the soft rumble of gravel began to grow louder as your car rolled further into the gates of neverland ranch. the ride up until this point had been so quiet and motionless that you lulled into a half-sleep state. when the car stopped at the security checkpoint, you gently shifted your right arm and looked over. you'd managed to stay perfectly still the entire trip as your palm rested on your newborn's belly, her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around your thumb. she was sleeping in small, steadied breaths. you kept asking yourself how she fit in your tummy just three days ago. as you admired her, a larger rock appeared in the road, causing the car to bump upward and your baby's eye to twitch.
"almost there, bubs," you whispered. you were mainly speaking to yourself and your husband sitting on the other side of the car seat, seemingly leaning over toward the driver and glaring at him through his shades. it was almost comical to you how serious he was being, never once cracking a smile to anyone other than you and the baby. you'd given up asking if he was okay to which he continuously replied "just wanna get my girls home," with a stern expression. neither of you were expecting to stay at the hospital so long and although everything turned out to be fine, the slight deviation in plans spooked you both.
you were eager to get home after having the most personal experience in such a sterile place. you originally wanted a home birth. you wanted the entire thing to be contained in one perfect little bubble, only including your closest loved ones in the home you'd built for your own family. your baby would only know love from the moment she took her first breath. it gave a real presence to the 'magical' aspect of neverland ranch that you and michael always referred to.
"it'll be like the center of her universe," you described to him, all doe-eyed and flushed at eight weeks. michael loved the idea. you spent most of the first few nights in the dark rambling on about the silly stories you would tell your baby, how she was the queen of neverland and willed everything to be there just by existing in the world.
however, after three doula interviews, michael confessed his reservations about the whole thing. he couldn't stop thinking of the risks. he wanted you to have your dream birth but he couldn't shake away the thought of time-sensitive complications and the undeniable distance your home stood from any local hospital. you both came to a compromise on the event after a few weeks of research. in the end, you had a healthy, drug-free birth with your doula in the safe confinement of a private hospital room. the result: healthy baby, happy mom and dad. that was how things usually settled within your marriage, both of you feeling validated and gratified.
gratified, indeed. you couldn't remember the last time you smiled so much—or the last time you slept. any physical or worldly need seemed minuscule in comparison to the newest addition of your family. every time you looked at her, a thousand thoughts clouded your head with her at the center. your brain kept saying, "it's your baby," and that only confused you more. she was so small, smaller than you thought she'd be after three days. you couldn't stop watching her little chest rise and fall. you couldn't fathom how just one blind date resulted in a life existing right beside you, eternally tethered to you and the random guy your friends set you up with.
it was something you'd been fantasizing about since high school—bringing your baby home with the love of your life. fuzzy memories of her nursery circled your brain as you tried to imagine what you were walking into. you'd spent the better half of the year designing and rearranging everything to meet your own impossible standards. your husband didn't make it any better. michael completely threw himself into preparing for fatherhood as soon as you began trying to get pregnant. you were scared to admit that his eagerness intimidated you, flooding your mind with what-ifs and scenarios in which you weren't able to give michael children of your own. luckily, it only took about four weeks of unprotected relations before the weekly test showed a positive result and sent you both into a frenzy. you were absorbed by all things ‘baby’: looking into food processing and hiring a team to 'baby-proof' your home. michael began to read everything he could on parenting and children, often coming up to you with random facts or statistics. it got so bad that you had to put a time limit on michael, forbidding him of relaying medical facts to you anytime after 9 pm.
as the car slowed down to a halt, you cursed yourself for ever making that rule, desperate for any extra bits of information you could absorb before you walk into raising a child. before you could say something, michael's fingertips grazed your arm gently and brought your attention to his face. he was still holding that 'serious dad' look.
"please, don't get up," he softly spoke. although the doctors gave you the approval for light duty, michael wanted to treat you as if you had undergone a c-section. "let me help you."
instead of fighting back, you waited as michael detached the car seat and carefully lifted it outside. you had to hold in a giggle as he waddled around to your side to extend his arm out for you, insisting on helping both of his girls in at the same time. a couple staff members waited outside for you with balloons and eager expressions, whispering well wishes and compliments as michael lifted the blanket to show them your sleeping baby.
"is she still sleeping?" you questioned from your master bathroom, having just taken your eyes off your baby for a few minutes to freshen up. although you knew michael was just a few feet over in the bed holding her, anxiety flared your chest each moment you spent away from her.
"mhm," he hummed sweetly. "want us to come in there?"
"no, 'ts okay. i'm almost done here. just let me know if she wakes up." the idea that michael would follow you into the bathroom just to relieve your worry made you melt. he was just as whipped as you were.
the hospital staff educated you two on 'wake windows' and just how often newborns sleep in their first month. it was a bummer at first to not look into her eyes all day, but you soon grew to obsess over watching your baby sleep. it was like a fun little game for you and michael to guess what hours of the day she would choose to bless you with her presence. the night before, she'd only woken up for 45 minutes in the middle of the night, glaring up at you and michael as you both yapped into her face about anything you could think of. on her birthday, she could barely keep her eyes open, falling right back into peaceful slumber the second her father tried singing to her.
"i think we got something, mama,"
you hurried across the bedroom in only one sock, trampling one foot over the other in an attempt to be quiet as you rounded the bed to michael's side. the sight of it was pretty funny, aside from you both being hungry and sleep deprived, it logistically made no sense that you were trying to keep quiet for a baby that you wanted to wake up. as he failed to hold in his laughter, michael snorted, causing the baby to jump as he rushed to cover his mouth.
however, the damage was already done. the sudden change in noise was all too much for baby girl and light whimpers began to fill the large room. michael's eyes grew big and he stared at you with an expression that said "what now?"
you shot back a face that said "hell if i know," and grinned in amusement at his helplessness. the man could barely handle seeing other people cry without feeling emotion himself. hell, if his own baby was crying, he didn't know what to do with that. right then, you could see the full vivid future ahead of your daughter knowing without a doubt that her father would do anything to keep her from crying. after a few seconds, michael's eyes clouded and welled. he stretched his arms out toward you and gave a pleading look.
"baby, please take her. i think she needs mama. she's not happy, huh," he murmured, clearly trying to cover up his voice breaking at the brink of tears. you beamed back as you cradled your bundle of joy, shushing and bouncing her as she slowly drifted back into rest. once her crying stopped, michael's head hit the bed with a bounce as he laid down. his hand raised again to pat your thigh twice.
