YOU WERE SITTING on the sofa, leafing through a magazine you had picked up out of sheer curiosity. Michael had rolled his eyes before saying you were about to read some garbage. You had completely ignored him ━ you knew when something was worth your attention and this... Oh boy, it definitely was worth every second.
Thank goodness he had not glanced at the cover, otherwise he would have realised what you were up to.
Michael was strolling alongside you, one hand idly stroking your leg, clad in a simple pair of jeans, his eyes fixed on a film he probably knew inside out.
"Tell me."
You snapped the magazine shut in one go, your eyes scrutinising your boyfriend's profile with intense focus.
"Mm?" he hummed, too absorbed by the screen.
"I want you to be honest with me," you sat up, crossing your legs, his hand falling back onto the sofa. "I promise not to get upset."
The mere fact that you were moving away from him ━ and talking about not getting angry ━ was enough for Michael to grab the remote, switch off the telly, and focus on his girlfriend. His heart was suddenly beating abnormally faster than usual and he did not like the way you were currently looking at him.
"... About what?"
A mischievous smile played on your lips, your tongue was covering part of your teeth, which ━ based on Michael's months of experience ━ did not bode well at all. A manicured hand grabbed the infamous garbage and waved it gently in front of his eyes.
"Have fans ever asked you to sign their chest?"
Michael blinked. Had he... Had he heard correctly?
"I'm sorry ━ what?"
"Their chest," you repeated. "You know ━ breasts," you ran a hand over your own, as if to illustrate your point.
His eyes followed your movement despite himself. The red of your nail polish contrasted perfectly with the black satin top you were wearing, the lace of your bra visible against your skin. His gaze returned to your amused face.
"Why are you..." Michael let out a breathy laugh, suddenly feeling shy. "Oh, no! No, that never happened, why are you asking me this━"
"Mm," you nodded slowly. "Interesting."
"What's interesting? What does that mean━" he stopped, looked at the magazine, suspicion dawning. "... What is this about?"
"What is what about, my love?"
"That magazine."
You let out a laugh before leaning forward slightly. Your hands glided up your body, two fingers brushing aside a strand of hair that was about to obstruct his view, before coming to rest on your cleavage. You slowly slid it down, the satin cascading over your bare skin before fully revealing the lace of your bra.
"Can I have an autograph, Mr. Jackson?" you asked sweetly, as a fan would, but those words in your own mouth sounded sinful.
He stayed staring, his mouth opening and closing every second. The room was quiet and you were looking at him with those beautiful eyes, pleading with him to do as you had asked, while he sat there with his brain completely useless.
For a simple April evening, the air was extremely warm, Michael thought suddenly.
"I━" he stopped, then tried again. "That's not even how they call me━" you raised an eyebrow. "You're insane..." he murmured, pressing his hand over his face, palm flat against his own forehead.
"So... Is that a no?" you pouted.
Michael made a sound and dropped his hand, rubbing the back of his neck as he chuckled ━ and that reaction seemed to delight you even further.
"You are so━"
"Come on, baby━"
"Stop it!" he grabbed a pillow, putting it over your face.
"Please, baby! I even have the marker ready!" you admitted, removing the pillow from you.
"You have what now?"
Your eyes told him where to look at. His gaze dropped before he could stop it ━ there it was ━ nestled against the lace, the black marker sitting there like it had always belonged. How did he have missed it?
Michael looked away... looked back... looked away again.
You reached for the marker and took it out, holding it between two fingers.
"Okay so..." you started pointing at a specific place on your left breast. "Right here ple━"
"I don't need━there's no━please stop pointing━"
"Now that I think about it… your signature is quite long... perhaps I should━" you made a movement to remove your bra.
"Oh my God."
"Stop acting like you never saw me naked before, Michael! You're ruining the mood!"
"That is completely different and you know it!"
"Do I?"
"Yes!" he threw his head back briefly, the laugh escaping before he could stop it. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Obviously," you rolled your eyes.
"Obviously," Michael repeated, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth told a different story.
Biting your lips, and without breaking eye contact, you brought both hands up slowly and pressed them together against your chest. You raised an eyebrow.
Michael's jaw clenched.
"You're… you're cheating."
"So... Will you please give me an autograph?" you pouted sweetly.
"You've been━" he let out another laugh. "Give me that."
