warnings: 18+ (mdni). this is fucking disgusting, detailed and explicit. don’t wanna see minors in this bitch. oral (f receiving), pussy examination/pronouns/sniffing, panty nibbling. lots of cum. you’re disgusting and wet and it’s everywhere.
“look at that, baby,” michael whispers in fascination, eyes fixed onto your twitching pussy. he’s kneeling between your legs, the back of your knees hanging over his shoulders. “so responsive t’me.”
his thick thumb rubs up and down your lips through the already soaked lacey material. your pussy breaches open around him like a flower, lips almost hanging out, and every time his finger strokes over your gaping, puffy hole, you feel more wetness drool out of you in slow, stringy drips.
“need you so bad,” you beg back, voice high and needy. “so fucking bad.”
michael chuckles, lips merely inches away from your pussy. “yeah? i can tell princess,” the action sends a wave of heat over your skin. his hair tickles the insides of your thighs, and your legs are on the verge of closing around his head. “she’s fucking dripping. so wet f’me, all mine.”
you can feel your slick spreading over the fabric of your panties while he noses through your folds like an obedient cat. “smells so delicious, baby, fuck. gonna eat y’up.”
your legs shake every time the tip of his nose bumps over your clit, back arching off the bed as he presses a tiny kiss over the sloppy, wet material of your underwear, right over your empty, fluttering hole. “she’s so good f’me. can only reward my best girl.”
and that’s the moment his brown eyes flit up to yours. his tongue meets your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. your hips immediately shoot up from the bed, and you let out one, drawn out whimper.
the heavy weight of his tongue against your folds has your head lolling back into the mattress. “shit, mikey, i—” white spots flash before your eyes, unable to keep your eyes open due to the delirious friction from his tongue lapping up, sucking up, your essence.
“keep feelin’ it, princess. that’s it,” he praises you in between licks and soft nips to your clit, voice strained and broken. “can taste you on the fabric, baby. shit—”
at this point, the material of your panties is so soaked and wet, it clings to your lips, perfectly outlining you through the lace while michael eats you out like a man starved. he alters between gentle nibbles at the fabric and nudges of his tongue into your entrance, only a thin layer of lace separating his tongue from your cunt.
“swear y’have the cutest lil’ pussy i’ve ever seen,” michael mumbles as he distances his face a little from your sex. the lace is so wet and creamy that it stays poking into your hole from where his tongue prodded into you just moments ago. he slides one light kitten lick over your clit. “purrin’ for attention. don’t worry angel, i’ll give it to ya.”
“oh my— you’re so nasty, mike,” you whine out, hips bucking up into the air before michael pushes you back down.
“feel how i was juuust in there?” he pushes the thick tip of his middle finger right into the little dip his tongue made, slowly twisting his fingertip around at a maddeningly torturing pace, practically fingering you with a layer in between.
the touch of his fingers to your creamy, messy panties produces the echo of a squelching sound, like a sponge being wrung out, like honey sticking to his fingers. under the pathetically sodden fabric of your lace panties, your warm slick bubbles around your hole, your white cream mixing with his spit, dribbling over the crease of your opened thighs, meandering over the globes of your ass.
part of you feels ashamed of how filthy you are. how thick, slimey globs of cum just gush out of you with every contraction of your hole, and because of the barrier of your panties, it has no place to go. the only option to seep out the sides of the panties’ gusset, as if revealing a dirty secret of how aroused you really are.
“pretty, dirty girl,” the man beneath you praises, voice cracked open in admiration. “should see how messy she’s for me, baby. ‘s a fuckin’ work of art.”
later, when you find your panties thrown on the floor of the bedroom, you notice tiny, little, miniscule holes right around the middle part of the gusset.
“mikey, you nibbled on my panties. you ruined them!” you exclaim in disbelief, holding the pathetic excuse of what you’re supposed to call panties between your thumb and index finger.
BONUS (bc i’m disgusting)
when his fingers pry off your drenched panties, michael’s eyes stay directed on the transparent, white strings extending from your drooling entrance to the sloppy lace material. “so messy y’are for me,” he says, lopsided grin on his face. “push it out. wanna see.”
“see what, mike?”
“see this,” he holds up your panties, gooey remnants of your thick cum glued to the material. “wanna see it pour outta you, baby. up close.”
your bravery sickens you. you clench your abdomen together, gaping hole opening and closing as another sticky wave of white shyly oozes out of you. your face heats up out of embarrassment when you feel the cool, wet patch under your ass spread out.
you cover your face with your hands.
“d’awhh, baby. don’t be shy,” michael places a kiss on top of your bare mound. “don’t be shy w’me. you’re so sexy when you’re being nasty for me.” he coos as he places another kiss to your pussy lips. “y’r just your mikey’s nasty girl.”
what’s worse, you feel warm drops of wetness dribble out of you again at his praise, right against his soft lips.
“fucking beautiful. look at’cha, pretty.” your boyfriend puckers your pussy lips together, trying to coax another glob out of your sex. instead, your tacky lips stick together, and michael peels them open again. “don’t want my baby down here poutin’. gonna lick ‘er clean.”
you’re all mellowed out, his words not really getting to you. your chest keeps heaving, your skin coated with a thin filter of sweat, drool piling up at the corners of your mouth, trickling down your cheeks as you give yourself completely to michael. you just let it happen now.
he’s going to have his way with you, anyway.
this continues the entire night like so. michael just playing with your pussy, literally, whilst you’re trying not to go insane.
a/n: when he’s cleaning up your come with his tongue he flips you around to lick up those little meanders of sticky cum off of ur ass cheeks too btw! occasionally sucking purple marks on ur plump ass, cuz he likes to have a pretty view when he takes you from the back. and loves how you can’t sit down cuz he stretched you out too much 😊
Summary: Michael and you had known each other for a while. So, of course, you were the only one he trusted enough to help him explore.
Warnings: smut *MDNI*
Contains: making out, dryhumping, penetration, breeding kink (sort of?)
A/N: I’ve been obsessing over this idea for a while, so here it is lol. it started with Michael being inexperienced but then suddenly he wasn’t too inexperienced?? also, for those asking to be on my tag list, don’t worry, i got you, i just don’t include my tag list on any smut to avoid making ppl uncomfy! anyway, enjoy!
Michael and you had a ritual. Every Friday night, you’d head over to his house in Hayvenhurst, and the entire night was spent watching movies, with countless snacks and bowls of ice cream, as well as the occasional rounds of board games. You were both very comfortable in each other’s presence, having known each other for so long. After a night of innocent fun, it’d turn into sleepovers that were mostly planned but mostly happened because you both dropped dead without realizing.
At least it was innocent fun, until one night.
Michael had been thinking a lot lately. He’d been made fun of by his brothers earlier that week, teased for not having his first kiss, which then turned into being teased for being so inexperienced with sexual acts. He was never in any rush for it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it now.
When you arrived at his house that Friday, he couldn’t stop his mind from traveling into dirty places. His eyes would flicker to your lips every time you licked them, or every time you bit them. He also couldn’t stop glancing at your legs, it was like you knew it was the perfect time to torture him, as you’d shown up in a flowy and short sundress. He tried to rid himself of these thoughts, he really had.
But when he asked what game you were in the mood for, you suggested twister. Usually, he was always really excited for it, but with the thoughts that were polluting his mind, he didn’t know if he could control himself being that close to you.
But he could never say no to you. Which was how you ended up the way you did. As Michael’s luck seems to have it, you were currently bent over right in front of him. Your right foot on green, your left foot on blue, and both hands on yellow. He tried not to look down, as his right foot was also on green, and his left foot was also on blue. It was just a matter of leaning a bit forward and Michael’s crotch would be right against your ass.
He looked up at the ceiling trying to gather his thoughts before he looked down. He was looking for the spin wheel before he finally looked down at you. The sight of your perfect ass so close to him made him grow hard in an instant, his cock straining against his pants. He groaned quietly and closed his eyes.
“I lost,” He blurt out, stepping off of the board immediately. Before you could stand up right and maybe see his predicament, he sat on his bed and covered himself with a pillow. When you did start standing up right, Michael caught sight of your panties under your dress. It was like the universe was testing him. He closed his eyes again and shook his head.
You giggle and look at him, before taking a seat next to him. “That was quick, you’re usually really good at twister,” you tease, oblivious to Michael’s problem. He shrugged and smiled at you, sighing out. “Let’s just watch a movie, you pick,” he signaled towards the television with his head, knowing he couldn’t move the pillow, much less get up.
When you finally picked a film, you both sat in comfortable silence. You were engrossed in the film, the popcorn bowl he’d prepared before you got here in your lap. Michael wasn’t paying attention though. He couldn’t stop thinking about what his brothers said, but he also couldn’t stop thinking about how good you’d looked bent over in front of him. Suddenly he had an idea, and he knew he could trust you enough to at least ask.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” He speaks out, before he can chicken out. You look over to him and smile, readjusting your position so you were facing him. “Of course, anything.” You looked so pretty. He could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.
“Well, I-” He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about this in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like a creep. “I’ve been thinking about how… how I haven’t had my first kiss,” he nervously mumbled, you just nodded and gave him a smile that told him he could keep going. “And, and I was just thinking that it’s about time I do.”
He was a stuttering mess. He knew you wouldn’t judge him, but he was afraid of rejection. You, on the other hand, were praying he would ask to kiss you. You’d been smitten with him for a while but were always too scared to say anything. “What is it, Michael?” You asked, voice soft as ever, after a couple of seconds of silence. “I was wondering… if you could be my first kiss,” he finally spits out.
You were both flushed, excited beyond belief. You chuckled softly, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. His eyes darted all over your face, searching for any sign that you were uncomfortable. There wasn’t any.
“I would love to be your first.” Michael couldn’t believe his ears. He thought he was dreaming. “R-really?!” He asked, causing you to nod your head. You slowly got up to your knees and got closer to him, softly laying your hands on his shoulders. You leaned in until your face was right in front of his. “Is this okay?” Your voice shook with nerves. He just nodded fast and multiple times. You slowly leaned in further until both of your lips came into contact. Both of you let out soft gasps, as you pecked each other’s lips once, twice, and three times.
When you pulled away, he had a bashful smile on his face and he was struggling to make eye contact. “Can- can we do that again?” He whispered, his hands coming up to your waist. You nodded gently, before moving to straddle his hips. That caught him off guard. You settled each of your knees at either side of him, hovering to make sure you weren’t making contact. Then you leaned in and kissed him again. This time it was longer and much more passionate. He took the lead, and you gasped when his tongue grazed your lips.
That gave him the opportunity to kiss into your mouth. Your tongues made contact and you both sighed into one another. Lost in the kiss, you’d unknowingly lowered yourself onto his lap. Your clothed cunt had come into contact with his growing bulge, making you both gasp and pull away from the kiss. Michael immediately panicked.
“I’m so- so sorry, I just-” You just shook your head, cutting off his rambling. “It’s okay, Michael. I promise,” you whispered, your eyes were hooded and you leaned back in to kiss him with new found hunger. One you both shared. His hands gripped your waist tighter, as you rolled your hips into his. Your core was growing wetter by the second, and you were sure that with each grind of your hips your arousal was leaving a wet patch on your panties and the front of Michael’s pants. He whimpered into your mouth as you continued your movements on his lap. You started kissing down to his jaw and then his neck, and he thrusted his hips up into you. He just couldn’t help himself. You both let out gasps of pleasure at the feeling. “Can I- is it okay if I just take my pants off?” He whimpered. You moaned softly at the need in his voice and nodded. You got off his lap as he unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, pulling them down to his ankles, before reaching for you again.
“W-we don’t have to go further, I just want to f-feel you closer,” The quiver and whimper in his voice was only doing more to turn you on. “Okay,” you whimper back, sighing at the feeling when he pulled you back down onto his bulge, still covered but more prominent now. Knowing the only thing stopping him from slipping inside you was both of your underwear was driving you insane. You felt the head of his cock nudge right against your clit, and all you could do was throw your head back.
This gave Michael the opportunity to kiss and suck on your neck, leaving kiss marks wherever he could. He couldn’t get enough of you, of your noises, the way you looked, and how wet you felt even through your underwear. “So good,” he whimpered out, after the tip of his cock grazed your entrance. This was when he got the nasty idea. He maneuvered his hips so that his cock was aligned with your entrance, and he slowly slid the tip in, your and his underwear acting as barriers. But the feeling was nonetheless toe curling.
