HUSBAND MATERIAL? | M.JACKSON
synopsis: your ex-partner, still legally your husband, arrives at the grammy’s a few weeks after your split. reporters are down your throat about your breakup & michael kisses a fellow female nominee on stage. michael makes it up to you on the car journey home in the best way he knows how.
warnings: sexual themes, smut, 18+
You could never escape him.
You knew he was here. The screams of pure adoration and idolatry weren’t for just anyone at the 26th Annual Grammy Awards. They were for him.
And, to your private annoyance, every reporter who had your time all had the same question on their lips.
"So, what really happened between you and Michael Jackson?"
Each time, you’d quietly sigh, force a smile, restrain an eye-roll and answer politely through gritted teeth. Truthfully, you don’t really even know why you split up — a bad argument one night ended ugly to where your bags were packed and you were out of Hayvenhurst within the hour. Both of you were stubborn as hell, meaning not one of you would admit wrong-doing or apologise unless put in a passionate position.
The year prior the questions from reporters were varied — When was your next album? Would there be a single released soon? What new music was being produced as of recent weeks? And maybe, if they were feeling nosey, they’d ask about your lover.
The lover they only care to hear about now that he’s an ex.
It was no secret that every news channel, magazine and radio station was milking your separation for everything it was worth — earning every dime off of your heartache. You’d been cornered and screamed at by reporters over the past few months over your break-up from the worldwide superstar Michael Jackson more times than for any music you’d put out.
So, you knew tonight would be no different.
Your manager had already warned you about keeping any responses to questions about Michael to a polite minimum to prevent bad press — but when every single reporter was asking the same thing, your irritation began to rise to the surface.
"Michael Jackson, your recent ex-husband, has just arrived here at the Grammy’s, he’s nominated for 12 awards — is there any resentment towards him now you’ve spilt as you’re only nominated for 2?"
Bitch.
You bit your inner cheek so hard you almost cried out as you forced down a nasty insult, but faked a smile and grit your teeth, "Not at all. He’s a talented man who worked hard for each nomination." You started, "But, I have also worked hard myself for my nominations which I am proud of if I win or not."
"And when will the divorce be final?"
Swallowing thickly, your breath shook as you exhaled gaining composure, "As of right now, there has been no divorce settlement papers drafted. We are just split up."
"So, technically, you’re still together?"
"No." You snapped, a forced smile still on your face, "We are split up." You repeated, trying not to sound too agitated.
"So,—"
"Thank you for your time." You cut off, picking up your dress and walking away.
You knew there’d be a story about that in the morning, but you didn’t care. It was either that or you screamed at her — and that certainly wouldn’t get you a Grammy.
You rushed through each interview, declining questions about Michael which only spurred the reporters on to press you about why you were saying no to questions about him. The inside of your mouth was practically red raw from how often you were biting down to force the agitation back down your throat.
Luckily, the ceremony was a blissful, magical experience — all memories of your ex-lover had been washed away, for the time being, as you watched each of your fellow singers and stars win their awards. A good friend of yours, country singer, Debbie Allen, had just won her award for Best Female Country Vocal Performance for her single ‘Baby I Lied’, who thanked her loved ones & producers, and rushed back down to the table you shared for the night.
"Well done, honey!" You beamed, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as you embraced in a hug, "So proud of you."
"Thank you, baby." She whispered, "How you been tonight? I hope those reporters haven’t been giving you too much trouble."
You scoffed, taking a sip of your Martini, "They couldn’t have given me more trouble, Deb."’
"Oh, Lord." She sighed, "I’m so sorry, honey, I know this must be real hard for you."
You huffed in defeat, shrugging, signifying you knew there wasn’t anything you could do about the situation. You and Michael hadn’t spoken since you moved out of your shared house, Hayvenhurst in Encino, and back to your own personal home. Since then, the media have spun lies and rumours, only forcing you further apart and building the awkward tension.
You quietened down as the presenters at the stage began talking, "This award is for Record of the Year, where many talented musicians have displayed some of their best work yet." One started, "The nominees are ‘Every Breath you Take’ by The Police," They read names and applause sounded throughout the room as each one was read, "'Flashdance… What a Feeling’ by Irene Cara, and ‘Beat it’ by Michael Jackson."