"mama's girl, already," he chuckled and sighed into the air. you knew he was falling asleep and you were soon to follow. after you successfully laid your newborn into her crib, you crawled into bed and lifted the blanket onto michael's snoring figure. as your eyes shut you felt another smile, having realized you just put your babies to bed together for the first time.
pairings : mature!michael jackson x younger!reader
syn : michael believes he is too old for you so an angsty argument unfolds confessing his feelings
one, three
days had passed. you hadn’t really moved from the same spot on your bed since that night. your makeup, hair, and outfit had stayed the exact same. eh, maybe not your makeup. you had cried it all off right when you got home. one thing wouldn’t leave your head tho. that look on his face when you left. it wasn’t angry or relieved that you left. it was nervous, and hopeless. you brought the nearest pillow to your face and screamed into it. why won’t these thoughts leave your head! you are over him! done. completely. or atleast that’s what you thought.
michael on the other hand had been worrying his fans. he hadn’t made a public appearance, or been out his house matter a fact for days. he was just as messed up as you were. he lay in his king size bed, staring at the ceiling above. he fucked up. big time. he missed you. he missed your scent, your loud heels, your soft fluttering eyelashes, and especially missed the way you came over unexpectedly just to spend time with him. he had always had feelings for you. that was a fact. he was just too scared to bring you into his messy life. the tabloids, media, press. it exhausted him everyday. he didn’t want you to go through that. he didn’t want you to lose the spark that kept him going most days. expect. it wasn’t the media that dimmed your spark. it was the harsh rejection of michael jackson that darkened the bright light in your soul.
back at your apartment you heard soft knocks on your front door. you jumped up from your dented spot in your mattress and speed walked to the door. you were a bit nervous to open the door. you fully expected michael to be standing outside with a huge bouquet of roses apologizing on his hands and knees for your forgiveness. you swung the front door open to be met with janet. yes, janet jackson. one of your good friends. also michaels sister. the sister he was closest to. you sighed, rolling your eyes just about ready to close the door. you and janet had been good friends. meeting from a friend of a friend. becoming inseparably close. that’s how you met michael. and fell in love with him. the soft voice of janet stopped the door from closing on her foot.
“(name) can we please talk. i’ll only take 10 minutes of your time, sister please”
she was the one begging on your front door step now. you fully expected a man michael to be doing this, but this’ll do. you sighed, opening the door gap wider so she could step in. she walked in, sitting on your couch awkwardly. you were arms crossed leaning on your kitchen island, expression stone cold. “so?” you spoke up. speaking felt weird on your throat. you hadn’t had a nice cold cup of water, or any liquids at all to damped your throat. so the one word you spoke out since days of not talking, croaked. she looked up at you, your raspy voice slightly worrying her. yet she brushed it off and spoke up.
“I’ve heard what’s happened between you and my brother. all i wanted to say-“
you cut her off. you couldn’t bare to hear more of what she had to say. the line between you and michael was fresh. a deep cut that hadn’t healed or hardened one bit. she looked to her side, staring at you. her eyes were filled with empathy searching for yours, that didn’t dare to meet hers. you waved your hands in the air, shaking your head. “janet, enough” your voice was sharp, defensive. you wanted to hear from michael himself. not let him communicate through his sister like a bitch.
“I want to hear from your brother face to face. not let him communicate through his sister like a pussy.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. deep down you didn’t care if he talked to you through others. you just wanted him to reach out to you in general. you missed him deeply.
“no- what? sister, that’s the thing. he hasn’t talked to anyone in days. ive only heard what’s happened from one of michaels workers when i was trying to reach him. he’s been blocking out everyone.”
janet was confused. what really happened between the two of you? you had always deeply cared about michael and cared for his well being. what had happened for you to push him away and not care about a single thing that was associated with him. everyone knew how in love you and michael were, except the two of you. your jaw tightened as you heard how michael, who had always been cheerful, had become isolated and withdrawn from his family. janet noticed the shift in your demeanor and turned her body to face you five feet away.
“(name) please talk to him. look- I don’t really know what happened between the two of you. but I know it’s fixable. michael loves you, even if he denies it. he truly does. your one of my closest friends and you know I wouldn’t tell you to chase a man who doesn’t give a damn, even if it’s my brother. but mikey, he does, he cares.”
she sighed, her eyes searching for yours. hoping for you to have a little hope in you and michaels relationship. yet instead of your eyes reflecting hope, they reflected distrust. your eyes showed the opposite of what you were genuinely feeling. you shook your head, your lips pressed thin. janet looked away, she couldn’t bare to see the expression on your face that only showed surrender. janet abruptly stood up, walking towards the door. she had now given up. she turned to you, staring at you before speaking up.
“i truly believe that there is some part of you deep down that has hope in michael. reach all the way down and grab that hope. he loves you.” that was the last thing she said to you, before embracing you into a quick hug. and stepping out of your house, leaving you with your running thoughts. should I go see michael? should I call him? should I wait for him? should -? the ideas were running a marathon inside your brain. causing a deep headache of overthinking.
a/n : been sitting in my drafts waiting to be finished so I split it up into three parts !! last part coming soon !
mature!michael headcanons with his controversial younger gf
cw: 18+ minors dni — fingering, bratty!reader, protective!michael, fluff, age gap, (michael is early 40s and reader is mid20s),
authors note: guys i never ever thought ill see the day where i would be writing a mj fic but i couldn’t help myself. this was also highly requested from one of my bestfriends.
so to mel, this one is for you baby!
michael jackson masterlist ༻ navi
mature!michael who makes sure he’s touching a part of your body at all times. whether thats him having his arm wrapped around your waist when you’re on the red carpet, or his hand gripping your thigh, when you’re sitting together during interviews. he will always make sure that he’s touching you.
mature!michael who’s normally very soft spoken, and kind to his fans, suddenly gets very protective when he overhears them saying sly things about you.
“hey michael who’s that?”
“is that your girlfriend?”
“she’s probably using you for money!”
“she’s such a gold digger!”
“hey.” michael snaps, turning around with your hand tightly locked around his. michael points to the person in the crowd who uttered those nasty words about you, making sure that they’re taken out of the venue with quickness.
when it comes to his sweet girl, he doesn’t play.
mature!michael who never saw himself as a man who needed sex all the time until he met you. there’s just something so addicting about the way you smell, the way you taste that makes it almost impossible for him to keep his hands off of you. especially when you guys are out in public.
