from the adrenaline.

“Well, maybe it’ll give him the push he needs to try get y’back.” Prince admitted, “Either that or to write ‘nother okay album.”

You shoved his arm playfully, “Oh, stop. Y’know it was a good album.”

“Sure, sweetheart, sure.” He teased, sending another smug wink your way, earning another giggle from your lips.

You’d barely made it ten steps backstage before an all familiar frame blocked your way.

You swallowed thickly as Michael’s cold, blank expression met your eyes, his hands curled at his side as he held your gaze — watching as the smile fell from your face.

He didn’t fail to notice how quickly you dropped Prince’s hand, either.

“Come with me. Now.” His voice was darker than his usual soft, gentle tone — not holding a deeper undertone of something that had a chill running down your spine.

“Oh, he mad now.” Prince spoke up, a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, “Don’t be jealous, brother, y’got ‘Ross don’t’cha?”

Michael’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning to Prince, eyes darkening into something icier, “I’d walk away if you know what’s good for you.”

Prince laughed once again, eyes flickering back towards you, “Good luck, girl.” He turned back to Michael, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Be sure to bring her back t’me when you’re done, yeah?”

Michael lunged, flinging his hand off his shoulder in a brutal shove, turning towards him with clear intent. You rushed in between a seething Michael and a laughing Prince, hands steadying the angered man on his chest.

“Enough. Both of you.” You hissed, “Just go.” You signalled to the amused man behind you.

Prince didn’t fight it — just turned to walk away with his hands in the air in surrender, chuckling as he went.

“Michael, what the hell was that for?” You snapped.

Michael didn’t speak — only grabbed your wrist in a firm, not aggressive, more so possessive, grasp, tugging you away, his longer legs moving swiftly with each stride, your own practically in a run as you fought to keep up.

He found a nearby bathroom, pushing the door open with all his strength, ignoring the way you winced at the sound of the handle harshly slammed into the wall. The door was shut and locked quicker than it had opened — before you were pushed against it.

“Me?” He started, answering your prior question, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, pupils blown in distress, “I think I should be asking you that question, sweetheart.”

The pet-name spat from his mouth with a curl of his lips — face contorted into a scowl.

You gained your pride, taking two hands to his shoulders and shoving him, your strength against his own doing as little as moving him a few steps backwards.

“Don’t get it twisted, Michael.” You retorted, “You started this with that bitch.”

Michael scoffed, “Go’head, baby, try and convince yourself I’m in the wrong here.” His tongue poked out from his inner cheek, “You’re insatiable.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.” Your voice seeping with distaste at the familiar pet-name, “You lost that privilege the second you gave up on us like we were nothin’.” You shook your head, “Would’ve let you have it back if you didn’t let that old slut rub up on you like you’re a fuckin’ groupie.” You laughed darkly, looking him up and down, “Not now. Lost every fuckin’ chance with me.”

Michael looked taken aback by your disrespectful words — teeth grinding together as he never took his eyes away from your own.

“I never gave up on us willingly.” He revealed, ignoring the way you scoffed with a laugh, as he took a step closer to you, “And as for her,” He paused, attempting to find the right words.

“See? You can’t even convince yourself there’s nothin’ going on there.” You cut him off, hands flailing in the air as you spoke theatrically.

“Let me finish, woman.” He shot back, “As I was sayin’ — she means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. She’s an old friend. Someone who mentored me as a kid. We have history — but nothin’ more than platonic. Barely even platonic, just professional.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Michael. No ‘professional mentor’ kisses their ‘colleague’ like that.” You air-quoted the words that felt faux with your manicured fingers, shaking your head, “Do you take me for some kind of idiot?”

“Not in that sense, no.” He started, “For actin’ like that him? Maybe.”

You laughed in disbelief, “You just love it, don’t you? Pretending to yourself that I’m the bad guy, that I went up there and acted like that just to hurt you with no real reason?” You looked him up and down with disgust, “You’re so blind.”