Michael reached over and plucked the marker from your fingers before you could react, holding it away from you for a moment just to have the upper hand for one single second. You beamed at him as he uncapped it.
"Stay still."
You did as you were told as your boyfriend bent over you with such a focused expression that you had to look at the ceiling immediately to not laugh. His tongue appeared between his teeth, his brow furrowed slightly as if he was actually painting a work of art over you. The cold tip of the marker over your breast made you shiver and your eyes fell back right on his face, bottom lip caught between your teeth.
"… Couldn't have asked for an autograph on a paper like everyone else," he mumbled.
"Where's the fun in that?"
A second later, Michael sat back and capped the marker as you looked down and smiled brightly.
"That's so hot!" you beamed, genuinely delighted. "Okay I need a picture."
"You need a what?"
"Picture. For proof," you repeated like it was obvious as you stood up.
"Proof…?"
"That I was the first ━ keep up, baby!" you exclaimed, searching for the Polaroid.
"There is no━hey, come back here!"
Michael caught you by the wrist, pulling you back as you landed against him, laughing. He joined you as your back settled against his chest. You tilted your head up, your lips brushing against his jaw.
"Want to do something else for me?"
"Haven't you embarrassed me enough, woman?"
You chuckled once more before turning to face him, both hands pressing lightly against his chest, pushing him back until he sat down on the couch.
"I still want a picture though…" you spoke, your fingers found the hem of your top. "Perhaps you could help me take one."
You pulled it over your head in one slow, easy motion and tossed it gently at his face. You smelled of something sweet and when Michael looked up at you ━ at his own autograph ━ his tongue dragged slowly across his bottom lip before catching it between his teeth.
♫: when y/n receives a call from quincy for a song collaboration with her ex, michael jackson, the lyrics trigger flashbacks of their past relationship. (pt. 1)
(heh.. part 2? just a short lil one bc i wanted to try out that white border thingy majiggy, hope it isn’t too confusing. <33)
˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞.
your name was everywhere. it started with a breakout single that took over the charts, but within two years, it had evolved into a cultural shift.
you weren't just topping the charts; you were redefining them. every music video you released became a trend, every live performance was praised, and sold out stadiums had practically become your second home.
the media couldn't get enough. the critics, who were usually impossible to please, finally agreed on a title that stuck to you:
ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴘ.
it was a heavy title to wear at your age, but you wore it effortlessly, dominating the industry with every move.
but with every queen, there's a king, and the world only recognised one.
michael jackson. you hadn't thought of the name in years. but with his overwhelming fame, it was inevitable you were going to be reminded of him. so imagine your surprise when your producer, quincy jones, called you to ask you to duet with him.
“look, daughter. i need you down at westlake studios right now.” quincy's voice spoke through the receiver, booming with late night energy that always signaled a burst of creativity. “i've got a track that is basically screaming for you. smelly is already in the booth tracking his parts-“
“no.” you cut in instantly, the word slipping past your lips before you could even think to stop it as your fingers tightened around the phone. “no, q. find someone else. i'm not doing it.”
quincy paused on the line, completely caught off guard by your sudden pushback, oblivious to the panic he had just caused. “excuse me? since when is it like you to turn down a masterpiece? you two are the biggest pop stars on my roster. i'm not taking no for an answer. baby, come here now.”
as the line went dead, you let out a heavy sigh, slowly lowering the phone against the kitchen counter. you groaned as an overwhelming rush of memories infiltrated your mind.
you and michael had been each other's entire world during his thriller era. you were more of an underrated icon in the background, still trying to find your footing in the industry, while he was transitioning into a global superstar.
it had been a quiet secret. you two had shared everything together; he was your first kiss, your first love, and the first person you had ever given your body to. you had been his first real taste of it, too.
but it quickly became so much more than just innocent romance. it was intensely physical, a raw pull that you both became completely consumed by. since you were each other's very first time, the realisation of that connection turned into a sexual addiction.
behind those locked doors, the world outside vanished, replaced by an insatiable need for each other's body. you couldn't keep your hands off one another. every stolen hour was spent tangled together, learning the curves of each other's bodies, driving each other crazy in a cycle of desire that neither of you knew how to break.
but then, the world became too loud. the suffocating security, the paparazzi, and the weight of both of your careers had slowly choked the life out of the relationship. with broken hearts, you had mutually agreed to let each other go, prioritising your own careers over love.