“mikey!” you giggle, while he’s peppering kisses down your neck. you guys are on your way to an award show, and after michael saw you in that tight fitting black dress. oh boy, he just can’t keep his hands to himself.
“c’mon let me get a taste,” he pleads, his hand trailing down to your legs. you spread your legs without even thinking, his long, slender fingers finding your bare cunt.
michael digs his head in the crook of your neck letting out a groan.
“baby, what’d i tell you about walkin around with no panties on.”
you gasp when you feel a light tap on your pussy.
“i-it was showing through the dress so i thought it’ll be better if i didn’t wear any.” you let out a small moan, when you feel the thickness of a finger pressing inside of you.
“michael.” you whine, grabbing onto his arm. not caring that you’re scrunching up his suit.
michael lifts his head, crashing his lips against yours in a deep, messy kiss, while he continues to pump into you with just one finger.
“more.” you beg, bucking your hips up to create more friction. to get him to slide in another finger or maybe two.
you let out another pitiful whine, when michael removes his finger, and rubs it around your opening like he’s trying to collect more of your nectar before he places his finger in his mouth, groaning at the taste of you on his tongue.
he sits back in his seat, fixing his hard on.
“mikey.” you shriek, looking at him with wide eyes.
he just shrugs, pulling your dress back down, and making sure you look presentable.
“maybe wear your panties next time and then you’ll get to cum.”
mature!michael who’s favourite love language after touch is acts of service. he loves to randomly buy you jewellery, shoes, clothes, just because he can’t help but get turned on seeing you wearing his money.
i think it’s safe to say that mature!michael is one of a kind, and you’re not only grateful but thankful that you both crossed paths.
AN: guys would you believe me if i said that i wrote this while on my work break 🫣
also dw after this, opposites attract will be up next i promise.
a/n: currently pushing these tf out while i have the time/motivation lmaoo. this was second place in the poll, also my requests are open pls send me more ideas or just say hii :P
genre: smut (18+ !!)
pairing: mature!michael jackson x reader
wc: 2.8K
summary: ten years, two children, and countless memories later, michael surprises you with a week on a private island to celebrate your anniversary.
cw: established relationship, explicit sexual content (18+), mature!michael, unprotected sex, oral sex
masterlist
the engine of the speedboat thrums to a gentle purr, the sudden drop in speed causing the bow to settle into the crystalline water. for the past forty minutes, all you’ve seen is an endless expanse of the indian ocean shifting in mesmerizing shades from deep sapphire to brilliant turquoise.
“michael, seriously,” you sigh turning from the railing to look at your husband. he’s leaning back against the seat looking entirely too relaxed in a crisp linen shirt and sunglasses. “are you going to tell me where we are? my internal compass gave up like six hours into the flight.”
a slow, maddeningly charming smile tugs at his lips, though he doesn't bother lifting his sunglasses. “giving you a hint completely defeats the purpose of a blind flight and a nameless dock.”
“well i wasn’t blindfolded on the flight!”
“mentally, you were,” he teases gesturing towards the horizon. “just relax. your patience is about to be rewarded.”
you turn back around and your breath catches in your throat. rising from the emerald waters is a secluded, picture perfect private island. the boat glides alongside a weathered wooden dock that leads directly to a sprawling villa. it’s an architectural masterpiece of glass, natural wood, and thatched roofs, perfectly blending into the tropical landscape.
as the boat docks, michael steps out first offering you a hand. the moment your feet hit the deck you take in the sheer scale of the place. an incredible infinity pool stretches out from the main deck, its edge seemingly melting straight into the ocean. beyond it lies a pristine crescent shaped private beach with sand so white it looks like powdered sugar, untouched except for the tide. palm trees sway lazily overhead, their leaves rustling in the breeze. the island is completely, beautifully silent, save for the gently lap of waves.
“michael… where is everyone?” you whisper, a surreal feeling washing over you. “how big is this resort?”
he catches your hand, pulling you against him as he looks down at you, the playful grin from moments ago has softened into something more tender.
“it’s not a resort,” he says softly. “i rented the island for the week. just you and me.”
your jaw drops. you look from the massive luxurious villa to the sweeping private coastline, completely speechless. “the whole island? michael this is…”
“happy anniversary,” he interrupts, gently pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before taking your hand and leading you down the dock toward the sun-drenched villa.
the week slipped by far too quickly. for the first time in years, neither of you had anywhere to be. there were no interviews to rush to and no school pickups or bedtime routines to keep track of. just endless stretches of sun, sea, and uninterrupted time together.
mornings were slow and unhurried. more often than not, you slept in late waking only to find a massive breakfast spread left on the patio by your butler, who always disappeared before you could thank him. you'd linger over coffee for hours, talking about everything and nothing as the island slowly came to life around you.
afternoons were spent together in hammocks, reading until the warm ocean breeze lulled you both to sleep. one afternoon is spent side-by-side on massage tables set up under an oceanfront pavilion, the scent of lavender and the rhythmic sound of the waves easing you both into a state of absolute relaxation. without the constant hum of real life, the island forced you both to slow down to a crawl. you’d spent hours swimming in the crystal-clear ocean and walking barefoot along the untouched shoreline, the powdery white sand sticking to your chocolate skin. the only real routine you established was michael’s insistence on playing paparazzi. his camera was constantly clicking, capturing every laugh, every sun drenched smile, and every intimate moment you shared.
the evenings end in the infinity pool, resting your chin on the edge as the sky turns into a canvas of violet, orange, and deep pink. as the sun sinks below the horizon, the smell of seared seafood and coconut wafts from the villa's kitchen, where a private chef quietly prepares a five-course dinner customized entirely to your tastes.
sitting across from michael at dinner one evening, wrapped in a plush robe with damp hair, a sudden wave of amusement hits you. “it’s actually a little unsettling,” you admit swirling the wine in your glass. “i don’t know what to do with my hands. i keep expecting the kids to call for me or an email to come through. it feels so weird having nothing to do.”
reaching across the table taking your hand in his, michael’s eyes gleam in the candlelight. “get used to it. we still have a few days left.”