“How many times, girl? There’s nothin’ going on with me and Di.”

He regretted the use of the nickname the second it left his mouth.

“Di? That sounds real professional to me, asshole.” You turned on your heel, clicking the lock back open and twisting the handle, pulling the door open in an attempt to storm out.

Before you could even move, the door was slammed shut once again. The loudness blooming a new found silence in the room, one that failed to occur from the second you walked in there.

Michael’s hand, despite his reverent anger, remained gentle as moved your body back to face him, pressing you back into the door.

“Don’t even think about it.” He whispered, “You are not walkin’ away from me.”

“That’s ironic.” You bit back, “If you hadn’t have done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be havin’ this argument.”

“Y’think I wanted to do that? Think I wanted to sit there and watch you panic? Listen to you cry? Hear you cuss me out because of pain and anger I caused? No. That’s where y’dead wrong, girl.” He let out a shaken breath, “I have always, from the moment I met you, till this very day, loved you. Loved you so much I had to give you the life you deserved. I had to let you go. Had to get you away from the pain I was bringin’. No one wants to be with someone who’s never there, and when they are, they’re always fightin’.” Then, he went silent, his eyes now softened as they met your glassy ones, tears threatening to fall as you let him talk.

You both stayed in deathly loud silence, louder than any door slamming or screaming argument — silence that spoke more words than any you’d ever said.

You swallowed thickly, your resolve cracking as his admission settled in your brain, “That wasn’t your decision to make, Michael.” Your voice was quieter now, still with the same stubborn sharpness, but less accusatory, now filled with evident upset.

Michael breathed, his head hanging low, his forehead a mere few inches from your own, “I regret that night every fucking day.” He whispered, a vulnerable string of words that hung heavy in your heart, “Letting you walk out that door was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Why her?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, a stray tear falling down your cheek as you met his gaze.

“It wasn’t a personal attack. She was just at the same club and approached me.” He revealed, “The picture was taken before I even had a chance to say no.”

You shook your head, breaking the eye-contact as you looked at your feet, hiding your rapidly falling tears. Michael’s trembling hand reached for your face, a tentative hand cupping your warm cheek, lifting your face to meet his eyes once more.

“Mama..”

“Stop.” You turned your head, pushing his hand away with your own, “I can’t even look at you.”

“Don’t act so innocent.” Michael’s tone, that had once softened, grew the all too familiar iciness that had been evident the whole evening, “I’m trying to fix things here despite your little ordeal earlier. D’y’know what it’s like to see you kissing him up there? That used to be me if you even remember.”

You let out a low laugh, “He didn’t even kiss me, fool, ‘was all an act. Unlike you and Di.” You barked, “Y’know you actually blow my mind, you’re so—Mmmph!”

Michael connected your lips in a frantic kiss, cutting off your incessant bickering, lips moving against yours quickly.

You shoved him back, gasping for air at the sudden loss of breath, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Puttin’ that bratty fuckin’ mouth to better use.”

He kissed you again — mouth sliding against your own in a feverish lip-locking, a hand now gripping the nape of your neck, the other on the curve of your waist.

And this time — you let him.

You melted into him, hands flying to his face, eyes fluttering shut as you caved, droplets of tears falling onto the tops of your cheeks — falling deeper into his mercy. His tongue slid across the surface of your bottom lip, still awaiting permission despite his frustration. You allowed it, letting his tongue slide into your warm mouth, humming in delight at the taste of his minty breath on the hot muscle, revelling in the way he pushed his body into yours. His hands wondered — now travelling down your body to grab a handful of your ass through your dress, continuing his oral assault on your swollen lips.

“Jump.”

You obeyed, leaving his lips to leap into his arms — his hands cradling your behind as he connected your lips once more, settling you on the sink, slotting himself between your ajar legs.

Michael detached his mouth from own, moving his lips down the curve of your jaw, and down your exposed neck — letting his hips rock into yours involuntarily, while he sucked possessive marks into your skin, at the sound of your breathy moans, head tilted back to allow him better access.