you hadn't looked him in the eyes since the day you walked out of his life. and now, he was fully in his bad era, and the thought of facing him made you weak in your knees. but you couldn't say no to quincy, not when your career was tied to his commands.
reluctantly, you grabbed your things and stepped out into the night air. affirming yourself that “it would be just fine” as you slipped into the back of your private car. your personal driver quietly put the vehicle in drive, the city lights blurring outside the window as the car smoothly glided through the streets, heading straight toward the man you never thought you'd talk to again.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖༘⋆𐦍⊹₊ ⋆｡˚
the heavy scent of quincy's cologne, and studio air hit you instantly. the room was bathed in the familiar lighting of westlake, but the energy inside was powerful, vibrating with the presence of the two men sitting inside.
quincy was spun around in his producer's chair, a thick pair of headphones resting around his neck as he boomed with laughter. but your eyes skipped right past him, immediately locking onto the figure sitting on the sofa behind the mixing console.
michael.
he looked entirely different from the boy you had loved. his hair was longer, styled in beautiful curls that framed his face perfectly, and his jawline looked sharper under the lights. he seemed more confident. he was dressed in a black button down shirt, a pair of sunglasses plastered on his face.
as the door clicked shut behind you, michael's laughter faded. he lowered his glasses, his dark eyes snapping over to you, and for a second, the calm composure he was wearing broke.
“there she is!” quincy clapped his hands together, his voice shattering the tense silence that had stretched across the room. “the queen herself. come on in, daughter.”
you forced your fake smile to stay perfectly in place, praying your voice wouldn't betray how nervous you were. “hey, q.” you said smoothly, stepping further into the room and keeping your posture relaxed. you turned your gaze to the couch, your heart racing as you looked right at him. “hey, michael.”
michael cleared his throat, slowly standing up from the sofa. he offered a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, his voice low when he spoke.
“hey.” he smiled, his eyes searching your face, scanning the perfect mask you had put on. “it's... it's really good to see you.”
“likewise.” you lied smoothly, the fake smile never wavering as you crossed your arms, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting under his intense stare.
“alright, alright, enough with the introductions.” quincy cut in, oblivious to the suffocating tension that had settled over the room. he rolled his chair back toward the mixing board, flipping a few switches and clicking a button on the intercom. “we're burning daylight, and i've got a hit to finish. michael just wrapped some parts. i need your voice on it.”
quincy handed you a sheet of lined paper covered in michael's messy handwriting. just looking at the font of his writing made a sharp pang of nostalgia hit you.
“the song is called morning dew.” quincy explained, turning up the monitors.
your heart stopped. you glanced up from the paper, your eyes automatically darting back to michael. he was already watching you, his hands stuffed into his pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. of all the names in the world, you thought, a wave of irony washing over you.
“go ahead and step into the booth with him.” quincy ordered, waving his hand toward the double paned glass. “let's do a quick run through y/n, so you can read the mood..”
michael didn't say a word. he just gave a polite nod and turned to walk toward the isolation booth. you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling dry as you looked down at the lyric sheet in your hands, the words staring back at you in his distinct handwriting.
forcing your legs to move, you followed him inside the booth, the soundproof door confining the two of you alone together.
michael walked up to the dual microphone setup, adjusting his headphones slightly before turning his dark eyes back to you.
“you look beautiful.” he complimented, his voice slightly shy, the bad persona seemed to soften for just a split second, a hint of the boy you used to love peeking through. “i want to say.. congratulations on... everything”
“thanks.” you managed to say, your voice tight as you adjusted your own headphones, intentionally avoiding his eyes. you couldn't look at him, not when he was looking at you like that. “congrats to you, too. the new album is.. good.”
before he could reply, quincy's voice cut through the monitors. “alllright kids, let's roll it from the top of the verse. daughter, give me that first line.”
the track began to play, a burning beat filling your ears as you looked down at the sheet music, tracking the lyrics. you stepped up to the microphone, cleared your throat, and delivered the opening line.
“as we sip champagne watching purple rain...”
the words came out perfectly on pitch, your tone professional, but flat and hollow. you sang it like you were reading a book, the fact that you were in your ex's presence was making you detached from the music.
the track abruptly cut out, the silence in your headphones deafening. quincy leaned forward over the console, pressing the talkback button. his brows were furrowed as he stared at you through the glass. “whoa, whoa, stop. what was that?” he shook his head, looking completely baffled.