the final evening arrived with a quiet poignancy, the sunset painting the maldivian sky. up on the villa’s balcony the butler and chef had spent the entire afternoon transforming the area into a breathtaking sanctuary for your final dinner. strung across the wooden beams were delicate fairy lights that twinkled like constellations, casting a warm amber glow over a table set up with crisp white linen and polished silver. dozens of flickering pillar candles lined the edge of the balcony, their flames dancing in the breeze. from the speakers, a soft playlist of you and michael’s favorite songs floated through the air, perfectly mirroring the gentle beat of the tide below.
dinner was amazing. each course more delicious than the last, incorporating the local flavors with fresh caught seafood, citrus, and rich coconut. michael sat across from you, the candlelight catching the relaxed, happy crinkles at the corners of his eyes. the exhaustion that usually weighed him down back home was entirely gone, replaced by the sun-kissed glow of the past six days. as the final plates were cleared, the chef and butler poured a final glass of wine for you both. with a synchronized, respectful bow, they wished you a wonderful evening and quietly withdrew down the villa's private path. a heavy, beautiful silence settled over the balcony as the staff’s golf cart buzzed away into the distance, leaving the entire island entirely to the two of you.
“i know i said this trip was your anniversary gift,” michael says with a soft nervous smile playing on his lips. “but i wanted you to have something you could take home. something you can actually wear when we’re back in reality to remind you of this week.”
he reached into his pocket pulling out a small velvet box. when you open it, the ambient string lights catch the brilliant shimmer of a delicate gold bracelet. interlocking gold links held a striking rare larimar stone, its polished surface the same impossible shade of turquoise as the ocean surrounding the island.
“michael, it’s stunning,” you breathed, tracing the cool stone with your thumb.
“it reminds me of the water here,” he murmured, removing it from the box and gently fastening it around your wrist. “so whenever things get chaotic at home you can look down and remember how peaceful it was here.”
you smiled, blinking back tears and looked up at him. “well it’s a good thing i didn’t listen to you when you said no gifts this year. hold on.”
you stepped back into the villa for a brief moment and retrieved a flat, rectangular package wrapped in simple black paper from your suitcase. you handed it to him, suddenly feeling a little nervous. “it’s not flashy, but i think you’ll like it.”
michael carefully tears the paper away. resting i his hands was a custom bound leather journal, the cover embossed with the coordinates of the exact location of your first date.
his brow furrowed. “coordinates?”
you smiled. “open it.”
turning the first page he discovered you hadn’t left a single page blank. for the past few years you had quietly filled the book with handwritten entries, recollections of small, meaningful moments from the past ten years of marriage that a camera could never catch, favorite inside jokes, and letters detailing exactly why you loved him more now than you did the day you married him. tucked into the pages were letters he’d written you from tour, ticket stubs from movie dates, flowers from surprise bouquets, and on the last page polaroids of your kids holding up handwritten happy anniversary signs they had made before you left.
michael sat entirely still, his thumb brushing over the embossed leather. he flipped back and forth through the pages, his eyes tracking your handwriting. when he finally looked up, you spotted the unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, the candlelight reflecting off the tears that had quietly pooled there.
“hey,” you said smiling, reaching up to brush his face as a single tear escaped. “you’re crying.”
“shut up,” he whispered, a wet emotional laugh breaking through his chest as he pulled you tightly into his arms. he buried his face in your neck, holding you close enough that you could feel the steady, hard thrum of his heartbeat. “this is beautiful. thank you.”
the embrace lingered, the emotional weight of the moment settling into something softer between you. when michael finally pulls away his hands rested warm against your waist, his eyes fixed on yours. he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t need to. the gratitude, history and the trust of the past ten years were unmistakable.
he leans down to kiss you, unrushed. the familiar tilt of his head and soft press of his lips carried the easy confidence of a marriage that had weathered its share of storms and come out stronger on the other side. you melted into him, your hands sliding up his shirt to rest against the warm skin of his neck. the gold bracelet he gifted you catches the light, a tiny glint of turquoise between you. the kiss deepens naturally, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer, closing what little distance is left between your bodies.
michael’s hands lose their earlier gentleness, turning heavy and possessive as they slide under the hem of your sundress. when his palms meet your bare skin, the warmth of his touch is almost shocking against the cool ocean breeze. he takes his time mapping the familiar curve of your waist, his thumbs pressing firmly into your hips with a quiet, grounding intensity that tells you exactly how much he’s been wanting this. lifting you onto the heavy ivory railing of the balcony, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, burying your fingers in his hair. the cool gold of your bracelet brushes against the warm nape of his neck, and he looks up at you, his breathing already shallow, eyes entirely dark and focused on yours.
“ten years,” he whispers against your mouth. “and you still take my breath away,” his voice low against the quiet rush of the tide.
carefully, michael slides your panties down your legs before moving to undo the tie on his pants. his length springs free as he had chosen to forego underwear, a habit he had picked up during his time on the island, before he arches his hips to align himself with your entrance. moving into you with a slow, deliberate sink your eyes flutter shut and a quiet gasp escapes your lips.
“no, keep your eyes on me,” michael commands softly, his breathless plea hidden beneath the authority in his voice. he begins to move, a heavy, unhurried rhythm that stretches the pleasure out until it’s almost agonizing. he knows the exact angles, the precise depth, and the perfect speed to drive you crazy, a map of your body he mastered years ago and has only perfected with time.
“michael,” his name slips from your lips, broken and breathless and you feel the intensity begin to coil tight in your chest.
you grip his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscles as the friction of his skin against yours creates a feverish heat. michael groans, the sound vibrating directly against your collarbone as he buries his face in your neck, his pace shifting from a slow torturous crawl to something urgent and demanding. his hands move down to grip your hips, his fingers bruising your skin slightly as he holds you steady, driving deeper with each heavy, rhythmic thrust.
“i love you,” he pants against your skin, each word punctuated by the hard pressure of his body meeting yours.
the weight of his words hits you at the exact same time the crest of the wave breaks over you. your head falls back, a soft cry escaping you as the tension shatters into a blinding, full-body release. tightening his grip on your hips, michael lets out a low grunt, his entire body trembling as he buries himself completely inside you, riding out his own release until you are both shaking.
michael shifts his weight, his eyes dark with love as he looks down at you in the candlelight. without a word, he hooks his arms under your knees lifting you effortlessly against his chest. you wrap your legs tightly around his waist as he carries you through the glass doors and into the bedroom, where he places you onto the bed with deliberate, possessive heaviness, immediately crawling over you to pin you beneath him.
dropping his head, he finds the sensitive spot on your neck and bites causing your hips to arch off the mattress. his hands are everywhere, rough and heavy, gripping your thighs and shifting your hips as he repositions you exactly how he wants you.