“Michael,” you gasped out. He just looked at you, with a pussy drunk look in his eyes. “I know, I know. I know I said we didn’t have to go any further, but I can’t help it baby. I need to feel you, please. I’m so close and I just want to cum inside you,” You couldn’t help but just breathe heavily at his begging, this is a side of Michael you’d never seen before. But you loved it. You nodded, feeling your heartbeat thrash as he slightly pulled down the band of his underwear, his cock springing free. Your mouth watered at the sight, your eyes growing wide. It was a lot bigger than it felt. He noticed your expression and cupped your face with one hand, tilting your head to look at him.
“Are you sure this is okay?” He was ever the gentleman, regardless of how far you’d already gone. You smiled and nodded. “Use your words, sweet girl,” he whispered.
“It’s okay, I want this,” you whisper back, and he bites his lip letting out a soft groan. He reaches his hand down to move your underwear to the side, nothing coming between your cunt and his cock now. He brought the tip of his cock to your clit, letting your arousal coat it. It was messy and it felt so good. He decided to test the waters, once again tilting his hips to insert just the tip. You both let out noises of pleasure and threw your heads back.
Michael kept you there, just his tip inside, but you wanted- no, needed more. So you took it upon yourself to slide all the way down, holding onto his shoulders to help you settle down. You both moaned, him at your gummy walls and you at the way he stretched you deliciously. “Nghh, so tight,” he muttered out, eyes rolling back into his head. You knew you wouldn’t last, and neither would he. He tentatively brought a hand up to circle your clit, making you gasp out in pleasure. “Don’t stop, Michael. Please,” If it hadn’t been for how turned on you were, you would’ve cringed at how needy you sounded.
“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m so close baby, d’you feel it? You feel what you do to me?” You were shocked, to say the least, at Michael’s filthy words. “Michael, please, fill me up,” was all you could think to say. Michael couldn’t believe this was real. He gripped your hips and thrusted his hips upwards, reaching that spot inside you that left you seeing white spots. The sound of skin slapping along with the filthy noises you were both making helped you both reach your limits. Your back arched and toes curled as you reached your high, it washed over you as Michael continued to thrust up into you, helping you through your orgasm while still chasing his.
“Fuck, ngh,” He lets out as he finally cums inside you, sticky ropes of cum filling you up. You whimper feeling it filling you up and he couldn’t help but keep thrusting. He groaned, looking down and seeing the mess that you were both making, eyes rolling at the white ring of cum at the base of his cock.
You both breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath. But neither of you moved, his softening cock still inside you. He looked up at you and brushed your slightly sweaty hair away from your face and behind your ears. He smiled as you smiled at him, leaning in to give you a soft kiss. When he finally pulled out, you both winced before you collapsed on him. You were both spent and content. Your head on his chest as he rubbed your back and kissed your head from time to time.
“Thank you,” he whispers, to which you just respond, “my pleasure.” You both had the biggest smiles on your faces.
You both knew things would never be the same, and neither of you minded.
A/N: I’m in the process of writing the part 2 to Again but I had to put this out first. I couldn’t stop thinking about it lol! Hope you enjoyed!
Hi! Ok umm the cute fic I had in mind is thriller era michael x reader. The reader is friends with Michael, who is very affectionate towards her calling her baby, kisses etc. in his mind he believe they are dating since he treats her like his girl (had all they’re firsts together) but reader just thinks he’s an affectionate friend. She ends up going on a date and he finds out and gets angry and confesses they’re dating and she’s shocked and confused and he describes his feelings of why he believes they’re dating each other. Srry if it doesn’t make any sense.
clueless | michael jackson
- summary: thriller!michael has been your best friend for years. when he discovers you have a date with some random guy, he tells you he's actually been your boyfriend this whole time. go figure, huh?
mike's pov blurb pt. ii
word count: 8k
warning: reader is oblivious. like so freaking oblivious. jealous!mike, mildly like very mildly possessive undertones, first kiss flashbacks, im really bad at writing kissing scenes holy cow, pretty rushed and short, woman's failed attempt at writing angst!
* no usage of y/n, michael refers to reader as 'baby' practically every sentence
author's note: Oh my god first of all, to YOUU, REQUESTER, I'm so terribly sorry for taking so so long. It's been a whole week. I'm so, so sorry, I promise I never intended to take this long!!! It's just I've been working and then bam, writer's block! Again, I'm so sorry and if this doesn't go the way you wanted it to, I'M SO SORRY. I love you so much for requesting, I'm really honoured because I absolutely love your idea and this type of trope but I sincerely apologise if I don't do it justice.
Secondly, this is straight up word vomit, guys. Also, I've been writing some scenes when I was fighting sleep, so not really proofread! Thank you lovelies.
+++ ignore the plot holes please <3 michael is silly and so is the reader, let's focus on that instead of realism, okay?? <3
+++ english isn't my first language!! and I'm not a professional writer by any means!! I hope you enjoy regardless, thank you so much!
Nights at Michael’s are always different from the nights in your own home.
Everything is always calmer, more gentle. The warmth of his home hugs you more than yours ever do, strangely enough.
Letting out a heavy sigh, you sink further into the comfortable sheets of Michael's bed as the television plays a rerun of Roman Holiday. This is practically a nightly routine for you, almost every night of the week has you ending up in Michael's house, as per his wishes. You have an apartment of your own, but Michael deems it unnecessary as you spend most of your time out of work with him anyway. You're aware he's been close to going to the landlord on behalf of you to discuss moving out, twice, but you're also aware he's not stupid enough to actually do anything behind your back.
If you don’t know any better, you’d think it’s pretty odd to be so close to someone you met by pure coincidence. But the thing is you do know better. And it's that you’d never trade your friendship with Michael for anything else the world has to offer.
You and him have been friends for a good few years now, having met him just a little before his 'Off The Wall' album release. Accidentally bumping into the then-twenty year-old-star in a record store of all places, a few apologies were exchanged before your eyes noticed the Donna Summer album in his hands. That led to further conversations ranging from talking about how good Donna Summer's latest single is, to Michael showing you the Bee Gees album he's planning on purchasing, and somehow ends with you playing a record of Blondie's on the store turntable to make him listen to the B-sides.
It was a whole hour and a half before a burly looking gentleman kindly reminded Michael he had other affairs to tend to, and after eagerly sharing each other’s contact details, you got home urgently to listen to the newly bought records of Jackson Five.
From then on, you've been calling and exchanging letters with Michael non-stop. Postcards from the different states he’s touring in, long distance telephone calls when his shows end, and everything in between. He finds a way to contact you so often that when his mother knew of you, she asked you to come over for one of their family gatherings. That's likely when it's been established that you and Mike are pretty much best friends.
You were lucky enough to witness Michael at his most focused when he was working on final touches to Off The Wall, changing musical tunes during late nights in the studio. Memories of celebrating with him when said album won the Grammys, as well as the AMAs. There’d even been numerous times where you got to come to his shows during the Triumph Tour with his brothers. It’s been well over four years since you met, and at this point he’s the only person to truly know you inside and out.
A quick snap out of your thoughts when the bathroom lights turn off, and Michael steps out as he dries his curls with a towel. He’s been out the whole day doing… whatever it is pop stars do during their spare time, only reaching home about half an hour after you already made yourself a cup of tea to heal from a long day at the diner. You don’t even know how it got to the point where you can just waltz into Michael’s home without him even being there, but it’s better not to question much about it.
Michael walks around the bedroom, shifting things as he gets ready for bed. Glancing at you, his eyes soften. "Tired, baby?" He asks gently.
"Mhm," you hum in response, sinking further into the blankets. "Had the worst customers today. I don't even care about the no tipping, y’know? The thing that’s bugging me is why the hell were they drinking fifteen shots of espresso at 9.30PM? And God... One of them had a rat-tail, Mike. I sure hope it doesn't become a thing because it's just so unfortunate to witness."
A soft chuckle escapes him, warming your heart. You continue ranting, “Mike, that one mean woman who comes for coffee every lunchtime? She got to the diner late, and then proceeded to blame me for making her late because by the time her food arrived, her break was almost ending. Can you even believe that?”
Michael clicks his tongue, getting on the bed. Making himself comfortable, he pulls you in and wraps his arm around your back, your head laying atop his chest. "I told you to please just stop working there. I can take care of you, baby. You know that. We'd be just fine and you can do whatever it is you want."
Shaking your head vehemently, you nudge at his chest. "No way, Mike. I can handle myself. I'm a responsible adult. I'm a strong, independent woman, y'know?"
"I know you are, beautiful. I'm just tellin' you that I can help while you look for somethin' you'd actually enjoy. Not that horrible diner place. You deserve so much better," Michael says as he leaves soft kisses on your temple.
You melt at his touch and close your eyes. Murmuring, "Thank you, Mikey. It's just hard leaving Daisy all by herself. The others are so mean to that poor kid."
"Hell, I'll hire her for somethin' if it means you're out of that damn place," Michael grumbles as he shifts and pulls you closer.
Snickering quietly, you hush him before kissing his jaw, "That's enough out of you, hm?”
“I'm serious, sweetheart. That job is stretching you thin, and I'm not liking any second of it. I'm just worried about you,” Michael looks at you with furrowed brows, thumb stroking your cheek.
Michael has never not worried about you, you think. The man has protective tendencies towards everyone he cares for, but it's been noted by many that whenever you're in the picture, it's as if it gets dialed up to the maximum level. One of the most insane things he's done so far was that he had three extra secure locks installed at your front door when you first moved into your apartment, and despite it being against the rules, the landlord couldn't really argue with the Michael Jackson over his loved one's safety.
You respond quietly, “I know, Michael. Don't worry too much. I got everything handled, okay? I'm looking for job openings as we speak.”
“If you'd just consider the fact that I know many people in all kinds of businesses, baby–”
“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Uh-uh, I'm not doing this again. Mikey, I don't want to take advantage of you for this. I'm doing this myself because that's the right thing to do.”
“It's not taking advantage, it's called networking,” Michael sighs.
Shaking your head again, you shift to make yourself more comfortable against his chest. “No helping, Michael. Not unless I'm absolutely desperate. Which I'm not… yet.”
He sighs again, silent for a moment before kissing your head. “Fine. But I'm tellin' you right now. The minute you want to quit, go on ahead and don't hesitate. You got me, you know that right?”
“Yes, I do.” A small smile forms on your face, eyes closing slowly. “Goodnight, Mike.”
"Goodnight, baby," he wishes, shifting down slightly as he gives a peck on your lips before burying his head into your neck. Murmuring softly, “Love you.”
“Love you,” you reply, already out of it. The room’s silence filled with only the sounds of you and him breathing in sync, and the TV playing the end credits of Roman Holiday.
Despite the quiet, your mind races.
Okay. You're aware of how it seems between the both of you. It’s been mentioned by a few who witness your dynamic and you’re aware of how weird and frankly, even disturbing for friends to be this close. Cuddling is one thing, but kissing on the lips and saying ‘I love you’s are on a totally different level. It doesn't really occur to you when that has evolved. As far as you're concerned, he just started calling you sweet names one day and became more physically needy than usual.
It happened around after he returned from his tour in Europe, so you figured they really weren't joking about how Europeans are more touchy. Well, that's what the travel magazines say anyway.
With that, you leave it be. In retrospect, you're never one to turn down any physical affection from Michael. And deep down you know it gives you butterflies, but you remind yourself daily to just ignore it.
So you do. Remind yourself, that is. Without fail.
It gets a lot more difficult each day, if you're being honest with yourself. On some days, it feels almost impossible. Especially when he gets so touchy and soft. Holding your waist as he talks to his brothers. Firmly holding your hand when he walks down the studio hallways. Even during the little days when he has free time and instead of doing something more worthwhile with someone more important, he'd persuade you to come stay at his house and play all kinds of board games.
You beat him at Connect Four every time, by the way.
Once having realized the risk of this becoming a huge problem if you don't handle the… pool of feelings swirling in your gut… and how it would lead to everything crumbling down, you knew you had to do something.
That's why, after much pressure from your boss, Janine, you're going on a blind date with her nephew.
“He'll be just the perfect man for you, doll,” she said to you so excitedly. In fact, so excitedly that you couldn't really turn her down. It's set for the day after tomorrow, and you still haven't told Michael.
Make it work first, see the guy first. See how things go before saying anything to Mike. That's your plan. It'd be a waste of time if the date didn't work out and you got Michael's hopes up regarding your love life for no reason at all.