Your breath caught in your throat at the mention of his name and his smiling face on the screen in front of you. You refrained a gasp from slipping past your lips at his attire — Goodness, he looked good. His bedazzled suit, glove and signature sunglasses made him look like a true king. You were barely paying any attention as your heart hammered in your chest at the mere mention of his name. You hated how he still had an effect on you after all this time.
"And the Record of the Year goes to.." The silence was deafening as you held your breath,
“Michael Jackson ‘Beat it’!"
The room erupted into screams of adoration and loud applause as they all stood to congratulate him. Your heart thumped in your throat — part of you wanted to stand with a proud smile for the familiar lover, but the other half didn’t know whether it was worth the tabloids rumours.
In the heat of the moment, just as you were about to stand, a soft smile creeping on your face, you halted in your tracks.
Michael, your ex-husband of a mere few weeks, turned to his fellow nominee, Irene Cara, who was smiling sweetly at him, and kissed her.
Not once — but twice.
Air was knocked out of you as your mouth fell ajar as you watched him approach the stand to accept the award. Your mouth went swiftly dry and your eyes threatened to well up with tears, but you could feel the eyes on you, and soon the cameras too. So, a fake smile was forced onto your face as you stood to clap — ignoring the people around you glancing at you dramatically, as if waiting for your reaction.
Michael took the stage with his Producer Quincy Jones, who hugged him tightly, then jumped for joy at Michael’s second win of the night. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you watched the stage, your heart shattering as he stood at the stand — a smug smirk on his face while he held his two awards.
"I love all the girls in the balcony." Michael spoke, lifting his bedazzled hands in the air to point at the screaming fans beyond the stage.
Double homicide.
A sick, disgusted feeling crawled into your stomach as you listened to him talk. You honestly couldn’t believe what you were hearing — the man who devoted his life to you a few months ago, promised you children and a future, stability and love till the end of time, was now kissing women backstage at the Grammy’s and thanking his aroused, infatuated female fans. You were mortified.
You zoned out as he thanked his family, and Quincy took the stand to thank Michael and the editors to the album again. Your mind was in shambles as Debbie reached over to place a comforting hand on your arm, offering a sympathetic smile. You pursed your lips at her — trying to ignore Michael’s voice thanking the girls in the balcony once more before he exited the stage.
You swallowed thickly — you were in shock and disgust at the man you thought you knew. He clearly got a taste for being single and had his ego stroked too many times tonight, and decided to act a fool in front of everyone.
Embarrassment was an understatement.
"Men are pigs, sweetie. Don’t let him get to you. You’ve got a Grammy to win." Debbie whispered, squeezing your hand encouragingly.
You breathed out a laugh, smiling weakly at her as thoughts raced through your brain. Despite all the anger, sadness and disgust you felt right now, the most prominent emotion that was infesting your body right now was jealousy. You were sick with envy at Irene Cara — being able to stand up there and kiss your ex-man twice on stage. It made you violently jealous.
"The next award is for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance." The next presenters spoke, their voices pulling you out of your train of thought.
This was your nomination.
Your heart drummed with anxiety once more — the cocktail of emotions in your body knocking you sick as you waited.
"And the nominees are, ‘Flashdance…What a Feeling.’ by Irene Cara,"
Oh, now the competition was really on.
You hated that you secretly felt as though you were competing for Michael, but you couldn’t help but want nothing more than to win against her.
Your name was read last — the camera turning to you as a smirk crept onto your face, waving sweetly into the camera lense, attempting to look as unbothered as possible.
"And the winner is.."
Cheers erupted into the room as your name echoed in your ears, Debbie practically screaming beside you as she clapped feverishly.
You had won.
A wicked thought crept into your brain as you stood up, walking towards the stage with a dangerous grin on your face. This was going to get him back in every possible way. And her.
The applause died down as you were handed the award, which weighed your arms down, as you kissed the female presenter on the cheek. You leant the award on the stand as you approached the microphone.
"Firstly, I’d like to thank my Producer, who sadly couldn’t be here tonight, but gives his own personal thanks to all the editors and executive producers who helped us with this song that I’m beyond proud of." You started, smiling sweetly, catching the eyes of familiar faces in the crowd as you spoke.