“need to taste you,” he growls against your skin.
he slides down your body, his hands moving under your knees to pull your legs apart, pinning them to the mattress. the position leaves you completely exposed to him under the dim lighting of the villa, but with michael there is only a fierce intoxicating thrill. he looks up at you from between your thighs before he leans down to take you into his mouth.
using his tongue with practiced precision, he begins to worship you. your fingers grip the bedsheets and you toss your head back against the pillows as you call out his name, your voice breaking in the quiet room. he works his tongue in tight circles around your clit, alternating between sucking and nipping at your sensitive bud. he grinds his hips helplessly into the bed beneath him, chasing his own release.
michael finally lets up, releasing his grip on your thighs only to grab your hips and pull you to the very edge of the bed. aligning your hips, he drives into you with a hard relentless pace that rattles the heavy wooden headboard. the scene is beautifully unhinged, the kind of uninhibited passion only unlocked after stripping away every ounce of pretense over ten years of marriage. you meet him, stroke for stroke your nails digging into his back, pulling him down so you can bite his shoulder to muffle your own cries. the room is filled with the sound of your frantic breathing and the low groans tearing from michael’s chest. he pushes you further, stretching your pleasure until you are entirely undone and completely consumed by the beautiful, feral rhythm of the man who knows you better than anyone else in the world.
“oh my god.” michael collapses beside you, completely spent, his chest heaving as he pulls you tightly against his side.
the fan whirs softly overhead, cooling the sweat on your skin while the distant sound of the tide continues to echo through the open balcony doors. michael’s arm drapes around your waist, his fingers idly tracing the line of your hip, his touch turning soft and worshipful once again.
“best anniversary ever,” michael whispers a slow lazy grin spreading across his face.
you let out a soft breathy laugh resting your hand on his chest right over his heart. “you say that every year.”
michael chuckles, leaning down to press a soft lingering kiss to your lips, sweet and familiar a stark contrast to the fierce intensity from just moments earlier. he brushes a stray curl from your forehead, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone.
“because every year somehow tops the last.” he murmurs, his gaze softening. he looks at you with a seriousness that tugs at your heart. “seriously though, y/n. thank you for building this life with me. there’s no one else i’d rather do this with.”
“i love you,” you say softly, pulling him down by the back of his neck for a kiss. “thank you for this.”
he pulls the plush white comforter up over your shoulders, sealing out the rest of the world. with your head resting securely on his chest and his arms locked around you, you close your eyes. the morning flight and the busy routine of normal life would be waiting for you tomorrow, but tonight, the island belongs entirely to the two of you, and time stands completely still.
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ mature!michael’s needy girl can barely live without him! ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
description 𑣲𝄞: being michael’s significantly younger girlfriend had it’s pros and cons.. but once michael doesn’t have enough time to please his girl, it becomes something more serious
warnings 𑣲𝄞: smut 18+, michael has a slight daddy kink, pussy eating, softdom!michael, reader is of age!!, p in v, fingering, use of pet names such as ‘baby, pretty, sweetie, sweet girl, etc’
pairing 𑣲𝄞: michael jackson x blackfem!reader
michael being away for certain events and interviews was so hard for you, harder than usual. you loved michael so so much, you didn’t know what to do without him! the quick 10 minute calls and short texts, (because he could barely work his phone) just weren’t enough for a girl like you.
you were currently sitting on one of his many couches in the estate, flipping through a magazine.. your hair was in a messy bun, and you lazily threw on one of michael’s button-up shirts.. you’d been sitting there ever since he called you three hours ago, after you begged for him to come home, and whined about how much you needed him, he finally caved.
after sitting there for a few more minutes, lazily tracing the letters of some designer brand in the magazine with your pointer finger, you hear the front door open. before you could even react, his soft voice filled the room, “baby, i’m home. where are you, sweet girl?”
you immediately get up from the couch, the magazine flops somewhere into the floor, but you could care less because he’s home! once you find him, you latch onto his side.. “hi mikey, you won’t believe how much i missed you..” you practically squeal, peppering his cheek with soft pecks..
he sets his bags on the floor.. his hand travels down to your hip, his thumb gently rubbing circles on the spot. “oh really? you called back to back, saying how much you miss me, i must know by now, pretty..” he murmurs, looking down at you with half lidded eyes..
“i know,” you giggle, cheeks flushing a little because of the way he’s looking at you. “i just missed you soo much, three whole weeks of alone time is wayyy too much.” you complain, softly sighing.. you start to run your fingers up and down his chest.
his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer.. “well if you missed me so much,” he starts, pausing to lick his lips, “why don’t you show me just how much you needed me, yeah?” he rasps out, rubbing the back of your thighs.
you bite your lip before gently letting go of his arm.. he grabs you chin, tilting your head up towards his face, and your lips meet. you tilt your head into the kiss, soaking up the mint taste from the gum he was previously working at.
“mike..” you whimper, breaking away from the heated kiss to catch your breath.
“shh baby. kiss me.” he softly says, then he captures your lips in another hot, desperate kiss. he kicks the bedroom door open with his foot.
he sets you down on the california king sized bed, the soft silk sheets rubbing against your milk chocolate skin like warm honey.
“everything off, sweetie. y’know what to do f’me..” he commands, his tall, lean body looming over you. and you listened immediately, because you loved the way he’d treat you during times like this.
there you sat, naked, and waiting on him to give the next command.
“spread.” is all he says. one small word, that holds so much power over you.
you spread your legs, revealing your puffy cunt, glistening wet all for him. you look up at him for approval, biting your lip so hard that you may have drawn blood.
“look at this pretty pussy. you missed daddy, baby?” he coos, gently tracing your pussy lips with his middle finger.
you clench around nothing at the filthy word, and you nod, whimpering a little.
“use your words, girl.” he commands, gently smacking her puffy cunt.
“yes daddy, i missed you so much..” you gasp out.
he smirks down at you and gently rubs your wet cunt with his pointer and middle fingers. “that’s it. you want me to taste you, mama?” he whispers.