How on Earth would you even start? Michael knows you're not exactly the type of person to go on just any blind date. He'd ask. And what could you answer? That you're falling in love with him more every single day that passes? That you're only doing this to get over it?
Absolutely not.
•
Mornings with Michael are always the epitome of domesticity at its finest. Both of you are hanging around the kitchen. Michael is sitting at the kitchen island, with only intentions of accompanying you, who's currently craving a bowl of freshly sliced fruit.
“Hey, baby? I'm gonna be home late again. Q called and said somethin’ about some adjustments the album needs. You got anything planned for today?” Michael asks, eyes focusing on his book of notes. Hand gripping on a pencil, eager to underline or scratch words about whatever it is he's working on. He writes down any important pieces from meetings, or anything that comes to mind about a lyric or a tune. You call it his ‘book of wonders’, and Michael laughs it off with a shy blush every time.
“What more adjustments does it need? I think the album is already perfect!” You scoff.
Michael laughs quietly and shrugs, “I think he's gonna cut another song from the final tracklist. Been drivin’ me crazy with that.”
Pointing at him briefly, you press your words firmly. “Don't let him cut Billie Jean, Mike. I swear to God.”
“I promise I won't. Not Billie Jean,” Michael snorts, “Anyway baby, your plans? For today?”
You hum absentmindedly, too distracted with cutting up some apple slices for your fruit bowl. “I’m going out later. Thinking about doing some shopping.” You're off work today and tomorrow, so there's plenty of time to get ready and make yourself beautiful for the stranger you're about to go on a date with.
God, everything is so silly.
“Ooh, somethin’ special going on? You never shop for yourself spontaneously. I always have to beg for you to do that,” Michael asks, getting up from his seat and walking up to you. Hands snaking around your waist, chin resting on top of your shoulder as he takes a gander on the bowl of fruit snacks you're making for yourself.
“Looks like heaven, doesn't it?” You ask with a teasing grin, gesturing towards the bowl.
“No, angel. You do,” he replies with a kiss on your temple. “You didn't answer my question.”
“Oh, that. Well…” You shrug, “Maybe, maybe not. We'll have to wait a bit and then you'll get your story, hm?”
“Hmm… Okay, I'll bite. I'll be waitin’ for some kind of update soon, okay?”
“I promise,” you say.
Michael nods with a smile, tilting down and softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart lurches as you hesitantly kiss him back. Not two seconds later though, he pulls away with a grin when a knock comes onto the door. “That's Bill. Hold on, baby.”
As he walks away, you take a minute to gather yourself. Breathing deeply, you groan at the delusional path your heart was heading down. What was that kiss? Jeez, Europe really did a number on him.
Turning back to the bowl of fruit, you rethink how good of an idea it is to actually go on this damn blind date.
•
“I’m telling you, Daisy, what if this is a bad idea?” You hiss in desperation into the telephone.
You’re back in your own apartment, surrounded by messy piles of clothing. It’s almost 10PM and the thing is, what you should be doing is some facial care before the date tomorrow, but instead you’re currently freaking out on Daisy. You were supposed to be back at Michael’s. But then. During your retail run, you belatedly realized it’s almost impossible to sleep at Michael’s the night before your blind date.
One, he would try to heckle his way into knowing what you’re going to be up to.
Two, you would immediately give in to him and tell him everything.
Three, after all of that, he’d question your sudden urge to date.
And finally, you’d have to tell him you’re doing it to get over your stupid feelings for him.
Ruining your friendship with Michael would have to be the worst thing that you could do to your life.
So that’s how you end up back in your own space, though the comfort you felt at Michael’s is sorely missed. Picking up a nearby sweater, you throw it across the room to the ‘No’ pile. “What if the date turns out really well but it’s just my subconscious self making it work to forget about Mike? That wouldn’t be fair to Janine’s nephew.”
“Okay, first of all, if your subconscious self is making it work, that’s a good thing. At least some part of you have an effort to try. Second, it’ll be exactly perfect if you got over Michael. I mean… c’mon, you’ve been friends for years. If he hasn’t made his move by now, then he never will.”
‘Well yeah, but if I told you he kisses me almost every day, you’d probably be saying something different,’ the thought runs through your head silently. Blinking away your delusions, you sigh, “What if Janine’s nephew thinks I’m too breezy?”
Daisy laughs, “Girl, you’re not as breezy as you think you are. And even so, breezy is in now. You’d be having him drooling all over ya’.”
A brief pause.
“You keep saying ‘Janine’s nephew’,” Daisy says, “Girl, do you even know what his name is?”
Shameful heat blushes your neck, grimacing silently, mind running to remember.
“Uhm… Kevin… what’s-his-name?”
Shrieking laughter from the other side of the telephone makes you flinch in shock. You’re telling her off, whining as Daisy repeats to herself the word Kevin. “It’s Calvin, girl,” she corrects you, chortling unabashedly. “Calvin Johnson, Janine’s sister’s son. Remember that before you embarrass yourself tomorrow night.”
“But Daisy! What if it’s a bad idea?”
“Listen to me. Calvin is also being set up, right? He’s probably just as nervous as you are. And he doesn’t know you yet. If you somehow don’t hit it off, which I seriously doubt because, well, don’t tell Janine this, but she’s a killer matchmaker, I mean, hello? Douglas from the kitchen and Jake from the laundromat across the street? Who the heck expects that? Anyway, if you somehow don’t hit it off, he won’t be hurtin’ and cryin’ in the ditch somewhere. He’s fine, and so are you. Just do this.”
You bite your lip, “Daisy…”
She immediately cuts you off. “The main reason why you’re still apprehensive is because you want to know what Michael thinks. And he probably would not give you the input you secretly want. I love you, really I do, but it’s time to acknowledge the fact that nothing seems to be blossoming there. You deserve the world, babe... You can go try and gettin’ it yourself instead of waitin’ around for someone to give it to you.”
Listening to her gentle voice, you fiddle with the string of pearls on your corner table. Sitting back on the couch, looking at the mess in front of you while the words she says slowly take root in your mind. Daisy is right. You’ve spent years trying to hollow out your feelings, ignoring whatever is growing inside the crevices of your heartstrings whenever you look at Michael, forgetting those sneaky thoughts of what it would be like to have him as your boyfriend, husband, the lover of your life. All of that, you’ve been pushing down so deep, and the fact that Michael is so openly and brazenly affectionate with you starts to feel a little insulting. Here you are, absolutely spiraling from every single touch shared, and yet, for him it’s just another friendly peck. Everything he does means the whole world to you, but why doesn’t it seem to mean much to him?
You’re aware you’re being unfair. Michael doesn’t owe you anything. All he asks from you is a loyal companionship, be it in a platonic way. He never expressed intentions of something more, at least not officially. It’s your own fault for developing feelings. You can’t be mad at him.
You can never be mad at Michael. Not when all he’s done for you is provide love and unconditional support.
After a few more minutes of slow conversation with Daisy, you tell your goodbyes after reassuring her you won’t back out on the blind date. Heaving a deep sigh, you get up from the couch and start cleaning up your mess. Already deciding on what to wear for tomorrow night, you’re determined to never have to look at a piece of stray clothing ever again because it will absolutely slay you if you did. You haven’t been this fashion anxious since forever ago. Having Michael as a friend has its perks, and one of them is receiving endless fashion tips; that actually works for you.
And obviously, Michael should be no such help for this particular instance.
The landline rings and you pick it up, half assuming it’s Daisy to convince you to not back out again. The girl has such little faith in you, you scoff.
“Daisy, I promise—”
“It’s Michael.”
Your eyes widen briefly before a soft laugh escapes you, “Oh, hey, Mike.”
“Where are you?” he asks, voice sounding a little stiff. Momentarily freezing, your head tilts in confusion over his tone.
“I’m at home, why?”
“No, you’re not. I know this because I’m calling from home. I thought you’re staying here tonight?” Michael asks.
“Oh, I thought you’re supposed to come home late tonight?” You ask him.
Michael replies with the same stiff tone, “I got out early, Q just wanted to get rid of Billie Jean and I chewed him off and got out of there before he could jump me. Baby, you’re not home. Why?”
“I meant I’m at my home, Mike. And because I figured I had to stay here at least for tonight, the space is literally about to gather dust.”
“That’s never stopped you before?” he argues.
Letting out a nervous laugh, you say, “Mike, maybe it’s because I don’t want you to get sick of me—”
“That’s a bunch of bull, sweetheart. C’mon, what’s happenin’? Please, baby, tell me,” Michael pleads, voice almost upset. “You’re supposed to be here with me. I want you here.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, sensing the upcoming begging and persuading coming from him. Firmly reminding yourself that no matter what pretty words he says, you’re putting your foot down and not surrendering to him. Regardless how tempting it is.
How insanely tempting.
“I’m sorry, Mike. It’s just so late already, you know?” You try to deflect.
“Who said anything about you drivin’? I’ll get Bill to drive you, I’ll call him right now—”
“Wait, Mike, don't!" You exclaim. “Poor Bill needs his rest. And so do you. Mike, we can sleep apart for one night.”
“We can but I’d rather not, baby…” he replies, almost completely quiet. “Is something the matter? You usually tell me when you’re not coming over.”
Slapping your palm to your forehead, you let out a soft gasp. “Of course! Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry. It completely slipped my mind. I was too distracted from the– from today! I’m sorry, honey, I should have given you some kind of note.”
Michael hums, “That’s okay… Just… Don’t you want to come over?”
Hearing his desperate tone, you almost stood up to grab your keys right then and there. Fighting against the strong urge, you sigh out and try to ignore the heavy guilt inside, “Mike, I’d love to but it’s late. Please rest. I promise I’ll see you the day after tomorrow okay?”
“Woah, hang on, why not just tomorrow?”
A tugging of your bottom lip, you think of what to say. You genuinely can’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. You don’t want to risk it. Not if he’s going to interrogate you until you confess your undying love for him. Gosh, your head feels as if it’s about to explode.
“Because I’m gonna be doing something tomorrow. Remember the little update?”
“Why can’t you just tell me now? Or tomorrow night?” Michael almost pleads.
“Mike, please don’t make this harder for me,” you tell him, whining. “I promise, promise, promise I’ll tell you the day after tomorrow. Please?”
A beat of silence.
“I can’t…” he starts so timidly.
You hum in question, “You can’t what, Mike?”
A clearing of his throat before he replies, voice firmer, “Nothing. Okay, baby. I’ll wait until the day after tomorrow to see you, but I’m callin’ you tomorrow midnight. I need to hear your voice and I need to know you’re at home safe.”
“Okay, Michael. That’s very sweet of you.”
He only hums in response. Furrowing your brows, you ask him. “Mike, are you alright?”
“I just miss you so much, baby,” he replies after a short second. He says it so earnestly, your cheeks warm up.
“We just saw each other this morning,” you softly remind him with a laugh.
“I don’t care.”
You smile softly, finger coiling with the landline wire. “I miss you too, Mikey. I’ll see you, okay?”
“Don’t forget to call.”
“I won’t!”
“You better not… Go to sleep. Goodnight, baby. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mike. Goodnight.”
Hanging up, you let out the deepest sigh you could muster. Plopping your head on the back of the couch and staring off into space, you wonder why Michael is taking it so hard about you sleeping in your own apartment.
•
Taking a sip from your wine glass, you smile politely as Kev– Calvin tells his story. Sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant is honestly not what you expected, but when he stood in front of your doorstep dressed in a black suit and tie, that would have been your first hint. You’re immediately relieved about choosing the dark, sleek dress that was purchased spontaneously the day before.
“And then my boss just went off on him, I did nothin’ but walk away, it was so bad,” he laughs. Calvin Johnson has a really cute laugh. He was pretty, too, you think. His hazel eyes gleam brightly and he knows how to land a joke. He orders good food and good wine. His voice is pleasant and deep. He dresses nice.
But… nothing. You feel absolutely nothing.
Here you are, dinner with the perfect gentleman who knows to compliment, and you’re feeling absolutely nothing. Your mind is just filled with thoughts of what Michael would have done if he saw the waiter passing by with mismatched neon socks, or what Michael would have ordered if the menu only consisted of fourteen different types of spaghetti, if he would have vomited and just starved altogether, or what Michael would have said to you when you pointed out the painting of the restaurant’s owner at the entrance that resembled Gene Kelly. Michael, Michael, Michael. It’s like he’s taken over your life the more you try to forget about your feelings.