"I also wanted to say that I am particularly proud of myself for this song as, I’m sure all of you are aware, these past few weeks have been difficult for me." You stated, whispers and shocked glances were shared across the room, "But, regardless, I’m here tonight, winning an award, feeling beautiful and happy to be alive." A round of applause was instigated as you laughed, "You will also know that despite common belief, when a separation occurs between man and wife — they are still, by law and under the word of God, still married. Which means no matter how many people you kiss on stage, I’ll still be your wife, Michael. And, I will always be, if you know you know, the Lady in his Life."
Flashing your wedding ring to the crowd that you still wore, you laughed loudly as the crowd went berserk, before exiting the stage. Screams of joy and shock erupted in the room as people sat near to Michael whispered to him, whose face himself was sporting a playful, shy smile, ignoring Quincy Jones laughing loudly next to him.
The rest of the night, where Michael went on to win 6 more awards, failing to address your call out of his stunt on stage, you were praised by many familiar stars — who claimed your speech was the best they’d heard in years. Unfortunately, you only won the one award, but you didn’t care — as the way you had outed Michael elicited a better feeling than any award could.
The end of the ceremony soon came around, and the after parties were beginning to start. Debbie had dragged you to one before you even got chance to decline, but you wanted to bask in your glory for a little longer before heading home.
Debbie had wondered off somewhere, claiming she needed to talk to Lionel Richie, and scurried off into the crowd — leaving you alone with your 4th Martini of the night.
"Nice little speech you gave earlier."
The familiar soft voice that sounded behind you sent shivers up your spine as you turned around to face the one man you’d wanted to ignore and be close to at the same time all night.
"Thank you." You smiled, "I thought it was fitting."
Michael hummed, nodding as the corner of his mouth threatened to curve into a smile, "I always admired your honesty." He spoke, "Congratulations by the way."
You chuckled softly, "Flattery won’t save you now, Michael."
"What? I can’t compliment my beautiful wife, as you say you are yourself."
Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, "I am when you’re kissing other women in public in front of me, I’m not when you want something from me now you realised you’ve fucked up."
Michael chuckled, taking a step closer to you, the waft of his cologne filling your nostrils — a sickly sweet reminder of his stunning scent that you once had smothered on your bedsheets and in your hair after a night of ecstasy. The thought of your late night love during your marriage sent a wave of uncontrollable arousal throughout your body as you looked up at him.
"I don’t think God would approve of you denying yourself as my wife whenever you please."
"That’s rich coming from you." You scoffed, furrowing your eyebrows, "You were borderline adulterous tonight."
"I would only be adulterous if you were still officially my girl. Yes, you’re legally my wife. But, the last I knew, we were ‘separated’" He teased, taking another step closer, your chests nearly touching as your breathing quickened, "So, unless you’re saying you want me back?"
You scoffed, avoiding the question as you looked away from, not wanting to be the one to admit you missed him, "In your dreams, Michael."
"Sure is."
Your mouth fell agape at his words, trying not to interpret it as sexual — but your already aroused brain instantly went there, eliciting a flush of heat through you.
"You can’t pick and choose when you want me, Michael." You stood strong, ignoring the small waver in your voice, "I’m either your wife or I’ll have the divorce papers drafted for Monday morning."
Michael didn’t speak — just stared at you through his sunglasses, his lips pressed together calmly as he eyed you. Your chest rose and fell quicker as you grew more and more impatient for his response, your lips forming an irritated pout, which you subconsciously forgot he loved as a smirk grew on his face.
"What’s so funny? I’m being seri—“
"Come with me."
Without having a second to comprehend what was happening, Michael grasped your hand tightly and began exiting the party. Your mouth fell open in confusion as his fingers laced through yours while leading you through the crowd, earning a few confused glances from other stars as you rushed past.
The cold February air hit you sharply as Michael guided you outside, the instant intense flash of cameras blazing your eyesight as he smiled at the cameras, squeezing your hand as a push to do the same. You forced a smile as he ushered you into the back of a car, jumping in with you and shutting the door.
"Where to, Sir?" The driver questioned.
"To our home — Hayvenhurst, please." Michael spoke softly, as he always did, your ears perking at the use of the word ‘our’, "And take the long route."