“Michael, please.” You whined, voice a needy plea, hands sliding up into his hair, threading through his tight curls.

“Please, what, angel?” He mumbled against your neck, breath hot against your skin, fresh lovebites forming as he spoke.

“Please—mmhm—Need you, fuck.”

Michael pulled away, hands flying to your dress, pulling down the zipper harshly — before pulling you to your heeled feet, pushing it off your body swiftly, leaving you in just a skimpy bare of lace panties.

Ones you knew were his favourite.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He breathed, eyes raking over your bare frame, glossy doe-eyes peering up at him as he towered above you, “Wore my favourite just for me?”

You nodded, “Just f’you, Mike.”

Michael turned you, with precise smoothness, pressing your stomach against the cold of the sink, your bare back now pressed against his chest.

He slid a tentative hand up your side, toying with the tiny string the thong that clad your bottom half, as he locked eyes with your own in the mirror before you, “How am I supposed to know you didn’t wear them for him, mama?”

You pushed back against him, rolling your hips into the statement of his arousal, “Shut up about him and fuck me.”

A harsh hand connected with your left ass cheek — a half-gasp half-moan ripping from your throat at the sudden contact, “Thought I told you to keep that bratty mouth shut?”

You, testing your luck, ground against him once more, smirking at the way his hand tightened against your hand-printed behind, “Give me what I want then.”

Michael shook his head behind you — one hand working on his belt, pushing his slacks down along with his boxers, his palm wrapping around his achingly hard cock, pumping himself slowly, while the other pulled down your panties, now morphed into the shape of your plush folds from your leaking arousal, to the side, “Be careful what you wish for, doll.”

With one swift, sudden thrust, Michael pushed inside you — bottoming out instantly. A scream erupted from your throat at the instant fullness, your tight cunt struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him as his leaking tip kissed your cervix. Your pussy betrayed you as it clenched around him, drooling around him, coating his cock in your slick.

His hand flew to your mouth, his large palm enclosing around your swollen lips, muffling the whimpers that left you as you struggled around him — eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of him throbbing inside you.

“Keep those eyes open, mama,” He ordered, sliding out of you slowly until the only thing that remained inside your quivering hole was his plump mauve cockend, “Want you to see how pathetically you fall apart on my cock. My cock. No-one else’s.”

He pushed in again with the familiar harshness from before as your eyes shot open — now starting a brutal, animalistic pace that had you clawing at the tense of his hand that enveloped your mouth, hiding the high-pitched squeals and whines of pure, irrevocable lust that took over your mind, body and soul.

Michael groaned into your ear, eyes locked on your own as he fucked into you with such a pace and lack of gentleness that you’d never seen before. During your companionship, Michael took his time with you — worked you open with his mouth and fingers, took his time to get you ready for the thickness and length of him. But, not this time — all the pent up rage brought upon him from the start of the night now being fucked into you with every harsh rock of his hips.

Keeping you flush against his chest, his free hand slid down to where you connected — rubbing tight figure eights against your clit that throbbed for attention. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes rolling to the back of your head, ignoring any order he gave you to hold his gaze.

“Mmphmh—M-Mich—Michael, please!”

Words failed you as you cried against his hand, drunk on the way his cock dragged in and out of your gummy walls that sucked him in with each thrust — the sound of your feverish moans and your squelching cunt mixing with his breathy groans filling the air of the bathroom that now stunk of Michael’s intoxicating cologne and passionate sex.

“Take it, baby, take this fuckin’ dick.” He grunted into your ear, his words unlike his usual loving coaxes, “Make up for what’cha did.”

Michael hissed as you bit down on the skin of his palm, his hand pulling away from the source of pain as he meet your gaze in the mirror — your own expression now deepening into a scowl, “Fuck you.”

The words spat from your mouth, dripping with venom, at his words of blame, watching as his face scrunched up in frustration.

“Oh, you’ve done it now, ma.”