You’re immediately being consumed by guilt at the thought of hurting Janine and her nephew. They are both really nice and warm people, and you’re returning the favour by playing games. Michael would have been so disappointed. He probably would enjoy talking to Calvin. Maybe if it doesn’t work between you and Calvin, and you’re being real honest here, it definitely won’t, you could introduce him to Michael. They already have the musically talented section in common. Only Calvin was more towards classical instruments. Well, maybe they could read music sheets together.
Biting your lip, you realize you’re only thinking of things that include Michael to help you go through this date. And that only makes you feel worse. You’re a terrible person.
“ — Hey, are you okay?”
You slightly jump, wide eyes gazing back at Calvin’s concerned ones. “O-oh, yeah, yes! I am okay, I’m so sorry. I’m just so… full, I get a little breezy when I’m, uh, full.”
Just pulling shit straight out of your ass.
He nods in acknowledgement, giving a small smile before he continues his story about… kangaroos or underoos. Either one.
You couldn’t really focus on the rest of his story, not that you did in the first place, but this time the focus was actually elsewhere instead of inside your own head. Your eyes flicker to a few tables behind Calvin, and the familiar face catches you off guard. Slightly squinting, you try to make out who the person is, before pausing your breath. It’s one of Michael’s bodyguards, you think. He’s newly appointed, but he seems nice. He has ginger hair and a small tattoo behind his ear, that’s how you know it’s him. Tilting your head further to the side, you try to recognize the rest of the table he’s sitting at. Nerves racking, you hope with everything you have that Michael isn’t there with them. But after seeing the whole table only has burly men laughing aloud, you realize they’re just on their break. Michael gives them his card sometimes and tells them to get fancy dinners. This must be one of those nights where he wants to be completely and utterly alone. Your heart drops. Could something be bothering him? He was definitely off from the phone call last night.
Your eyes suddenly make contact with one of the guards, who looks just as dumbfounded as you are. It was the world’s worst staring eye contest before you clear your throat. Averting your gaze, you force a smile as Calvin cluelessly continues his story.
That redhead is so gonna rat you out.
•
Returning home couldn’t be any more relieving than it is now. You’re leaning against the front door after closing it, sighing heavily. Thinking of moments prior.
“Hey, listen… I had a wonderful time tonight. And I think you did, too. But just as friends, huh?” Calvin asks as he walks you to your doorstep. You only look at him with your mouth slightly agape, not knowing what to say.
He laughs, shrugging, “I only agreed because of Aunt Janine. And I’m assuming you did too. That woman doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, that’s for sure.”
“She sure doesn't,” you softly chuckle.
Calvin rubs his nape, looking at you with an almost sympathetic grin. “And uh… don't take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope you don't go on another date with a stranger.”
Trying to hide your offended face, you ask him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because this whole night, I was just talkin’ your ears off but your mind is in a completely different place. I mean, I was talking rubbish towards the end, with the kangaroos and all. Not even a peep from you, because you're busy thinking…” he trails off, displaying a pitying look as you nervously fiddle with your fingers, looking away.
“... Of someone else, hm?”
You don't respond, but you settle for a small smile. “You're too understanding.”
Calvin sighs deeply, “I know.” He says in a melancholic tone.
Laughing with him, you sigh and step closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Calvin. I'm so sorry this didn't work out. I'm sorry for not trying.”
“Eh, forget it,” he reassures you. “Honest. We wouldn't work anyway, I actually liked those risottos.”
“They were disgusting,” you tease back. Hugging Calvin a very short second, you let him off with a goodbye.
Which brings you to now, sighing like the world's biggest loser. You hated letting people down. It feels like you're hurting them on purpose, but it truly isn't your intention. You thought you'd get over your feelings for Michael at least a little.
Instead, the thing you want to do most right now is cuddle up against him.
You're thinking of the possible phrases on what your excuse could be if Michael asks what you've been up to today, not taking any chances that he wouldn't heckle. It's been a good two minutes since Calvin left your doorstep, and the date is being fast forgotten.
More so when a sudden knock comes down on your front door. You instantly know it's not Calvin. This one felt too comfortable, familiar…. Intimate.
You must be imagining things.
Walking back to the door, you take a look at the peephole. And lo and behold, Michael's standing right at your doorstep. His face unreadable.
As you open the door, you force a bright grin onto your face. “Michael, hey—”
“Who's he?” Michael asks sharply. Almost robotic. His body tense, jaw clenched ever so slightly.
“Hm?” You hum in response, tilting your head in confusion.
“The guy you were just with,” he quietly adds, walking into your apartment.
You realize what he's talking about and let out an ‘Oh’. “That's Janine's nephew,” you answer.
Michael just looks at you with a deep gaze. Murmuring hoarsely, he says to you, “C’mon, baby… don't play with me like this. Not right now.”
“Michael, I'm telling the truth, that is Janine's nephew. His name's Calvin.”
“Calvin…” he scoffs before turning around to pace back and forth in your living room. Meanwhile, you get more and more confused.
“What, you went on a date with him or somethin’?” Michael asks you shakily.
Well, the cat's definitely out of the bag, but Michael's reaction is not one you're expecting in any way, shape or form.
“Y-yes, I did… Come on Mikey, what's going on?”
He gives you the most incredulous look he's ever given anyone. “What's going on? Are you actually asking me that? What's… What's wrong with you?”
Hurt strikes through your chest at his words. Michael has never, ever been rude or said anything harsh like that towards anyone, least of all you.
Why is he talking like that to you? And why does it hurt so much with the way he's being so… different?
“What did I do, Mike?” You ask in a small voice, hugging yourself nervously.
“Oh no, no, no, you don't get to be upset, I'm upset,” he says with glassy eyes staring back at you. You almost gasp at the sight, his hurting can be seen as clear as day. Michael continues, “You were on a date with a rando? What, did you think I wasn't gonna find out? And you're so– so casual about it, do you even care at all?”
“Mike, what's… It's one date, Michael, what could be the issue? Please tell me why you're so bothered!”
“Why the hell do you think I'm bothered?”
“I don't know! It's just one date and you're not even my boyfriend, so tell me, Mikey, please.”
Michael throws his arms in the air, “Oh, sure! Just one would be fi– wh-what? I'm sorry?”
“What?”
“What did you say?”
“It's just one date!”
“No,” Michael whispers, shaking his head. “After that… what did you mean by that?”
Tilting your head, you furrow your brows. “Mike?”
He suddenly walks right up to you, hands slowly coming up to cradle your face. “I'm not… your boyfriend?”
“ … No?”
Michael's eyes flutter, pain being etched on every surface of his face. “Are you breakin’ up with me, baby?”
“What?” You ask with a soft voice, eyes widening. “When did we get together?”
“What?”
“What?” You repeat, starting to breathe really hard. Michael gives you an astounded look, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. His lips part in surprise, and it appears as if his brain is taking an extremely long time to register your words.
“What do you mean when did we get together?”
Close to crying, you whine softly, “Michael, I don't follow!”
Michael clenches his jaw, eyes boring into yours as his brows furrow deeper. “Baby, this isn't funny.”
“I'm not trying to be funny!” You reply.
“Then what are you talking about? I am your boyfriend!”
“Since when?” You ask loudly, eyes getting wider by the second.
His jaw only drops further in response, head shaking repeatedly. “She's joking,” he murmurs softly to himself. You deny it again, strongly needing to know what the hell is actually going on.
“Well, baby,” Michael starts with a bewildered look on his face, “I happen to think we got together since I started callin’ you baby every day and how you're practically livin’ with me because I don't think I can actually sleep without you anymore, oh and I almost forgot, we're kissin’ damn near all the time!”
You stand there, yet another dumbfounded look on your face. “I just thought you took home some European customs,” is the only thing you could say in a small voice.
“What?” Michael asks again, another confused facial expression before he sighs and pulls you close. “Baby… you're telling me this whole time…?”
You shake your head, hand coming up to softly stroke his jaw. “I didn't know anything. God, I'm so sorry, Mikey. I mean, I mean what am I supposed to think? You never asked me about it– you didn't clarify anything, did you?”
“I thought in a way, you knew!”
You ask softly, “How could I have known?”
Michael looks away, arms still wrapped around you. “Okay… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for yelling because now I’m just rethinking everything… I was a stupid twenty year old. Remember how we kissed for the first time?”
Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory. Yes, you certainly did.
By then, both of you have been friends for about a few months. It was late at night, and you were sleeping over at his family house. It was just you two in front of the television, everyone else having already gone to bed. The time was nearing 1.30AM when the movie finally ended.
“Mike, I told you we should have just rewatched Dog Day Afternoon.”
“How was I supposed to know it was gonna be that bad?” He snorts as he places the half eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.
Laughing, you lean back on the couch and make yourself comfortable. Turning to him, you ask. “We went straight for the movie earlier, I never got to ask you how your day was.”
Michael sighs and closes his eyes, making you frown in concern. Reaching out to softly grip his hand in between you two, you give a small smile.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He shrugs, looking elsewhere. “I don't know, it's just…”
“New album jitters?” You try, knowing how under the pressure he's been, with Off The Wall about to be released in a few days. If someone were to ask you how dedication was to be presented in real life, you'd point instantly to the man next to you. You've never seen someone so passionate about what they do as much as Michael is with his music.
“... No, it's not that,” he laughs softly. “I mean, I'm nervous about that too, but tonight is different. It's just my brothers. They wouldn't stop ragging on me earlier.”
Pulling your knees to your chest, you tilt your head. “Why? What's the matter?”
“I had them listen to the final picks for the album, and they—”
“If they didn't like it, that's their problem. The album is perfect!” You cut him off, already raging at the thought. You’ve always been his number one supporter and defender.
Michael laughs again, shaking his head. “No, no, they were real supportive about that… it's just the fact that I've uh, I've been singing about, y’know… romance and all.”
You nod, and raise your brow when he doesn't continue. “And?”
He sighs after what felt like forever, “Well it's silly... because I've never even had my first kiss yet, so.”
“Michael, that's okay. Me neither.”
Eyes widening, he sputters out, “You haven't?”
“No,” you laugh. “Is that so unbelievable for you?”
Yes, he happens to find it completely unbelievable because you're so gorgeous all the time. Boys were bound to try something on you. Now once he's realising nobody's ever come close, he feels a sense of happiness. Happy that nobody came close. That she rarely gives her time of day for anyone. And he happens to be one of the few exceptions.
He only shrugs in response to your question before shifting closer. “Does it bother you?”
Shaking your head, you smile at him. “Not really. I'm not dying to be kissed. I know it's gonna happen when it happens. There's no use dwelling on it. But then again, I don't have brothers, nor am I releasing songs about romance.”
“Yeah, they really did their thing when I Can't Help It played,” Michael grumbles.
Softly giggling, you grip onto his hand more firmly. “Don't let them get to you. You have so many girls that've been wanting to kiss you for years. Take your pick, Mike,” you tease.
He only smiles and brings your intertwined hands to his lap. “I know, oddly enough. And I'm flattered that a lot of pretty girls like me. But I don't know them. I can't… I'm not like my brothers.”
Michael bites his lip, thoughts running in his head. He’s thinking of something stupid… Something reckless. Something that can’t be undone if he does it. The silent hum of the room becomes overbearing to him, gaze focused on your soft eyes, down the slope of your nose to your lips. He lingers there, thinking to himself how it would feel like. What it would taste like. Would he still taste the remnants of your flavoured lip balm? Would it be soft and light? Or something else he can’t even imagine?
“Michael?” comes your quiet voice.
“Hm?” He’s out of it, almost. Dazed with some type of need. He doesn’t want to call it lust. He doesn’t think you deserve that. He feels more. The need to be with you. Sit beside you. Hold your hand. Kiss you. Everything he imagines to do with a girlfriend, is what he’s imagining with you.
Good grief, since when did he start crushing on you?
“Michael, do you want to kiss me?”
His brain shuts down. His mouth, hands, and eyes don’t move. Mind blanking out.
After a few moments of silence, he manages to stutter out, “Wh- I’m sorry?”
Softly giggling, you shift your legs down and scoot closer to him. Hand still laced together with him, you look deep into his eyes. Gleaming with amusement, excitement and trepidation altogether. “Do you… Would you like to share our first kiss?”
He stares at you, jaw slack. “I thought it’ll… I thought it’ll happen for you when it happens.”