You turned to face the superstar as the partition closed, silence filling the car. Michael was already looking at you, his glasses had been taken off, and sporting a small smile.
"Don’t give me that look. I meant what I said, Michael." You sassed, crossing your arms.
"I know you did." He agreed, "I’m sorry for how I behaved tonight. A man without the support of his beautiful wife is a lost man who makes stupid choices."
You eyed him as he spoke, attempting to not fall for the flattery, which proved to be difficult as he met you with his classic puppy dog eyes.
"Like you said, I wrote that song just for you. That one among many. You are the only lady in my life — you inspire all of my love songs. You are the reason my heart swells with such passion to sing about love."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words — pink flushing your cheeks at the sweet confession as he smiled softly at you. He knew exactly how to play you to get what he wanted.
"Come on, baby, didn’t I make you happy?"
"Michael." You warned, eyeing his smirk as he shuffled closer to you.
"I know I did." He whispered, suddenly as close as he was at the after party, forcing your breath to catch in your throat, "I made you smile, and laugh, and feel content with your life and our future." His hand crept up to your knee, your breathing increasing ever so slightly at the sudden touch, "But, more importantly, I made you feel good, didn’t I?" He mewled, his hand sliding up your dress to caress your thigh.
"Michael." You sighed, arousal building between your legs at his tender touch.
"Admit it. I made you feel so good when I made sweet love to you every night." Michael teased, his hand now snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his warm body, a gasp ripping from your throat in surprise, "I knew exactly how to pleasure my sweet, beautiful lady."
"Yes — God, yes, you did." You breathed, your chest heaving in pure arousal as your hands clung to his chest and around his neck, finally giving in to him, "Please."
Michael didn’t need to tease and wind you up tonight — he knew you needed each other so badly it would’ve physically hurt to deny each other one another for any longer. His hands around your waist pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, another residing on your red hot cheek as he pressed his eager lips to yours in a feverish kiss.
You instantly hummed in pleasure at the feeling of his warm, soft mouth against yours — your hands flying to tangle in his curls as you moved over to straddle his hips. Michael groaned into your mouth as his hands slid down your exposed back, pressing your body into his as he slipped his eager tongue into your mouth — desperate to taste you everywhere.
His excitable kisses edged down from your jawline to your neck, to your chest, your heartbeat hammering against his lips — love bites being littered across your skin.
"Baby, please."
Michael groaned at the sound of your desperate, aroused plea — his achingly hard cock twitching beneath his slacks.
"Let me make it up to you, darling." Michael started, moving to lay you down on the back seat, and kissing slowly down your body as you whined beneath him impatiently, "Let me taste your perfect pussy — make you feel good."
"Yes — God, yes, please."
Michael didn’t waste a second as the whiny, breathy words of desperation left your lips — bunching your dress around your hips. Michael let out a shaky breath at the sight of your drenched panties — your puffy pussy drooling for him even after the whole ordeal.
He hooked two fingers into your waistband and shimmied the soaked pink cloth off your cunt, the bare sight of your pretty pussy on show for him. He let out a sigh of pure adoration as he admired you, pushing your legs apart.
"Gosh, this pussy is beautiful — so wet for me."
You whined beneath him, bucking your hips in despair as your hole clenched around nothing, begging to be touched. Michael took this as a sign to slide his two fingers between your slit, a loud gasp ripping from your throat as he nudged your sensitive clit, collecting your essence on his digits. Pushing your legs back further, Michael slid his lubricated fingers towards your quivering hole, teasing the outside, earning a loud cry of irritation as you silently begged for him to fill you.
"Be a good girl now — let me make you feel better." He ordered, pressing a soft kiss to your elevated ankle as he slid two fingers inside you, an erotic moan leaving your lips, "Mm, that’s it, baby, let me hear you."
He knew exactly how to take you, how you liked to be pleased and what made you cum instantly. You felt as though even though he was making it up to you, he was also getting off on this. He pumped his fingers in and out of your tight cunt — the squelching of your juices and the sound of your delicious moans filled the car, Michael’s cock throbbing beneath his clothes at the pornographic noises entering his ears.