“y/n, you're singing like a robot. where is the passion? this song is about love. i need you to feel it, baby. stop overthinking and let it out.”
you swallowed hard, your cheeks burning slightly. you didn't dare look to your left, where michael was standing inches away, silently watching your every move. you tightly gripped the edge of the music stand, nodding at quincy through the glass. “sorry. run it again.”
you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to forget michael was there just enough to let the music in. when the track restarted, you leaned into the mic, letting your natural warm voice take over. you sailed through the first two verses smoothly, your voice blending flawlessly with the sultry beat, making quincy nod in approval behind the mixing board.
but then the chorus hit, and it was time for the overlay. suddenly, michael stepped closer to his microphone, his presence completely engulfing the small booth. the distance between you vanished as the music swelled, and his voice cut into your headphones.
“girl, you’re sexy in the mornin'..” you both sang, his dark eyes locking directly onto yours, burning right through the calm facade you were trying so hard to keep up. “you know you turn me on, babe.”
your heart leapt into your throat, avoiding his eyes as your voices intertwined perfectly, tracking the melody in flawless harmony.
“you know the sun rise for you..” he sang, his tone dipping into something soft and intimate, a genuine ache bleeding into the words.
“for you..” you ad-libbed right after him.
“give me that mornin' dew..” you both sang together, the blend of your vocals completely undeniable. it was a perfect match, a reminder of exactly why quincy had put you two together, and why you had been so attracted to each other years ago.
“you know that i want it.” you both continued, the low register of his voice vibrating in your ears, his eyes darkening as the lyrics grew heavier.
“i want you moanin' every mornin'...” you both sang, his voice dropping into a honest tone that turned you on.
hearing those words leave his lips ignited something inside of you, instantly melting your heart. it hit your composure, a reminder of how easily he could still pull your strings, and your mind completely drifted off to when he in fact, made you moan every morning..
“again?” you teased, a sleepy laugh escaping your lips as the morning sun filtered through the cracks of the curtains. you were tangled in the messy white sheets, your skin still warm from the night before as michael suddenly rolled over and pulled your hips against his. you giggled softly as his hands found your waist, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you.
“c’mere then, ma.” michael whispered against your ear, his voice thick with sleep and desire. he trailed lazy kisses down your neck, his fingers tightening on your skin as he pulled you under him once more, turning your quiet giggles into loud moans before the day had even begun.
the track abruptly looped into a quiet transition, but you were still frozen, your heart racing as your mind raced to catch up with the present.
“y/n? whatcha thinking about over there, daughter?” quincy's amused voice cut through the monitors, snatching you right out of your thoughts.
your cheeks instantly flared a deep red as you cleared your dry throat. “mm.. q, sorry. i was just... just feeling the music.”
next to you, michael let out a soft chuckle that only made you more flustered. when you risked a tiny glance at him, you saw him lost in his own mind as well, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. he knew exactly what you were thinking about.
quincy shrugged, continuing to play the track as you both prepared for the next line.
“you know the sun rise for you..” you sang back, your voice a bit unstable under the weight of his stare, the raw tension in the booth becoming almost too hot to handle.
“give me that mornin' dew.” you both finished in a breathless harmony, the final note lingering in the air.
the track faded into the pre-recorded chorus, your blended voices pouring through the headphones in a seamless wave of sound. through the double paned glass, you could see quincy losing his mind, he was throwing his head back in approval, and grooving in his chair.
before the chorus could even finish winding down, quincy slapped the talkback button. “yes! that is what i'm talking about! the chemistry is perfect, y'all!” he barked out a laugh, completely oblivious to how hard your heart racing.
“we ain’t done yet though. y/n, stay right there. the beat is looping back. i need you to take this next part just on your own. michael, back off the mic and let her ride it.”
michael gave a slow nod, stepping back just half a pace, but he didn't take his eyes off you. his chest rose and fell in time with yours, waiting to see what you would do.
the beat dropped into a deeper groove, stripping away the heavy layers to leave the track completely open for you. you looked down at the lyric sheet, your eyes widening slightly as you read the next lines. they were extremely explicit, dripping with a raw sensuality that felt too dangerous to sing with michael standing in the same room as you.
you hesitantly leaned into the microphone, praying your voice wouldn't get weak on you. “ah, i get so excited when i feel you touch my thighs..” you sang, squeezing your eyes shut.