“please..” you beg, involuntarily spreading your legs a tinsy bit wider.
michael slaps your pussy again, making you jump a little. “mhmm. such a needy girl. wanting to be nasty like this.” he murmurs, starting to press kisses against the insides of your thighs.
you whimper, laying there all vulnerable while he teases.. “mikey.. taste it already.. y’know what i want.. so g-give it t’me.” you whine, getting impatient after being touch deprived for three whole weeks.
“is that how you ask?”
“mmph.”
“answer me, brat. is that how you ask daddy for something?”
he gives your core another slap, making you whine and making your hips buck up..
“no..” you reluctantly answer.
“then ask correctly.” he commands.
your lips form a small pout, and you softly huff. “please daddy? please eat me?”
he goes quiet. then he smirks against your thigh. “there you go, sweet girl..” he murmurs, before he finally places a soft kiss on your clit
two of his fingers prod at your entrance, then slip in. he immediately curls them, hooking them in that ‘come here’ motion that he was so good at.
“oh yes.. nngh.. s’good..” you softly sigh out, biting your lip afterwards
he flicks his tongue around your puffy clit, sucking and lapping up your juices while his fingers curl faster inside you, hitting that gushy spot on your front wall.
“oh m’gosh daddy.. yesss—right there..” you gasps out, toes curling and back arching a little.
he pulls his mouth away. “yeah baby? right there? daddy’s fingers hittin’ it right?” he groans out..
“nnyeahh, hittin’ it so good..” you slur, your legs shaking and your vision starting to blur.
you couldn’t even remember how it got to this point. michael had you on your back, with your knees pressed up against your chest. his length was stretching you so deliciously, over and over again, you could barely think about anything but him.
“you feel me, sweetie? hm?” he whimpered out, slamming into you over and over.. he shifts his angle a little, trying to find your spot.
“nnyea! i feel it! g-give it t’me!” you whine, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.
his eyes flutter at your words, and he pushes in deeper.. his hands grips your thighs and pushes them a little farther back towards your chest and then his thumb starts to rub your clit.
“s’fuckingood.. don’t stop—mike!” you moan out, reaching up and grabbing you ankles.
“yea? i’m not stopping, pretty baby.. i’m not stopping..” he hisses out, leaning down and catching your lips in a deep kiss..
just as you thought you were handling him, he says something that makes your eyes widen.
“can daddy push the rest in, baby?” he coos, kissing your nose.
“h-huh?” you slur, looking up at him.
“i’m only seven in, mama. you gon’ let me put the rest in?” he says with a chuckle once he sees the shocked expression on your face.
“only seven?” you say, making him nod.
you nod back, giving him the okay..
he lifts his hips up and drops them back down, letting the whole nine inches fall into you..
“mike!” you squeal, feeling yourself getting close already.
he smirks a little, and cradles your head against his chest. he does that lift and drop motion over and over, hitting your sweet spot every single time. you could only take so much!
“oh m’gosh mikey! i’m gonna cum! i’m gonna cum!”
you whimpered, your toes curling and your eyes fluttering back.
“go ahead, baby.. let go for daddy.” he murmurs in your ear, moving his hips faster..
your vision blacks out for about three seconds, and you could feel the heat in your abdomen start to pool out of you. you were creaming all over him, a white ring forming around his shaft, and pushing him closer to the edge
“ yesyesyes!” you whimpered, your legs trembling.
his thrusts start to get sloppy, and his body tenses a little..
“ mhmm,, ‘m gonna cum, sweet girl.. where d’ya want it?” he groans..
“inside!—wan it deep inside me, mike please, please daddy..” you slur, completely cockdrunk at this point.
he moans, cradling your head tighter against his chest. he starts grinding deep, his eyes fluttering shut..
“daddy’s cumming inside, pretty baby. cumming inside just like you wanted, all for my girl.” he whimpers, hot ropes of cum spurting all across your walls.
“are you satisfied now?” michael says, pulling you into his chest. you nod, looking up at him with heavy lidded eyes.
“love you a lot..” you mutter, drifting to sleep.
“ i love you more, pretty baby.” he softly says, before letting sleep claim him as well.
princess’s note! > it’s my first time writing so i hope this is good :) sorry for any grammar mistakes or anything, i hope you guys like it!
how mature!michael would immediately know when something was upsetting you...
for example, he’d know if you were pissed off at him talking to another woman. maybe you were at an event with him, meeting a bunch of people. and that little look you gave him out of the corner of your eye, when he’d exchange quick kisses on the cheek with another woman, wouldn’t go unnoticed. with just one look at you, he’d known by the furrow of your brow and the extra wrinkle on your forehead, that you didn’t like the way he was giving other people more attention than you.
so, like the bratty girl you are, when you finally got home that night, he’d open the car door for you, and you’d walk right past him and in the house without a word. maybe he’d grin a little bit, chuckling to himself, because he knows that you’re angry with him, just not quite why.
and once he’d make his way to the bedroom, unhurried as usual, you’d already be sitting at the edge of the bed, taking off your heels a little too aggressively.
“what’s wrong now?” he’d ask, watching you with a careful eye.
“nothing,” you’d mutter as you throw the pair of heels across the floor, in the pile of other shoes Michael had gifted you since you’d started dating.
“nothing?” he’d chuckle slightly, his brows raising in slight disbelief, before stepping closer to you, crouching to get to your level. “tell me, really.”
you’d give a sharp, pouty sigh before meeting his unwavering gaze. “you barely paid attention to me all night,” you’d say, your voice quieter, almost shy now.
Michael would chuckle again, putting his large hands on your knees, igniting a soft flutter in the core of your stomach. “it was a busy night, baby.”
“but still, you could’ve at least looked at me.”
“i’m looking at you now,” he’d say, his thumbs dragging across your soft skin absentmindedly.
“that’s different,” you’d mumble, looking down at your lap instead of his eyes.
“i can still see you look so beautiful,” he’d say while pushing apart your thighs slowly.
“do you think those other women looked beautiful tonight, too?” you’d ask before Michael would stand up slightly, pressing his lips to yours. his tongue would immediately enter your mouth, sending a jolt of electricity to your core.
he’d use the kiss to gently push you backward on the bed, your back now against the mattress. and when he’d pull away from the kiss, the last thing you’d see before he retreated back to in between your thighs would be that same, irritating smirk on his face.
he’d be on his knees now, his hands on your waist to pull you further to the edge of the bed, positioning you just how he’d like. then, he’d grip the back of your thighs, pulling them apart, your clothed pussy now on perfect display for him due to you only wearing a pathetically short skirt and panties.