"Such a sweet, good girl for me. And I’m such a bad husband, aren’t I? But, I’m gonna make it all better, hm?"
"N-No, you’re p-perfect, Mike." You forced out, your voice wavering as he pleasured you.
But, Michael knew exactly what was going to make you forgive him. Leaning down in between your legs, he littered your thighs in kisses before attaching his lips around your throbbing clit. His fingers still curling to hit that spongy spot inside you had your back arching off the seat, your cries reaching their loudest as your built up sexual frustration for your husband came to its peak.
"O-oh— Michael, God, I-I’m gon—gonn—“
"Cum for me, baby, give it to me." He egged on, his lips never leaving your clit, as his fingers sped up inside you to help push you over the edge.
You came with a scream, your hand flying to his curls to tug on while your legs clamped around his head — his name flooding from your mouth as you shook around his head, his tongue lapping up your juices as they leaked from your abused hole.
Michael didn’t waste any time after you came down from your high, perching up on his knees to free himself from his slacks and boxers, shoving them down his thighs to let his painfully hard cock spring free. You hummed in arousing anticipation as he spat a dollop of his saliva onto his hand and slicking his cock in the natural lubricant — pumping himself a few times with a hiss before positioning himself by your shaking cunt. He slid his cock between your slick folds — nudging your swollen, sensitive clit, earning a pathetic cry as you grasped his bicep.
"Ready to feel how sorry I am, sweet thing?"
You nodded with a whine as he pushed your knees closer to your chest in a brutal mating press — before pushing his tip into your tight walls. Both of you let out intense cries of pleasure at the feeling of one another’s genitalia after so long — the sexual frustration melting away as he slid in further and further. You always struggled to take his thick, heavy dick — but tonight you didn’t care. You were so caught up in your emotions that the burn and stretch of his fat cock didn’t phase you tonight. You just needed him to take you over and over again to prove his apology and how much he loved you.
Michael bottomed out with a groan, "Oh." He shivered, "I’ve missed this perfect pussy, Jesus." He leant down to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss, tongues and teeth banging together as he pulled out all the way, to slam back into you. Both of your explicit noises filled the car mixed with the stench of pure sex as he fucked you into the seat.
"M-Michael!" You whined, your hand reaching up to touch his face as his pelvis rubbed against your pathetically sensitive clit — that and the feeling of the tip of his cock abusing your G-Spot had you seeing stars and threatening to cum again already.
Michael, lost in the pure ecstasy of your weeping cunt, had words failing him as he slammed into you repeatedly — pure excitement flooding his veins at the feeling of you squeezing him in as you reached your climax once again.
"M-Michael, Michael, I’m there — I’m cumming!"
Michael cursed under his breath as his flopped forward, his face nuzzling into your neck as you arched your back into his chest, your fingers curled in his hair as you tightened around his aching cock — cumming with a loud cry against him.
Michael wasn’t far behind at the feeling of your pussy clenching him so hard as you finished — milking him for all he’s worth. He came with a growl into your neck, your name and little moans of pure pleasure whined from his lips as he stuffed you full of his load.
Michael flopped against you as his orgasm feathered away, being careful not to crush you under his weight. His legs shook as he slipped out of you with a hiss and a curse under his breath — the feeling of his warm cum trickling out of you had you whining quietly.
Michael leaned down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss — this one now delicate and tender, compared to the intense one prior. He took time with your lips, a soft hand on your neck as he lovingly pecked your lips.
"I love you so much, baby. I don’t wanna be without my wife any longer. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done — please don’t leave me again." He admitted, pressing his sticky forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut.
Your heart swelled at his gentle, kind words, suddenly feeling so full of love and purpose once more.
"I love you too, Michael.” You breathed, a shaky hand coming up to stroke his cheek, "And I’m sorry for embarrassing you tonight. I won’t ever leave your side again."’
Michael smiled against you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before sitting up to tuck his softened cock back into his boxers. He then assisted you back into your underwear, fixed your dress and smoothed your hair for you, before calling out to the driver to tell him to head towards home.
"Does this mean you’re my official girl, wife, everything again?" Michael whispered, wrapping an arm around your sleepy frame as you slumped against him.
You nodded weakly, "Yes, Mike, I’m your everything again."
"You always were, my darling."
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