“Mhm,” you nod, “If you want to, it happens now. If you don’t want to, it will happen for me another time. I won’t be mad at you, Mike. I promise.”
You try to act cool, but the truth is your insides feel far from it. You don’t know what came over you, but from the way he was staring off into space, looking at your lips, the quiet surrounding you felt almost suffocating from the way you wanted him to lean in closer. To do something. Say something. So, you gathered your courage and took initiative. Even if there is no guarantee of him actually agreeing, you find yourself not regretting making your move. You wanted to know what a kiss feels like. And you wanted to know how it feels with Michael. You couldn't think of any better way to have your first kiss if not with him.
Michael is quiet for a few seconds, giving you some time to think of some lame segue out of this suddenly odd predicament you singlehandedly put you and him in. Before you could utter out an excuse, though, he cuts you off.
“I’d really like that.”
Your eyes widen, “Oh?”
“Yeah, I’d like that a lot, actually,” he whispers, leaning more towards you. “Are you sure you want this?”
You could only nod, breathing out a ‘yes’.
Michael’s eyes flicker down to your lips, before gazing back into yours. Shifting closer, his head slightly dips down, you moving with him. Lips a hair’s breadth away from each other, his fingers coming up to gently hold your chin, closing the distance.
When your lips meet his, it feels like a quiet magic blossoming from your lungs and into every crevice of your heart. Eyes closed, you press yourself further against him. Sighing out, Michael tilts his head to the side, parting your lips with his and kissing you deeper.
He does taste your flavored lip balm. And he thinks that’s the happiest discovery of his life.
A close second to knowing now how it feels to kiss you. At first, when you suggested to him to share his first kiss with you, he thought you were joking. But when you joke, he’d know right off the bat. And he knows your tone. You weren’t joking one bit. His mind was racing through what felt like numerous mountains of anxiety and anticipation. In that second, there was nothing he’d like more than to kiss you.
During the kiss, your hand comes up to stroke his cheek. A hum reverberates from him, sliding his tongue against yours, almost breathing into you. It’s a few more seconds of pure bliss before Michael slightly parts away, eyes still closed as he bites his lip. Closing the distance again, you leave some more pecks against the corner of his mouth, making him tilt his head and meet your lips with more passion and fervour. Smiling against the kiss, you melt into him as he holds you against him.
It feels like a long time before one of you takes the initiative to pull away, properly this time. The room is quiet save for the sounds of your heavy breathing. A soft smile is etched onto your face as you eye his gleaming face.
“Was that good?” You ask him, teasing.
“That was good, babe,” he laughs, “That was real good. I liked that a lot.”
Letting out a soft chuckle, you tell him, “I did too.”
“Can we do that more often?” he tries, leading to rounds of shy laughter to echo through the walls of the room.
Snapping out of your memories, you clear your throat. “Yes, what about it?”
Michael reaches and cradles your face, “Well, that was quite literally… one of the best things to ever happen to me. I loved that night. I loved kissin’ you. I loved it so damn much, and I assumed– I assumed you loved it too. I didn’t say anythin’ about you bein’ my girl because I thought it was gonna naturally happen. And the longer I left it alone, and the more we got closer, I just... I thought we'd been together for a while. Nothing too official, because… I didn’t know where you stand on that, but I figured we’d only feel like this towards each other.”
You lean into the palm of his hand, and he leans down and presses a kiss against your temple, continuing gently, “I didn’t think we needed any establishing. I thought you already knew I’d… I’m so in love with you, baby. I fall in love with you more and more each day. But it’s my fault for, well, for not telling you properly. For assuming. I’m really sorry, I should have said something sooner.” His voice is bordering on sounding pained now, but you hush him.
“Mikey, gosh, stop, you’re fine. You’re perfect, don’t be sorry,” you whisper as you leave kisses on his forehead, down his nose and to the apples of his cheeks. “We’re both really stupid.”
He laughs and pulls you closer, if it’s even possible. “Tell me about it. Baby, I really am sorry. Please forgive me?”
“Shh, I forgive you, and I hope you’ll forgive me too. I’m sorry,” you say.
“There’s nothin’ to forgive. You didn’t know. See how funny that sounds now? God, I could just hit myself,” he sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, are we together officially now? I want you to be my girl. Been wantin’ that for years, if you must know.”
You teasingly grin and shrug, “I don’t know… Quite presumptuous of you, already calling me your girl.”
“Baby, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Michael smirks smugly, “It’s not wholly my fault for thinkin’ we’re together when you gaze at me the way you do.”
“I don’t gaze at you,” you gasp.
His arms snake around your waist again, pulling you closer and nodding dramatically. “Yes, you do and I can’t blame you, baby. I’d want to be my girl, too.” Swatting at his chest, you could only laugh in response.
“I’m serious, y’know? I’d like for you to be my girl. And just mine. No foolin’ around with this amateur stuff,” he says in a quiet tone, “I want you. You’re my best friend and I’ve never loved or wanted anyone as much as I do you. I want to marry you one day, I want everything a man can have with the love of his life, and I want that with you. There had never been and never will be anybody else. I love you, so much. Can you be my girl for real now?”
A soft hum escapes you, “Michael, I love you too. God, I love you so much.”
He doesn’t reply. Michael only leans in and catches your lips so, so urgently, it almost brings you down to your knees. It almost feels like your first kiss again. Except, this time Michael wasn’t afraid. Or doubting. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you. Heat grows from the way he pulls you closer, every inch of you burning from his touch and passion. His lips brushing against yours, tongue slipping in between to glide against yours. Softly nudging you backwards until you’re leaning against the wall, he tugs your bottom lip with his teeth before continuing to kiss you fervently. Your fingers come up to run through his curls, and he tilts your head upwards into the kiss. And that drives you crazy.
Leaving small pecks against your lips before kissing down your neck, he murmurs against your skin, “I love you.”
You could only hum dazedly, weakening as he continues his ministrations on your skin. “I’m so glad you’ll have me, baby.” He continues to whisper.
A final kiss to your lips, he pulls away to softly grin at you. “Tell that Kevin schmuck to kindly get out of your life, please?”
“It’s Calvin, honey.”
“Whatever,” he laughs as he leans his forehead against yours.
PreBadMichaelJacksonXNewRisingVocalist!Reader. 1986, during midnight recording sessions for “Bad,” Michael Jackson encounters a mysterious performer on TV and finds himself drawn to her in a way he can’t explain. What begins as a passing moment slowly turns into creative obsession.
Part1 | Part2 | Part3
𝑁𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑥, 𝐻𝑎𝑦𝑣𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑎.
The studio was never fully quiet at this hour. 8:30 pm. Day off. Even when the microphones were off and the room had gone still, there was always something lingering soft equipment hum, distant footsteps, the echo of unfinished sound. Michael’s compulsive mind never stopped running, it was like unstoppable wheels turning in his head that the factory refused to shut down.
His loafers tapped softly against the studio floor, each step a quiet, deliberate click that echoed faintly through the empty room, swallowed quickly by the stillness. Hypocritical considering his steps so gentle yet his frustration so intense and aggressive. He continuously started snapping lightly, testing rhythms under his breath, seeing which was smooth, more sensual or heavy backbone, he stopped instantly realizing it was becoming repetitive, he needed a track that was a little more playful, cheery and upbeat.
This time, the click of his loafers being less soft and controlled as he made his way to the brown leather sofa, subconsciously biting the inside of his lip. His arms laying on the armrest, fingers starting to tap, producing a beat against the sofa. Underneath a soft beatbox formed in his breath, layered and instinctive, that soon gets put to an end.
Michael mutters “…hm…better.”
He tilted his head back, eyes catching the warm glow of the studio light overhead. Frustration started to build in quiet waves, settling behind his expression as he drew in a slow breath and let it out in a tired sigh. Reaching across the coffee table, he took a sip of orange juice, the brief moment of stillness grounding him. Then, for a rare pause, his slender fingers found the remote. He shifted toward the left side of the room where the television sat, the quiet break in his focus finally pulling him toward distraction as he turned it on.
The television hummed to life with a low electric buzz, the screen shrinking briefly into a bright line before blooming into grainy color. Michael sank back slightly, thumb pressing against the thick plastic buttons of the remote. Each channel changed with a soft click, the picture lagging for half a second before settling bursts of static, distorted commercials, late-night hosts in oversized suits, reruns washed in warm studio lighting.
Click.
Soap opera, dramatic music and constant betrayals? Typical. Next!
Click.
Rerun of this mornings news, I’m yawning. Next!
Click.
The familiar Tonight Show Johnny Carson band intro playing softly. Now I’m intrigued.
The signal crackled faintly between channels, quick flashes of static interrupting the screen before another image settled into place. Michael’s thumb paused against the remote. The host’s voice drifted through the speakers, half-listened to, introducing a guest performer whose name he only barely caught over the quiet hum of the studio.
“And now, making her television debut…” Johnny’s voice carried through the studio speakers, easy and familiar, “a very special guest…”
Then came the music. The camera panned toward the stage light washing over it in a soft haze before finally settling on you.
Michaels breath hitched.
There you stood behind the mic stand, framed by warm lighting that softened everything around you. Midnight-black satin caught the glow in quiet flashes, the elegant slip dress simple but impossibly striking cream lace tracing delicate details, jewelry understated enough to glimmer only when you moved. Nothing flashy. Nothing demanding. The cameraman brought you into focus, catching the seamless way you adjusted the mic stand, cool without trying, like the movement had never once been rehearsed. strands of hair framed your face effortlessly, falling just enough to soften your features without hiding them, Michaels eyes were just stuck on yours, sensing the innocence your eyes captured. His lips on the verge of quivering at the sight of you, it’s like he saw an angelic white glow surrounding you. His long fingers, once tapping restless rhythms against the sofa, had gone still and instead subconsciously gripping the armrest of the couch, deep in his mind wishing it was your waist he was gripping if one day he were to ever hold you.
The band behind you sat beneath pale lighting, instruments glowing softly under the stage lamps while the camera occasionally drifted toward them before always finding its way back. Michales personal philosophy is performances were supposed to be spectacle. Entertainment. Movement, theatrics, something to hold an audience by force if needed. Music videos, stages people wanted to feel like they were watching a show. He knew that better than anyone.
But this?
You barely moved from behind the microphone. And somehow, it worked, for him at least. Then your voice arrived. Low at first. Velvet soft. Smoky around the edges, aching in places that felt unintentional as if the song had lived somewhere inside you long before tonight. There was something dreamlike in the way you sang, melancholic but warm, harmonies drifting behind your voice like a memory refusing to leave. Michael felt his jaw loosen slightly. It was like his body was entering a state of bliss, not a single part of the song made him feel overwhelmed, overstimulated or heard a sound that clashed with another element within the music. The room had gone still. At some point, he had stopped hearing the hum of studio equipment altogether.
Then the camera shifted. A side angle this time. And for half a second, just half your eyes met the lens. Something in his chest tightened unexpectedly, he felt a rush to his cheeks, a sense of shyness like a teenage boy encountering his first crush, the sudden butterflies that manifested in his stomach made him feel the need to look away although you weren’t looking at him. His thumb hovered uselessly over the remote. He should’ve changed the channel by now. Should’ve gone back to work. Instead, he found himself distracted breaking down details he had no reason to notice the way your delicate fingers curled around the mic stand, the way you licked your delicious lips between lyrics absentmindedly, the moles on your face, the occasional hair toss and the softness in your expression between verses.
Like if he looked long enough, maybe he’d understand why he suddenly couldn’t look away.
“…she’s a product of loveliness..” he murmured quietly, almost frustrated by you.
And for the first time all night, the unfinished music waiting for him across the room didn’t seem nearly as important. Then came another line from your performance.
“This feeling you’re giving me, knocks me off my feet babe, it’s my favorite part.”
Something in the way you sang it warm, longing, effortless, made him pause, registering the potential your lyrics had. His fingers started moving again.
Tap. Tap-Tap.
Against the leather armrest.
Without realizing it, a rhythm began forming in his head. Brighter. More alive. Something with movement. The complete opposite of the slow haze drifting through the television speakers. Upbeat. Playful. Restless in the way fascination often was.
Michael straightened suddenly.
“…wait.”
His fingers tapped faster now, testing the rhythm before softly beatboxing beneath his breath, piecing together sounds only he could hear.