His pace never let up — if anything, since your oral stunt, it quickened. He forced you down, now completely bent over the sink as he created a new angle — his cock now driving deeper into your sopping cunt, abusing the sweet spot inside you relentlessly.

Now released from his grasp, your loud, incessant cries sounded throughout the small room — so voluminous that any passerby would hear every scream of his name.

His hand collided with your ass cheek again — cursing under his breath as the familiar feeling of a much needed orgasm crept up his abdomen. The lustful spark in your stomach blossoming much the same as he slid a hand into your hair, tugging your head upwards to look directly into the mirror once more. You were a state, completely, and literally, fucked — eyes streaming with tears that coated your hot cheeks, lips swollen and stricken with spit from his frantic kisses, and a small yet equally evident imprint of his fingers around your mouth where he held you harshly.

“‘M gonna cum so fuckin’ deep in this pussy that you can’t fuckin’ walk without flooding your little panties with my seed.” He grunted, never letting his thrusts faltering as you squirmed beneath him, “Who’s needy little cunt is this?”

Words failed you as you continued to cry — only desperate, eager whimpers falling from your lips.

Another spank connected with your ass cheek, coaxing a loud whine out of you, “Answer me when I ask you a fuckin’ question, woman.”

“Yours!—fuck, Michael, it’s all yours.” You panted, tears falling from your eyes faster than you could stop them.

“Say this pussy’s mine.” Michael spat, tugging hard on your locks of hair.

“My pussy’s all yours, baby, fuck—mmph!—Gonna cum!”

Michael hummed, clearly pleased with your response, his hips stuttering as he neared his own release, “Cum with me, beautiful, cum on my cock like a good girl.”

You cried out, loud and despairingly, as you finally broke — red-hot ecstasy taking over your body as you came, the flood gates of your pleasure breaking open to consume you. Michael followed, the tight clenching of your quivering pussy sending him over the edge, spurting his hot seed into your fertile cunt as he groaned lowly — the sensation of his cum filling your fluttering sex only furthering your own orgasm.

You slumped against the countertop — chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. Michael stilled behind you, swallowing thickly as he softened inside you. He leant down, pushing his chest against your back, coated with a sheen of sweat, before pressing a soft, loving kiss to your shoulder.

His kisses trailed up to your neck, beneath your earlobe, your cheek, before using a trembling hand to tilt your head to the side, and pressing his lips against your own. You sobbed into the kiss, more tears, now from overwhelming emotion, falling from your eyes. Michael’s hand cupped your cheek — deepening the kiss, that once held so much irritation, resentment and anger, now filled with undeniable attachment, deep love and compassion.

“I love you.” Michael breathed, disconnecting your lips, resting his forehead against yours — singular curl that stuck to his slick forehead tickling your own, “Please be mine again.” He whispered.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, head reeling from the overstimulating rush of emotions.

“But don’t pull that shit again.” He added with a playful smile.

“Yeah,” You sniffled with a breathy laugh, “You too.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

taglist: @444sturns @lotuspetalss @shadyforharrington @sassenachmalfoy @sgl8 @slugstarzz @tirallymissu @undergroundtwink @castielsb1tch @grey342 @simply-lovley44 @ang9lic @lovecherishly @ssamanthasaenz @peacemakersbeloved @ghettofabu05 @lov3lylxvender @lavnderluv @nuhteyam @amoravelee @carterstales @dolliestmelody @ambmxj @msapplehead @ghulify @cafe-lectura @westcoastsayian @bernardsbaby @whoiseanna @winterswifee @inana177 @brownskinnedwitch @btslvts @iwonthurtubaby @dear-mono @hcwait @butterfliesandcoffeex2 @junkie05 @skiicoreee @donniesbbg @mjssluttyfish @michaeljacksonspyt @szalipcombo @princessrosalia @loveposiie @starddustt @veliriumm @your-premier-amour @1andonlytashae @callmeliptoncuzimtea comment/message to be removed! taglist now closed <3

[hcwait]

i almost passed out reading this it was TEWWW good