“of course not,” he’d finally say, voice low, answering your question after a few agonizingly tense moments. “you’re much more beautiful than them.” you’d feel the pad of his thumb on your sensitive clit, his touch still frustratingly distant due to the thin fabric of your panties.
you’d gasp above him at his touch. "Michael," you'd whimper softly. "don't tease," you'd say louder now, trying to stand up for yourself, but your voice was undeniably hoarse from lust.
"shhh," he'd hush you, now tracing soft circles on your bud over your panties. "i'm paying attention to you now, aren't i?" you wanted to push him away right then and there, but you'd be lying if you said you haven't been craving this all night.
but when you'd whimper again, hiding your flushed face behind your hands, he'd crumble slightly, taking pity on you. he'd pull your panties off, your sticky arousal coating the soft fabric. now, you were really on display for him, your glistening folds right in front of his face. his hands would retreat to the back of your knees again, holding your thighs up. he'd inhale your sweet, painfully addicting scent.
all the while, you would be silently cursing him out, hating him for taking his sweet time with you, especially when he knows you've been so impatient for him all night.
so, when Michael looks up at you, seeing your hands fisting the duvet cover, he decides to finally give in to your pathetic need for his touch. he'd lick up your slit slowly before completely lapping up your juices, immediately losing himself in your taste.
you'd moan above him, your hips bucking up involuntarily, especially sensitive due to being neglected all day. his hands would move from the back of your knees to wrap around your thighs and press down on your waist, keeping you still.
his tongue would shift from quick licks on your clit to lapping up your arousal, sucking occasionally. your thighs would try to clench around him without thinking, but his strong, large hands would keep you in place for him.
and when you felt that familiar pleasure pool at the bottom of your stomach, he'd insert two of his digits in your hole, already slick and aching. he'd stretch you out, repeatedly hitting that mind-numbing spot that he knew would make you fall apart in no time.
and from the way lewd, disgusting sounds would spill from your mouth without your control, you knew you'd shatter around him at any moment, too. so, when your legs would begin to shake and your walls clenched around his fingers, Michael would continue to guide you through your orgasm with his fingers and mouth, groaning into your pussy himself.
"Michael..." you'd whimper after you came down from your high, your legs still shaking from the overstimulation.
Michael would rise to his feet, immediately bringing his lips to yours in a sloppy, wet kiss. you'd groan slightly at the taste of your juices before Michael pulled away from the kiss. you'd look at him— really look at him for the first time that night— seeing your own arousal and cum on his face, and realize how much he really did love you, much more than any other woman.
and he'd notice your revelation, too, by the way your dazed eyes lit up slightly as they searched his own. because, like always, he'd notice everything about you.
SYNOPSIS: Michael's curiosity has often lead to interesting situations. This time, it leads to his producer's wife.
CONTENT: fluff, no use of y/n, invincible!Michael, era 2000, forbidden attraction, pining!Michael, mature!Michael, married reader
Song Inspiration: Loosely inspired by "I Wish" - Carl Thomas
Author’s Note: I saw an interview that one of Michael’s producer’s wives did about her experience meeting Michael and was inspired lol. I’ll link it in the comments so you guys can watch. It was sooo cute.
PART TWO
Michael was supposed to be gone for thirty seconds. A minute at most.
He had been sitting in an office chair, bobbing his head along to the music as he swiveled back and forth in an office chair.
He had finished his vocals, and the finishing touches were being put on one of the songs from his new album, Invincible.
His producer's request had been simple. He was busy layering Michael's vocals so he said,
"Mike, do me a favor." The producer barely glanced up from the mixing board.
"My wife is out in the lounge. Tell her we're wrapping up. Maybe another hour."
Michael nodded.
"Sure."
That was it.
Michael was supposed to deliver the message, and go back to work. Simple.
Unfortunately, Michael Jackson had always been curious.
Even at his mature age, he still found himself accidentally getting off task when something piqued his interest.
His mother used to tell him that one day his curiosity was going to get him into trouble.
Michael had always laughed it off, though his mother's sentiment often proved to be true.
His inquisitiveness was powerful, especially when interesting people were involved.
The lounge sat at the end of the hallway. It was quiet, dimly lit.
Far removed from the noise spilling from the recording studio. Michael pushed open the door.
Immediately, he forgot why he'd come. It was that feeling like when you enter a room for something specific, but forget once something distracts you.
Curled into the corner of the sofa, you sat with one leg tucked beneath you and a massive sketchbook balanced across your lap.
Michael noticed his producer's oversized jacket hung loosely from your shoulders.
For a brief moment, Michael simply looked. You were stunning.
There was something softer about you than the women he usually encountered. Warmer. You had the kind of beauty that was natural, inviting.
Your concentration was evident in your expression as you worked.
Michael noticed the way you absentmindedly bit the side of your bottom lip, like you were thinking.
He noticed all of this before he ever saw the sketchbook. Then he saw the sketchbook. That was what truly captured his attention.
It sat open across your lap. It was massive. The kind serious artists carried.
At first Michael assumed it contained fashion sketches. Then he looked closer.
Stopping, he tilted his head, looking at the art you were busily sketching.
Military jackets. Performance costumes. You had detailed notes scribbled into the margins. Bead placement. Approximate fabric weights.
There were notes about movement during turns, lighting considerations too.
There were entire pages dedicated to how different materials would react beneath stage lights.
Without him realizing it, Michael took another step. Then another.
The message he was supposed to deliver disappeared from his brain entirely.
The page wasn't filled with clothing. It was filled with thought. Whoever designed these understood performance.
They clearly understood storytelling, and spectacle. Michael loved that.
You, meanwhile, had no idea Michael Jackson was staring at you. You were too busy shading the collar of a jacket.
Your husband had flown you out earlier that morning. A common occurrence these days. He practically lived in recording studios.
And because he hated being away from you, you often found yourself sitting around places like this.
Tonight was one of those days when studio time ran late.
You'd wait. Read. Draw, like you were now.
Finding ways to entertain yourself while music history happened behind closed doors.
You hadn't expected Michael Jackson.
Well. That wasn't entirely true. You knew he was in the building, you weren't living under a rock.
You also knew your husband was working with him.
But knowing Michael Jackson existed somewhere in the building and having Michael Jackson suddenly appear in front of you were very different experiences.
One was abstract. The other was currently standing three feet away. Watching you.