He stood quickly, crossing the room in hurried steps toward the studio notebook left carelessly beside stacks of cassettes. Pages flipped. A pen clicked. Ideas spilled faster than he could organize them fragments of feeling, unfinished phrases, emotions arriving before structure.
The Next Morning. — His Room.
Sleep had never really happened, not properly, well it hadn’t really happened since his accident at least. Only brief moments of closing his eyes before melodies interrupted, before thoughts rearranged themselves into rhythms that refused to stay quiet.
By morning, the fascination hadn’t faded. Michael sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, still in yesterday’s clothes, hands loosely clasped as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them anymore. But his mind wasn’t still at all, his mind never stopped working even in his sleep, It kept going back. To you, your voice.
The way it didn’t try to impress anyone and still held him completely still. He exhaled softly.
“…Why am I thinking about her like this?” he thought, almost frustrated.
He didn’t even know you. You were just a face on a screen. A performance. Yet his mind was treating you like you were his everything, your face was like a melody that refused to resolve. He lay back slowly, one arm covering his eyes. And in the silence behind his thoughts, the rhythm from yesterday began again cleaner now, more certain.
Restless. Alive.
The same feeling you carried without trying.
“…You knock me off my feet, babe,” he murmured again, softer this time.
There was a small stillness. Because somewhere between sleep and thought, something clicked into place that he didn’t fully want to name yet. The song wasn’t just a feeling anymore. It had a direction and the direction was pointing to you.
The Afternoon — Westlake Studios
The studio reflected it.
Music sheets sprawled messily across the console, notebook pages ripped out and abandoned on the floor, discarded after being rewritten, revised, rewritten again. Half-finished phrases crowded the margins in hurried handwriting, crossed out only to be circled moments later. Michael paced the room, loafers clicking quicker this time, restless energy following each step.
“It’s gotta feel…” he muttered, hands moving instinctively as if trying to shape the sound in the air itself. “Like…like excitement, y’know? But not obvious. Not too heavy, if just falling in love was in one distinctive sound. “
He snapped suddenly. “Fun. But still… infatuated.”
Quincy watched from behind the mixing console, one brow slowly raising as Michael launched into another explanation something about rhythm, movement, wanting people to feel the energy instantly, Quincy unexpectedly develops a grin on his face, mentally snickering at Michael’s expense. “right right, I see your direction..”
Michael side eyes Quincy while softly bobbing his head. “Good, Good…I’d hope so…” Michael continued quickly “It needs bounce, I’m thinking like a snare…bass line maybe?” fingers tapping an invisible beat against his thigh. “ it’s like somebody got in your head and suddenly you can’t stop thinkin’ about ’em like…”
He stopped feeling entirely frustrated. “…I know what I wanna say, I just—” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. “…it’s never been difficult to hash out a concept. “
Quincy leaned back in his chair, quiet for a second, arms crossed, entirely too amused. He had grown accustomed to Michael’s control freak nature when it came to his music. No doubt about it, Michael always approached his craft with hard work, repetition, self-discipline, and an almost obsessive need to perfect every detail until it matched exactly what he heard in his head. It had always been second nature to him. But Quincy had also noticed something else over time.
Whenever Michael got stuck on a certain concept, especially one with romantic undertones, he didn’t just hit a creative block he fixated. Like there was a muse somewhere behind it that he wasn’t exactly willing to talk about, And this album mattered too much for distractions.
Bad was more than just a project. It was a statement. Proof that Michael Jackson could stand completely on his own after Thriller and still deliver hit after hit without being seen as a one-time phenomenon. Quincy needed to understand what was going on in his head creatively. And if there really was a muse behind this shift in his sound, then he needed to know.
Q, leaning back in his arm, arms crossed nonchalantly as he watched Michael’s expressive concerns with quiet amusement. “Mike.”
Michael almost instantly feeling kinda embarrassed finally takes a seat from pacing anxiously for so long. “Yeah Q? Sorry about the tangent-“
“who is she.” Quincy’s words shifting the entire room’s atmosphere in something so unexpected, Michael not being able to hide his expression on his face, it was a dead giveaway.
His nervous repetitive blinks. “who’s who?” His mind races nonstop just repeating in his head, how does he know.
“C’mon, Mike… I ain’t stupid.” Quincy gestured toward the chaos of papers scattered across the studio. “I left you a voicemail around 8:45. I know your ass wasn’t sleepin’… and I know you weren’t with your family, so—”His small grin grew as he leaned back slightly. “So what’s up?”
Michael glanced down at the scattered pages again as if they might defend him on his behalf. “…No,” he said finally, but it came out weaker than intended. “It’s not like that.”
Quincy didn’t even look convinced.
Michael turned away, walking back toward the console, but his focus wasn’t really on the equipment anymore. It kept slipping back to rhythm, back to feeling, back to a voice he’d only heard once but couldn’t seem to forget. That voice, soft, warm, and effortless like it didn’t need permission to stay in his head. He hated how easily it returned. He hated how that night he fantasized how your voice would sound producing small gasps of air, whimpers, quivering from his touch. The thought made him feel dirty yet excited. It just felt right. As if something inside him had already accepted it without asking.
He exhaled under his breath. “It’s just inspiration,” he muttered, more to himself than Quincy, but even that didn’t sound true. Quincy kinda rolled his eyes and instantly thought Michael was full of shit.
“ nonthless a women right? “
Michael spins in his chair, looking up at the celling counting the light bulb. “I suppose..”
Quincy scoffs playfully and gives him a playful look “ you can be inspired by a lil ass, it’s not a crime..” he shrugged
Michael immediately straightened, a wave of embarrassment creeping in as he covered part of his face with his hand, letting out a small, nervous giggle. “ Q! You don’t say those things!….” He lets out one more amused sigh “…it’s not like that…I saw her perform on the tonight show last night…and just..she’s breathtaking..”
His ears perked up. “Oh… you mean Y/n? I did not expect that..” Quincy nodded, tone shifting slightly more serious. “Yeah. She’s been uhhhh getting a lot of attention lately. People at Sony been talking about bringing her in.”
Michael paused at Quincy’s words. Then, before he could stop himself, something in his expression shifted subtle, but there. Interest. Not the kind he wanted to admit to.
“…She’s being talked about…seems like she’s gonna be big huh? ” he asked, trying to sound casual, but the edge of curiosity slipped through anyway. Quincy caught it immediately. He leaned forward slightly, a small grin returning. “Look at you,” he said. “Now you’re askin’ questions.”
Michael straightened quickly, as if that alone was suspicious. “I’m not asking questions,” he said. “I’m just… clarifying.”
Quincy let out a short laugh. “Man, don’t start that.” He gestured toward Michael like he was presenting evidence in a case. “You saw her once and now you got half a studio floor covered in torn pages, you pacing like you lost your mind, and you can’t even sit still for five minutes.”
Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again “ it isn’t a big crush…” he said more quietly, always feeling nervous in stating women he found attractive
Quincy raised a brow. “A ‘not big crush’ got you rewriting your whole rhythm pattern?” Michael scoffed softly, but it didn’t land. Quincy stood now, walking a little closer to the console.
“Mike,” he said more seriously, “I’m not even teasing you right now. Just look at the way she makes you feel.” Michael hesitated. That line lingered.
He looked down at his fingers. Still tapping. Still chasing that same beat. The same energy he couldn’t name.
“…The way she makes me feel,” he repeated under his breath, almost absent.
Quincy snapped his fingers once naively thinking Michael is going to admit it. “You’re starting to understand what I’m seeing? “
Michael blinked and It hit. Like something snapping into place behind his eyes. He stood up so fast the chair rolled slightly back.
“…That’s it.”
Quincy paused. “ You good Mike? “
“No no, that’s it,” Michael said again, faster now, excitement replacing confusion. “ ‘That feeling…the way you make me feel’…” He grabbed the pen. Words started coming immediately.
“…you really turn me on…knock me off my feet..” he murmured, half-writing, half-speaking it into existence.
Quincy watched him for a moment longer, then shook his head softly. “…Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re done for.”
Michael proved Quincy’s point further, looks up and asks “You think you can get her number for me?”
dealing with your drunk and sappy boyfriend jaafar
“Babyyy,” he slurs, he reeked of alcohol. His friends dropped him back home not too long ago as they whispered a ‘good luck’ to you. “Yes jaaf, I’m here, but it’s midnight and we need sleep.” You turned to face him the opposite way of the bed.
“Well, I need you actually.” You can just tell a crooked smile is plastered across his face as he attempts a stupid pick up line at you. “Jaafar.” You threaten. “Whaaat?” He says, genuinely confused on why you weren’t letting him show you his love. “You hate me? Because I’m drunk? M’sorry.” He whines, face pressed into your neck, hand slithered around your waist from behind.
You manage to get out of his hold and flip your lamp on that was on your nightstand, he grumbles, eyes squinting. “Baby turn the lights off—ughhh my head!” He complains, and you do as he says with an annoyed grumble. “I wanted to see what type of Jaafar I’m working with tonight.” You murmur. You attempt to close your eyes—but it doesn’t last long. You hear quiet whimpering.
“Baby, I just love you so much.” He drapes an arm around your waist. “And I think about it a lot but—if one of us has to sacrifice ourselves for the other—I would in a heartbeat because—“ You try to stifle your laugh, but you can’t, and so you laugh in his face which only causes him to whimper some more. “Y/n! I’m being so serious.” He warns, annoyance lingering in his tone and the smell of alcohol from his breath.
“Why do you think about that kinda stuff?” You ask him, in genuine curiosity. “I think it’s ’cause I wouldn’t live in a world without you—I believe that it is not only mentally but physically impossible.” You reach your hands up to cup his face, thumb wiping his tear stricken eyes.
“I hear you, I hear you.” You say, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. You were enjoying this to say the least, yes he was very affectionate and had a way with words when he was sober—but hell, he’s William Shakespeare off some shots.
“And also—“ he starts, and you just inhale. “Will our souls find each other? In every lifetime, y/n. It’s very—“ his voice cracks before more tears spill over, and you pout bringing him into a tight hug. “It’s important yes, I know—we’ll always find each other Jaafar, I’m wherever you are.” You smile, and that seems to calm him down for now.
His head falls into your lap, “I want them to put us back on this earth at the same time in our next life, if there is one.” He whimpers, biting his bottom lip in attempt to contain the tears. All of this honestly just made you come to one big realization, he’s a sappy drunk. You smile to yourself, it was cute.
“And they will.” You comfort. “For our souls are not to be separated, we’ll go mad without each other.” You finish. And he grins, “will you rub my back?” he questions, and you let out an all knowing laugh. “Lay on your stomach you big baby.”
“Wait but I want to kiss you before—“ Your finger immediately flies to his lips, “nuh uh, your breath.” He frowns—IMMEDIATELY. “okay, okay—one kiss—one.” You warn.
It’s been more than one kiss.
“Are you finally ready for bed?” You scoff, and he nods. Rose cheeks, and a stupid smile. “Yep, will you rub my back now?” You roll your eyes. “Come on.”
two posts in one day, I’m effing amazing. Omg also excuse my grammar it gets so shitty whenever I write fics omg I’m embarrassed. Anyways continue to leave requests and always interact!! Love you all lots like polka dots, mwah mwah.
content/warnings: quickie smut, jaafar's in his michael makeup, wife! reader, they're currently in tension bc theyre mad with each other, so it lowkey starts angsty but ends steamy and redemption, short but sweet, sub and whiny jaafar YES, dry humping into unprotected sex (hints at breeding kink), fem anatomy described
WC: 4.1k
A/N: i knew as SOON as i saw him post this picture... a fic was incoming LOL. also, i've been getting lots and lots of questionable and hate comments under my account and i'm here to tell all the haters that this is not the page to do so. i will cuss you out AND block you!
You’ve been gnawing at your lip for what seemed the entire car ride- 45 minutes to be exact. You were unsure whether even coming to see your husband at work was the right idea, especially right now. But it was a tradition you both had built since he began filming, and you weren’t planning to break it just because you happened to be mad at him.
The argument started two nights ago over something that should’ve been small but has grown slightly. Due to Jaafar’s new movie, Michael, being a family-oriented production, much of the funding came directly from the Jackson family. Thankfully, most of the older family members had their wealth secured and set, and didn’t dig too deep when investing their funds. The second generation, such as the Jacksons’ kids, including Jaafar, weren’t as wealthy. They had their privileges, of course, but most of the money they made was earned individually. Jaafar had built his wealth through music production and occasional film score composing.