“my hands are cold, ma. can you warm them up for me?” michael asked, his voice a low octave as he held onto the steering wheel of his car. you nodded weakly, your breath catching in your throat as his large palm made contact with your skin, sliding slowly up from your knee. his hand was extremely cold, creating a slow path up your inner thigh. you whimpered, parting your legs slightly as his fingers moved higher, sliding underneath the hem of your skirt until he felt the soft fabric of your panties. “you're so wet for me, baby..” he groaned softly, his long fingers hooking into the lace, pressing against your the direct wetness as you let out a small moan.
from the corner of your eye, you saw michael's jaw tighten, his eyes locking onto yours as if he could see the exact memory playing in your head.
“baby, slow down 'cause i'ma be late for my ride.” you continued, holding the notes effortlessly, even though your mind was elsewhere.
you were on top of michael after begging him to let you be in control, the sudden shift of roles making your heart race as you sank down onto him. you were riding him passionately, the heat between you consuming the room. his large hands locked firmly onto your waist, his thumbs digging deep into your hips to guide your movements. he threw his head back against the pillows, a low groan ripping from his throat as you rode him harder, second guessing your decision to be on top from how deep it felt inside of you. “michael.. i..” you panted, biting your lip as you tried your best to handle the overwhelming sensation between your legs. “keep going, mama. you can take it.” he reassured, his voice thick with hunger as you slid up and down him in a rhythm that left the both of you completely breathless.
“i'm feelin' faded out my mind... a little morning dew..” you closed your eyes, the lyrics completely mirroring the sensations rushing through your body.
“there's a river inside that flows from our love... you can tap in but don't, don't tap out, oh.”
“don't stop, michael. please, don't stop.” you had whispered against his lips, unraveled as you chased your climax. he growled softly, flipping you onto your back without breaking the connection. his curls were sweaty as he pinned your wrists above your head, his body burying into yours with desperate thrusts. “you're taking me.. so well, baby.” he breathed heavily, a needy sound escaping him with every push. he kept pounding into you, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm, his muscles tensing as he held himself deep inside you.
“it's a slip in the slide, that front to back love. right there baby, don't tap out, tap out.”
“right there, michael, please.” you begged, your back arching off the mattress, your voice breaking as he hit that sweet spot perfectly. “there? hm? you like that?” he asked, a dark smirk tracing his lips as he held your legs up high. he let out a loud moan as he thrust heavier and deeper into you, hitting the spot over and over again. “god, always so tight for me, mama.” he choked out until your body collapsed around him, his lips instantly kissing your forehead to tell you how good you did.
the final note lingered in the air as you opened your eyes and realised michael was staring right at you through the light of the booth. he knew. he had remembered every single second of it, too. the same question ran through both of your minds, maybe y’all should run it back?
summary: your boyfriend is a very busy man, and so you often toss your sexual needs aside for him- especially when he’s able to fall asleep at night. you’ve gone every night unnoticed as you touch yourself for relief, however tonight is not like every other one.
warnings: water sports (you guys love this shit and me too), dom!michael, dry humping, petnames: “princess” “pretty” “baby”, established relationship, embarrassment kink, desperate michael, passionate sex, aftercare, nipple play, biting for 5 seconds, making out
a/n: for everyone thats been asking hehe
wordcount: 2k
reqs: open!
the moonlight hovered through the window of your and michaels shared bedroom. he enjoyed the room at a colder temperature, and so you slept with a thick knitted blanket beneath the beautiful white quilt michael had insisted you pick for the bedroom. you presumed your boyfriend was sound asleep by now, tired from a long day at the studio and creativity. his arm was wrapped around your waist as you lay on his chest, feeling each deep breath upon his shirtless body.
since michael was often very busy you didn’t want to bother him with your own needs, as he often put yours above his. every night you resorted to touching yourself beneath the covers after he fully drifted off to slumber. tonight would be no different.