"What?" The word escaped before you could stop it. He was looking at the drawing in a thoughtful way, like he had something to say.
Michael pointed toward the sketchbook.
"The sleeves."
You blinked.
"The sleeves?"
"Too heavy."
Your eyes dropped toward the page. Then widened slightly. Because he was right.
"Oh."
Michael sat down before either of you realized he'd decided to stay. The chair across from you creaked slightly beneath his weight.
"That'd pull every time you turned."
You stared.
Not because of what he'd said. Because of who had said it. Michael Jackson.
Michael Jackson was critiquing your costume designs.
The realization nearly short-circuited your brain. For a moment you simply stared at him.
And that's when another realization hit.
The tabloids had lied.
The man sitting in front of you looked absolutely nothing like the bizarre caricature printed in magazines.
Nothing. He was handsome. Obviously so. Everything about him was meticulous.
His clothes. His posture. The careful grooming. The faint scent of expensive cologne.
Even his smile seemed deliberate. Not rehearsed. Just thoughtful.
Like he cared about how you would receive his feedback.
Most shocking of all was how normal he looked. The magazines made him seem larger than life. Strange. Untouchable.
Across from you sat someone who looked like an actual person, not a superhero. A very handsome person. But a person nonetheless.
And unfortunately, he had caught you staring.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Immediately your stomach dropped. Because somehow the smile made him even more attractive.
"This is crazy." The words escaped before you could stop them.
Michael blinked, confused by her statement.
"What?"
You pointed directly at him. The gesture felt appropriate.
"You're Michael Jackson, what do you mean?"
Realization dawned on him and a laugh escaped him. It was soft. Slightly embarrassed. Like it was something he heard all the time.
Which, to be fair, he probably did.
"Yes, last time I checked."
"Oh my God. Sorry." You palmed your forehead, feeling silly for calling out the obvious.
Michael laughed harder. The sound was warm. Boyish. It was entirely too charming.
He appeared genuinely interested in discussing costume construction.
"Why'd you put the beading there?" he asked.
Glancing down at the sketch, you inspected it.
"What?"
"The chest."
He pointed at the page.
"Why there?"
The question surprised you. Not because it was complicated. Because it was specific.
Most people would've looked at the drawing and said it looked nice.
Michael was asking why. Which meant he'd actually been paying attention. Before you realized it, you were answering.
And before Michael realized it, he was asking another question. Then another. And another.
One topic became five, then five became ten. Costumes became stage design. Stage design became movies. Movies became books. Books transitioned to imagination.
The conversation flowed so naturally that neither of you noticed thirty minutes disappear.
For Michael, it felt like finding water in a desert. Most conversations revolved around him. His music or fame. His strange life.
People were constantly trying to impress him, or flatter him. Often they would perform for him.
But you weren't. You seemed entirely content discussing costume construction for an hour.
And Michael found that absurdly refreshing.
"You taught yourself all this?"
You shrugged.
"Library."
Michael blinked.
"What do you mean library?"
"The way everyone learns things."
"No they don't."
"Yes they do."
"No they don't. Not like this."
You laughed.
Michael immediately wanted to hear it again. Unfortunately for him, the studio door opened. Neither of you noticed immediately.
That was until a familiar voice interrupted from the hallway.
"Baby?"
Your entire face changed. Instantly. The transformation caught Michael off guard.
It wasn't because you were unhappy before. But because suddenly you looked happy.
Bright, comfortable. At home even.
You smiled before you'd even turned around.
"Oh, there he is."
Michael's stomach tightened. The realization arrived immediately. Your husband. Of course. Your husband.
The reason you were here.
The reason this conversation should never have lasted longer than thirty seconds.
The producer crossed the room. Headphones still hanging around his neck.
Without thinking, he kissed the top of your head. You leaned into it naturally. It was instinctive, comfortable.
Like people who had been loving each other for years.
Michael looked away. Immediately. Suddenly he felt like he'd wandered into something private.
"Sorry baby."
"What y'all out here talking about?" The producer laughed, knowing Michael's tendency to become distracted when something interested him.
And Michael found himself studying the interaction. The easy affection. The familiarity.
The way your husband's hand settled against your shoulder without thought.
The way you automatically leaned toward him.
It bothered him. Not because he'd done anything wrong.
It was honestly that he suddenly realized he wasn't finished talking to you.
Your husband looked toward Michael. Then toward the sketchbook.
"You rope him into your costume theories?"
You pointed immediately.
"He started it."
The producer laughed.
"That sounds about right."
Michael smiled despite himself. He immediately felt guilty. He really did like your husband. Genuinely. He respected him. Enjoyed working with him.
There was no villain here. The marriage didn't appear to be unhappy. There was no opening. Just bad timing.
You gathered your sketchbook and your purse. Your husband's jacket.
Michael's gaze traveled up your figure, discretely. This was the first time you had stood up, and he was taking in all your glory.
He snapped out of it when you looked back toward him.
"It was nice meeting you."
Your farewell was simple. It polite and final.
Michael nodded, swallowing as he realized the encounter was coming to an end.
"You too."
The words felt inadequate. He had so much more to say.
You smiled, and then you turned and left. Together.
Your husband resting a hand against your back as he guided you toward the door.
The lounge suddenly felt quieter. Michael stood there long after you'd gone. The interaction stuck with him long after you left the room.
Long enough for him to feel ridiculous. Long enough to become annoyed with himself.
Because this was absurd. You were married.
He scoffed to himself. Married. Of course.
And worse— You were interesting. Michael hated that combination.
Later that night, long after the session ended, he found himself staring at the unfinished track playing through the studio speakers.
His producer was saying something. One of the engineers laughed. But Michael wasn't listening.
Instead, he was thinking about a sentence you'd said nearly three hours ago.
"When I was little, I used to wonder what happened to movie characters after the credits rolled." The memory returned uninvited.
Then another, and another. He was reliving the experience of encountering you.
Again. And again.
Michael groaned softly, rubbing a hand across his face.
Because he knew exactly what had happened.
Curiosity. The same thing that had gotten him into trouble his entire life.
One question had become five. Five becoming fifty. He knew the conversation lasted longer than it should have.
Michael met a lot of people, day in and day out. It was rare that a person was this fascinating to him.
And now he couldn't stop wondering what else was inside that sketchbook.
Unfortunately, for Michael and your husband, Michael Jackson had never been very good at leaving interesting things alone.