When you got married, you agreed that any major financial decisions would be made together. That was the smartest and most conscious decision. For the five years you two have been married, that deal has been kept. A couple of days ago, however, you received a phone call from your accountant, who let you know that a very large sum had been removed from your account and transferred to someone else. When you double-checked with her to assure it was a mistake, she let you know that Jaafar had signed off on it. You looked into it, and it turns out, Jaafar had contributed his own investment into the film, without double-checking with you. It made your stomach twist with irritation and hurt, but you chose to brush it off till he got home that evening.
You were at the kitchen table, dinner in hand, as the front door opened. Jaafar walked in, throwing his hoodie on the coat rack before making his way into the kitchen. “Hey, baby.” He muttered and reached to press a kiss on your face. You turned slightly, lips hitting your hair instead.
His eyebrows rose in confusion, but he brushed it off, turning to the sink to wash his hands. He took a quick glance at you, searching for anything that could alert him to why you hadn’t greeted him back. “How was your day today?”
You shrugged, food no longer looking appetizing. You set the fork down and picked up the glass of juice. “Could’ve been better.” Jaafar sets his plate down, arms holding his upper body up against the marble-grained countertop. “Why’s that?”
“Why did you take 1 million dollars out of our account and give it to the Estate?” You curtly say, pivoting your body towards Jaafar. You point to the flat screen of your phone against the table, lip twitching in uncertainty. You hated confrontation, and doing it with your favorite person made you hate them even more.
He sighs, shaking his head. He parts his mouth, ready to give an explanation even he knows isn’t enough for you to just leave it alone. “You know my family’s all giving their own shares. I thought it’d be necessary if I did too.”
“Without checking with me?”
“I didn’t think I needed to. With filming going on, we needed more funds for some reshoots we’re doing. I thought it was obvious.”
You scoff, standing from your chair. You stride towards the kitchen, across from Jaafar as he keeps his gaze on you. “We have been asking each other about that kind of stuff for 5 years, Jaafar. Why would it change now?”
He shrugs his shoulders, and his unwillingness to even pretend he can’t see where you’re coming from begins to make your blood boil, but you cross your legs, holding onto the counter for some sort of support, at least.
“I get you want to help your family out, and it is your movie, but you have to let me know. I cannot see that kind of money just being transferred out of our account with no explanation.”
“It’s just money. We’ll get it back, I promise.”
“That’s not the point I’m trying to make, Jaafar, and you know it. It’s the fact that you did it without checking with me first.”
Jaafar picks up his plate and fills it with food. You stand, baffled, unsure whether he was done talking to you. He walks behind you, taking his seat in the chair at the table. You turn, hands raising in confusion. “Are we done discussing this?”
“We’re not discussing anything. You’re arguing with me about it while I’m trying to explain my side.”
“No one’s trying to argue, babe. I’m just letting you know I didn’t feel comfortable with that happening.”
He sighs, eyes closing as he rests his head in his palms, breathing without structure. You cross your arms, feeling defeated. “And I’m letting you know what it’s for. I’m not asking for the money back; we need it. The movie needs it. I need it.”
There’s a slight crack in his voice as he speaks, and you know the pressure of everything is on him. It’s in the tired creases around his melancholy eyes, under the plumpness of his chapped lips. It’s in the small bruises in his hands and knees, dancing for hours till his toes bleed in pleas for a break.
But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s belittling your side of the conversation, so you muster all the courage inside you to shake your head, foot tapping against the tiles under your slippers. “I understand that. I do, I really do. But that amount of money is huge. There’s no excuse for that. We’ve been talking about wanting to try for children soon, yet you make decisions like this behind my back without consulting me first. That hurts, J.”
“It’ll play out when the movie comes out. That money will come back, and more.”
You suppress an eye roll and shrug your shoulders. “Can you even try to apologize and see where I’m coming from?”
“I do see your side, baby, I do. But please, for the sake of peace, see mines too.”
Your heart hurts. You understand he’s deflating the way he is because of pressure, exhaustion, and confusion. But you know you’re right, too. And neither of you is willing to recognize each other’s explanations right now. You take a deep breath and raise your hand. “Fine, then. For the sake of peace, sleep in the guest room.” And with that, you give him one last disappointed look before walking away. For a second, you think he’ll apologize and come after you. But in the next second, your steps stay lonely.
The next morning, Jaafar doesn’t say anything to you before he leaves. He brews you a mug of coffee, but doesn’t leave a note or even bother sending a text message throughout the day to check up on you, like he usually does. You knew the argument could’ve been fixed with a simple apology from him, and maybe a rational thought from you as well, but it was puerile behavior from the two of you now. You reciprocate the same energy by not making him dinner that evening and staying by the pool until he falls asleep. You walked by the guest room and took a quick peek inside. He’s asleep, still dressed in his clothes, even having his shoes on. He’s shivering, and he’s holding the throw pillow tight in his hands. The sight makes your insides turn, in regret and empathy. You shake your head to yourself and walk inside, softly pulling the pillow to the floor. You reach to take his shoes off, and hold his sole carefully, aware of the blisters covering his toes. You throw the blanket on his body, giving his thigh a squeeze before walking away.
“I love you.” His voice is dazed, interrupting your attempt to quietly leave the room.
You hold onto your chest before breathing softly. “I love you. Night.” Your voice is fragile, and even as Jaafar’s hardly awake, he heeds the pain in your voice. It makes the guilt soothe him even more, and he closes his eyes, afraid that if he keeps them open, he’ll shatter into a million pieces.
•┈┈
You park your car in the parking garage, taking a deep breath and holding onto the bag you’ve brought with you. You brought one of Jaafar’s favorite foods, a crispy chicken sandwich from the Honor Bar. It was where he took you for your first date, and you’ve been bringing him lunch every week, as a way to see him amid all the busy hours throughout the work days.
The crew members greet you as always, giving you polite gestures as you walk through the halls with your bags in hand. Your pass is wrapped around your neck, and you check the time on your watch before stopping in front of Jaafar’s door. You bring a hesitant hand to the door before taking a breath, knocking softly against the wood. You wait a beat before opening the door, and feel the breath you’ve been holding in release on its own. Your occupied hand trembles, and you feel your body betraying you as you force your mouth shut.
Jaafar is in front of his vanity, a small mirror mounted on the wall, with bright, intense lights highlighting the details of his face. He’s dressed so elegantly, still in costume. His makeup and hair still intact, and despite visiting him for so long, you’ve never actually seen him in costume. Not so still, at least. And alone.
You hate the fact that there’s a flicker of disbelief in his face, one that he masks with relief. You give him a small smile and clear your throat. “Hi.”
“Hi, baby.”
“You look shocked to see me here. Not sure I like that.” You close the door and turn the lock as you take a seat on the couch across from Jaafar.
He opens his mouth, gazing into your eyes as he removes the sparkling white glove from his hand. “I figured we’d still be… you know. I think I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
There’s a small scoff that escapes from you, but you follow it with a tut. You cross your legs, tapping your fingers against your knee. “How are your hopes now?”
Jaafar bites his inner lip, tugging at the tag on his pants as a distraction. “Undeserving.”
You take his mutter into consideration, cognizant of the tone as he waited for your response. You hum, dipping your head as your eyes remain locked with his. “We have to talk about it eventually. Now, preferably. I don’t want our food to get cold.”
He softly breaths, an attempt at expressing a sense of humor, but he’s too emotional to do so. “I’m sorry for my behavior these past few days. For a while, actually.” You give him a nod, an acknowledgment of the understanding of what he means.
“The process for creating this film, and bringing it to life, has become such an overwhelming process. I got so wrapped up in trying to figure things out the way all these experienced people have done before that I thought I could do it, too. In doing so, I went against our core vows and have hurt you in the process. That was never my intention, baby. I truly am so sorry for the way I've acted over the past few days. I gave you space because I know we both needed that more than anything. But I missed you so fucking much, I was going crazy.” Jaafar’s voice cracks numerous times, and he feels the top of his lip wet with several tears. He doesn’t care to let the emotion come to life, because he deserves to feel the regret he came to terms with the moment he saw you walk away.
There’s no sound in the room besides your heavy breathing, and it takes every restrictive power in you to stop you from standing and shoving Jaafar’s delicate face into your chest. The tears streaming down his face break you so gently. You taste the sweat under your chin as you bring it to your lips, moving anxiously under Jaafar’s red eyes.
“I’m sorry for not being willing to see your side, baby. I think I always did, but I was mad at you for being so stubborn.” You whisper, eyes slightly dipping in mendacious tautness as your husband gives you a concurring nod.
He dabs at his face, attempting to wipe any tears off his prosthetics before he continues speaking. “You wouldn’t have to feel that way if it weren’t for me. I’m so sorry, sweet girl.”
The nickname breaks you of any restraint, and your body rises before your mind alerts you. You close the short distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around Jaafar’s sequenced shoulders, rubbing at any previous rigidness with consoling devotion and pardon. He feels the way only your unique and soothing touch can bring him back to life fully, and he closes his eyes, a quiet moan escaping him. It was quiet under the heavy breathing that was transpiring from his mouth, which you almost didn’t catch. Almost.
“Now, now, I forgive you, baby. I missed you, too.” There’s a commanding intonation in the manner you hum against Jaafar’s styled hair, and suddenly the friction between the two of you grows desperate. This was secretly your favorite part after all the worries are no more, and the things you have said to one another are gone. Somehow, it always got to that point. Where sincere apologies are made, and you drop the authoritarian act, and become authoritative. The anger is no longer quiet screaming, but instead moans of passion. In some way, you sometimes wonder if this unbreakable habit is wrong, but it always gets to that point somehow. Where your clothes become half-off, and all the pent-up frustration becomes released through ruts and rushed kisses.
There’s a twitch in Jaafar’s hardening cock as he hears the tone in your seductive syllables, and he forces his hand against the pinch of your waist to relax. He slightly pulls his head away from your chest and throws his head back. “We’re done filming for the day, in this costume. I’m ‘posed to be taking this makeup off, actually.”
You hum in reply to his piteous mumble and bring your fingers across Jaafar’s face, fixating on every detail of his features. The makeup team took their time in ensuring his face was exact to what his uncle’s details were, and you ran your fingers extra carefully on the parts you noticed were made with additional caution. It was something so alluring about seeing Jaafar in this costume and makeup- it was almost like it was another version of him you never knew you could access. But having him under your touch, legs on either side of his perfectly built thighs, made your core begin to moist with seduction and satisfaction- a guilty pleasure, if truth be told. “Is that so? And here I was, having some time to watch how beautiful you look in that makeup.”
Jaafar would never get used to the way you would confidently call his beauty out. He knew he was a pretty man, but hearing the words come out of your lips, the ones he loved to run his tongue against, was another form of a tantalizing rush down his cock, quickening his pulse until his mind would become foggy, control no longer his. “Can you help me take it off, then? Please, baby?”
A double glance at the locked door is all it takes for your lips to crash against Jaafar’s. Your tongue swirls against his, desperate savoring evident in your hoarse exhales. Your hands run along the back of his head, textured curls tangled in between your fingers. There’s a soft piece caught between your ring as you pull, which makes Jaafar whine. The cry is frenzied, and a smirk crawls on your lips. His hands began to fondle with whatever plumpness of your body he could find, wanting to capture whatever he could knead.
Every clash against your mouth is an unspoken plea Jaafar begs for sonorously. He needs more, and despite the wetness of his pre-cum you feel against the material of your bottoms, the distance is too much. He knows there’s a time limit that the two of you have to fool around before work begins again, and the warmth that circulates throughout his body is enough sampling to thrill him for more. He takes a shameful swallow before lifting his hips up, readjusting himself in the chair, and gripping onto your hip bone. He laps at your lip as he moves your body against his own, the drag of your clothed cunt against his own cock melting flawlessly. You grind onto his lap with erratic snaps, eyes rolling back with elation. The thrums against your skin become too much, and you pull off your top, crashing Jaafar’s face into your chest. He does his job in nipping at the softness of your breasts, ensuring a mark is left with a desperate lick. His patterns become overstimulating, so you pull down your bra and keen in roil as his teeth graze over your nipples.
Jaafar silently begs to whoever is listening to his intoxicating mind to allow him to remain in this bliss forever. His eyes trace over the transfer of his makeup against the sweat on your skin, and that sight is the most captivating thing he’s ever seen on you. He feels his hair stick onto his skin, but his focus remains on the bounce of your breasts, every hump against the curve of his cock enveloping him in a trance he never wants to snap out of, not even when he feels his release begin to build up.