carefully lifting his slender arm above you, you slipped out of his tender grasp. he nodded his head in the opposite direction, providing you with comfort, you scooted quietly away from him. the tall glass of water upon your nightstand was still cold and almost empty, dripping a bit on the coaster it rested on. you reached over and sat up a bit to take it’s last sip. the clock read 12:42 am- which meant he’d been asleep for maybe thirty minutes now. silently, you set the glass back down and sunk back into the bed.
you turned over, your back now facing michaels sleepy body. you wanted to try something a little different tonight. you reached beneath the covers and scrunched up the knit blanket between your legs. the cotton fabric of your pajamas pants rubbed up against your cunt, resulting in a repetitive motion of your hips slowly grinding into each fabric. you bit your lip, aching for michaels touch… wishing it where his wrist, his leg, his thigh. as you began to slip a hand under your shirt, michael moaned a bit in his sleep- causing your motions to still. you two, of course, have had sex before- but you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable or awkward… you just needed some sort of relief to help you sleep.
after a few more deep breaths, he lulled his head over your direction, though michael was still sound asleep as far as you were concerned. you resumed your slow motions, noticing your shaky breath as heat grew between your legs. the stimulation wasn’t enough to make you cum, regardless you began to pick up your pace. michael was a deep sleeper once he got to rest, you never had to worry about movement waking him up.
“mm.. baby,” michael mumbled, he fully turned over now. still sound asleep.
his voice was enough to make a small gasp escape from you, you clutched the blanket and dug your head into it as you rode out this high.
“baby,” fingers grazed your side beneath the quilt, “you okay?”
your eyes widened, shit.
“mhm,” you tried to keep your voice low, to hide your attempts to catch your breath.
he dragged one finger down your side, causing you to involuntarily let out a soft moan.
he raised one eyebrow as he blinked his eyes open, “you like that, baby,” dragging the finger right back down your tender skin.
“huh,” your voice as low as a whisper.
michaels other hand made its way down to his groin, “‘m not stupid…”
his breathy voice filled your lungs like a drug, any bit of him got you horny. he was always so busy, it left you desperate.
you asked, naively, “what do you mean, mikey?”
he softly laughed, “i know what you’re doing.”
it was as if your face couldn’t get any redder. you cringed a bit, worried at how he’d take it. you covered your face with the quilt, childishly hoping that this was not real.
michael sat up, switching the lamp on his bedside on.
“princess,” he wiped his eyes, “c’mere,” michael removed the quilt atop his body and patted his thigh.
you sighed in defeat, and slowly lifted the covers off your blushed face. you sat up, shivering slightly at the sudden cold air. staring down at his pajamas, you climbed onto his thigh and folded your hands in your lap.
“what’re you doing touching yourself when i’m right here?”
you pursed your lips together… “well, you’re always working n… i didn’t want to bother and wake you while you’re off,” embarrassment shined through your glistening eyes.
michaels slender hands caressed your cheek before sliding to your neck and tilting your head up by your chin. his beautiful round eyes met yours.
“do you know how much i miss you at work?”
you shook your head. michael grabbed your hand and placed it on his growing length. you could almost feel his cocks pulse. you pouted, still feeling guilty but not sure what for.
“hey, hey, princess,” he raised your hand to his bare chest, “i want you.”
those words flipped a switch in your brain, the one that shut off immediately when he woke up. looking from his eyes to his lips, almost instantly you cupped his jaw with your hands and press your lips onto his. he grabbed your waist while moaning into the passionate embrace.
you began to rock your hips into his clothed thighs, focusing on the growing heat rather than the desperate kisses between you and your boyfriend. though, for a second you stopped.
“are you sure,” your breathing heavy.
his response was to slide his fingers up to your head and pull you deeper into the kiss. the sudden reaction caused a whimper to fall out of your lips. the room was filled with the sound of your soft whines and the near silent ruffling of fabric.
“mm.. gosh,” he sighed in between kisses. michael guided your hand once more to his fully erect cock, causing your breath to shake at his thickness.
“need you,” your hips moved with excessive need, “please…”
michael broke from the kiss, leaving you to remember the cold of the room. he lifted you off his thigh and gently flipped you onto your back. your deep breaths were synchronized like a beautiful song. he placed soft kisses down your neck that caused your body to shift upward into him. michael lifted up the pajama top off your head, revealing your hardened nipples. he sighed at the view of your breasts in absolute awe.
michael briefly kissed them, tenderly nibbling before he dragged your pants down your legs. your cotton panties were on display, you spread your legs in anticipation. michael rubbed your clit in circles with his thumb, enjoying the sight of your hips involuntarily bucking up into his large hands.