You feel the metal of his zipper hit your clothed pussy, and the sensation makes your button tingle with electricity. You feel your slick continue to swell, pleating against your folds. Your jerks are intense, like a personal workout your body appreciates you’ve decided to take. Your eyes open for a slight minute, stuck on the way, Jaafar’s eyes remain riveted on your body. You let out a sharp intake of breath, feeling a tiny bit of drool threaten to escape from the side of your mouth. The consciousness only grows because Jaafar’s eyes begin to well up with tears. Overstimulating tears, the ones that you know he’ll let out the second your walls enclose around his bare cock.
He gives a soft croak as his eyes dip, greed entering his body as he cups your breast. “More, more, more.” Every whine is hasty, yearning for a release. He doesn’t care that his underwear will be sticky once he pulls it down his legs, or the fact that the very expensive costume pants he’s wearing will be ruined with your slick. Jaafar’s only focus is on the rapid darts of his tongue on you. He watches the way your mouth parts open, your head bobbing with every lap he gives you.
He feels the release threatening to snap, so he uses all his force to grip onto your hips even harsher, approving of every pornographic bounce you lay on him. “I need to cum.” He whines against your skin, and you bring your mouth to his ear, softly licking his lobe as your hand runs down his neck and onto his jacket, gripping the material beneath it. The small conscious part of your mind is aware he’s still in costume, and will most likely have to return it once he’s done using it.
The bigger portion of your consciousness, however, only cares about the intense throbs of your cunt, because you give him a laudatory nod, melting at the way your skin burns so perfectly under Jaafar’s reckless hold. Your husband instantly uses his green light and cries, moaning like an animal in heat as his release fills his pants, wet and slick, and begins to run through onto your thighs. Your release comes seconds after, and your bounces slow down, legs spasming with exhaustion.
Your heavy breaths blend, and you bring your hand hurriedly to his pants, unzipping the material, fingers wetting with Jaafar’s cum. You bring a finger rapidly to your mouth and lick it, humming at the taste. Jaafar swears he feels more spill out of his tip, so he brings his hands to help pull his cock out as you stand and step out of your pants, not caring to do the same with your panties. You pull those to the side and keep one hand on Jaafar’s shoulder, breath hitched as you sink down on his cock. Every inch is an eyeroll you give, and before you know it, you’re both immediately swallowed by warmth. There’s a hint of pain, so you use the adjustment to his size to bring your lips to his neck, licking at his sweet spot.
“Thank you, my sweet girl. Thank you.” The tightness disappears into pleasure, and you move slowly. You begin to grind against his shaft, building up slick before you begin to quicken your pace. His hands come up to your face, and your features fit so perfectly against his large palms.
“You’re doing so good for me, for us, my baby. I love you. You always do so great. I admire you, my sweet love.” Every word hits you deeper than his cock, and your body instinctively begins to build an unrelenting tempo, every ride against his perfect cock massaging your walls. It makes your body yearn for more, more than what you’re bucking for.
Every bounce on him becomes a precise beat, hips smacking against one another at the same time. Your fingers run under Jaafar’s eyes, tears slickening them as you softly smirk. “All these tears, just for me, hm?”
He nods without hesitation, cock hitting every spot so perfectly. “Yes, m’am.” Oh god, could he be any more perfect for you? You hum against his skin, watching the ways his curls move against the rhythm you’ve both set, and it makes you fuse grow even quicker.
Jaafar grips both sides of your hips, eyes focused on the way his cock slips in and out of you. Watching the way your cunt is so perfectly stuffed by him, it makes his hunger grow. He takes hold of the control, thrusting himself into you with pounds so heavy and filling, you feel it penetrate you mercilessly. His mouth opens before he can think about what he’s about to say, yet he feels no regret. “I want to cum inside you and put a baby in you. Can I do that? Please? Will you let me stuff you full, sweet girl?” Your moans become inconsolable, and you nod your head, unwilling to care about the reality of what this will mean for both of you. Your legs begin to shudder, and you give warning taps against Jaafar’s face as he nods.
His thrusts become frantic, wanting to make sure you feel the need in every vein inside you, in every rut as he begins to fill you. He directs your hand to your nipple, and you pinch it, and your vision becomes spotty. Your mouth parts, and your back arches as Jaafar’s hips jerk against you. His whines grow louder, and you take every single one in memory as he spills inside you, painting you like a piece he wishes to admire forever. His tired eyes come down to your opening, and he watches in awe as his release spills outside your cunt and down your legs.
You fall onto his chest, knees limp as Jaafar brings his hands to your back, soothing it in a familiar pattern. A wave of aftershock washes over you for some time, so you’re silent, body slightly twitching from the sputters undone.
Jaafar pulls your head off his chest with care, pressing kisses against your face as he whispers comforting praises. It makes you melt, and your walls begin to flutter as he softly twitches inside you. His pupils are dilated, and the sight of his wet, dark, beautiful eyes makes you lean forward, relaxing your mouth against his.
“Sweet girl.” He mutters against you, stroking the softness of your neck as your breathing calms down, no longer past the normal beat.
There are no words, no sound. Just breaths, just nearness. Just Jaafar’s familiar hand brushing his thumb over your knuckles, just existing quietly in a now sacred space you’ll both remember for a lifetime. It’s a moment you begin to already detail your mind over, resting your open palm calmly over your husband’s even heartbeat, a pulse that he gentles with passionate vulnerability.
could you do off the wall!michael x reader having a pool party during the summer? And michael gets jealous when his brothers keep trying to flirt with her??
- ꠸’ꪑ ꪖꪶꪶ ꪗꪮꪊ᥅ᦓ -
☕︎ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Drabble- SFW & Fluff
Pairing : OTW Micheal Jackson x best friend fem reader
Summary : During a summer pool party at Hayvenhurst, Michael spends most of the day quietly watching you while his brothers take full advantage of his obvious feelings. All tease him, pulling your attention away from him just to see how he reacts.
Content : friends to lovers, jealousy, soft michael, possessive michael, clingy michael, summer romance, poolside flirting, hayvenhurst summers, playful teasing, affectionate michael, shy michael, established relationship, sweet moments, subtle jealousy, physical touch, kissing, comforting, private moments, jackson family antics, tension, light suggestive content, fluff, emotionally soft michael, off the wall era michael, romantic intimacy, teasing, reader reassurance, touch-starved michael, playful brothers, cuddling energy, late summer nights, michael being needy without realizing it
Author’s note ⋆ honestly this one got away from me in the best way 😭 hope this is close to what you were imagining, i kind of just followed the vibe as it went. thank you for the request, this was actually really fun to write, i love writing him in softer summer settings like this 🫶 ☕︎ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
There was always something different about summers at hayvenhurst. louder somehow, the windows stayed open longer, music carried through the house from one room to another, and every Jackson gathering eventually turned into somebody arguing over cards, somebody throwing people into the pool, or one of the brothers trying to flirt with anything that moved.
Today, unfortunately for Michael, that happened to be you.
You had barely stepped outside before it started, denim shorts sitting low on your hips over your swimsuit bottoms, one of michael’s thin button-ups hanging loose over your bikini top because he insisted earlier that morning you’d “burn alive” if you stayed in direct sun too long. Meanwhile he’d spent half the afternoon hidden under shade in sunglasses and a little visor, (he just wanted to see you in one of his shirts in your swimwear…it was a nice view though he’s never going to admit that out loud)
Jackie whistled the second you came outside while Marlon nearly splashed you into the pool before you even made it to the chairs.
And Jermaine?…….lord, Jermaine would NOT leave you alone.
Not in an annoying way exactly, more in that overly smooth older-brother way where he kept leaning too close while talking, grinning every time he made you laugh like he’d personally accomplished something important. Though he never meant any bad intentions behind them, he was just a playful man messing around whenever the chance he got being a Jackson and all.
At first Michael tried pretending it didn’t bother him.
He really did.
He stayed leaned back in his chair sipping orange juice, chiming into conversations every now and then, smiling when you looked over at him. But slowly, little by little, he started retreating into himself every time one of his brothers kept your attention too long.
Especially Jermaine….Michael had a feeling he was doing it on purpose, to provoke him. All his brothers knew his feelings twords you, of course they HAD to tease their youngest brother.
You noticed it after Jermaine sat beside you near the pool with his arm stretched across the back of your chair, teasing you about how Michael always hogged your attention whenever you visited. Sighing you laughed; shook your head at his antics.
Across the yard Michael immediately looked down at his drink, just a tiny shift. His shoulders pulled inward slightly, his smile disappeared for a second too long before he forced it back.
That was always the thing about Michael when something was bothering him, he didn’t get loud he just got quieter, he wasn’t one to lash out like that.
He stopped jumping into conversations as much after that. Started wandering off under the excuse of fixing music or grabbing drinks that nobody asked for. Every now and then you’d catch him watching you from across the yard only for him to look away the second you noticed.
It almost made you laugh because he was being so obvious without realizing it. But you never liked it whenever something bothered him, Especially once Marlon started teasing him directly.
“Better come get your girl before Jermaine does,” he shouted from near the grill at one point.
Michael nearly choked.
Everyone burst out laughing while Michael turned bright red beneath the sunglasses, muttering something under his breath while waving Marlon off. Even afterward, when the moment passed and everyone went back to talking, you noticed Michael drift closer beside you again.
Subtle.
His knee touching yours when he sat down, his fingers brushing your arm absentmindedly when he walked past. Finding reasons to pull you into conversations with him instead of leaving you alone with his brothers too long. Clingy in the softest ways possible that made you melt inside. And every single time you looked at him afterward, his expression melted a little.
Like he couldn’t help it.
By the time evening rolled around and the sky started turning orange and pink above the backyard, most of the party had drifted back inside. Music still floated faintly through the open patio doors along with bursts of laughter from deeper inside the house, but outside things had finally settled.
That’s when you found michael sitting alone at the edge of the pool. His shoes had been kicked off somewhere behind him, curls slightly damp around his forehead from the heat while his feet moved lazily through the water. He looked calmer away from everybody else, quieter in a way that suited him more.
You sat beside him carefully, your shoulder brushing his.
“You’ve been weird all day,” you murmured softly, Michael glanced over immediately, “no I haven’t, it was just too hot today & my brothers were louder than usual,”
The answer came so fast you almost laughed, you turned toward him more fully, smiling a little when he looked away first.
“Mhm.”
He shook his head, trying to hide the embarrassed grin pulling at his mouth now. “They were botherin’ you,” he muttered after a second.
“Your brothers?”
“Yeah.”
You smiled wider at that ; watched him for another moment before slowly slipping down into the pool beside him, cool water wrapping around your waist as you moved between his knees carefully. Michael startled a little at the sudden movement, hands instinctively reaching toward your arms to steady you.
“What are you doin’?” he laughed quietly.
You didn’t answer right away.
Instead your hands came up gently to cup his face, fingers sliding into the soft curls near his temple while you leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his cheek.
Then another…….and another. One near the corner of his mouth that made him suck in a quiet breath, another against his jaw, his forehead,his chin and finally his nose. You spent a little more time peppering kisses on his nose, the place he hated on himself the most while you adored it.
That one made him break completely.
A soft embarrassed laugh slipped out of him while his shoulders curled inward shyly beneath your hands, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he physically didn’t know what to do with that much affection all at once.
“Stop,” he mumbled weakly, smiling so hard he could barely get the words out. You only grinned, thumbs brushing softly along his cheeks while you looked at him like something precious.
Because he was.
And Michael, sweet, jealous, attention starved Michael looked at you then with this completely melted expression that always appeared whenever he realized your attention was fully his again. You ran your fingers slowly through the curls at the back of his neck and felt him relax under your touch almost instantly.
“Better now?” you teased softly, he tried fighting the smile. Failed horribly.
“Maybe.”
You laughed quietly before stepping back and climbing out of the pool carefully, water dripping from your legs onto the concrete, then you turned back toward him, holding your hand out with a small smile.
Michael looked up at you for maybe half a second before taking it immediately.
You pulled him gently to his feet and intertwined your fingers with his while leading him back toward the house, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles the entire walk. Just before you reached the patio doors, you leaned closer enough for only him to hear.
“C’mon, mike,” you giggled softly. “i’m all yours tonight.”
The way he looked at you after that nearly made him miss the step going inside.