“ahh, mike,” you bit your lip back trying to hide your moans.
he shook his head , “mm mm, lemme here you pretty, let me hear every sound i missed you making.”
you reluctantly complied, reflecting on the several times you’ve called out his name in your empty house while touching yourself.
“mike,” you cried.
“yes, princess,” michael picked up his pace, he placed his free hand on your lower abdomen.
you squeezed your thighs together in response, trying to hold in the growing pressure you felt in your bladder.
“mikey, shit,” you weakly tried to swat his hand away, but the mixture of pleasure and adapting to this sudden tension left you entirely unsure of what would come out of you.
you desperately shook your head, and he complied, for not at least. michael squeezed his wrist out from between your thighs and as you sighed in relief. unfortunately, your body twitched upward. still aching for more. and so was michael.
michael removed his pajama pants, discarding them to the other side of the bed. your fingers tugged on the waistline of his boxers, causing him to laugh a bit- amused by your behavior. he freed his dick, it never failed to shock you how long and thick he was. you felt blood rushing all throughout your body each time you saw it.
michael slowly spread your thighs, tracing your skin with gentle fingers. your breath quivered at his touch.
“y’like that, pretty?”
“mhm, need you mikey…” you pouted at the lack of stimulation.
his eyes were dark and met yours, “do you?”
“missed you,” you sneaked your hand up to his erection, grazing it with a soft finger. he grinded his hips into nothing as he threw his head back.
“shit,” he moaned, “i love the way you touch me baby.”
michaels hands found you waist and he dragged his cock along your aching pussy. the cotton fabric wasn’t much of a barrier as the wet spot made it easier for him to glide along you. each false stroke was followed by a twitch or moan from each of you, your bodies practically becoming one. once you’re hips twitched up, he took the opportunity to slide a pillow beneath you. it meant you’d be doing more than just coming soon.
once his pace picked, one of michaels hands went to tend to your nipple and the other went to adding that familiar pressure to your lower stomach.
“ah,” your eyes widened, recalling the ache that your bladder felt just a few moments ago. the stimulation on your breasts caused you to grab michaels wrist, attempting to ground yourself. there were too many feelings arousing in your desperate body.
“mm, y’can hold on to me as long as you need baby,” he practically groaned out, soothing you as innocent as possible while the most lewd feelings took over him entirely.
“sorry,” you whined, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt a different sort of build up inside of you.
“mm mm, don’t be sorry baby,” he applied more pressure, “release whatever y’need to. you’re my pretty baby, can’t believe you’ve been touching yourself without me.”
your lips turned into a frown, trying to hold it in. you couldn’t. michaels never shamed you for wetting the bed, he encourages it. he loves to watch you just crumble beneath him.
your legs wrapped around his waist, the heel of your foot meeting some of the fabric of his boxers. you cried out once his tip grazed your clit so slightly, which made you absolutely confused as to what would come out of you first. you felt your cunt pulsating in and out, trying to keep it all in. he enjoyed watching you humiliate yourself, the way you wore shame was just irresistible.
“oh no,” you threw your head back and rolled your eyes, a tear streaming down your cheek.
michaels eyes glared, his voice was firm yet still deeply soothing, “look at me.”
you’d no choice but to listen. you locked eyes with michael as you began to feel something fall out of your clothed cunt.
“mike,” you wined as your legs unraveled from him and spread beside him, “needa go-“
you were interrupted by all of the liquid pouring out of you. your eyes remained lock onto his as he continued to rub his cock into your extremely wet panties. your fluid darkened the bed and his boxers a bit, but your panties we’re absolutely done for.
“m so sorry mikey!”
he cupped your face, “it’s okay baby, it’s okay.”
once you finished, michael pushed aside your panties and slowly entered you. your legs tried to squeeze shut, you didn’t know how to respond to the thickness. he deeply stroked your pulsating insides as he, once again, rubbed circles into your now sensitive clit.
“mike-,” you gasped, “fuck, mikey-“
“shh, shh,” he soothed.
michael lowered his body to be closer to yours, he placed tender kisses on your neck that conflicted the stimulation between your legs.
“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered in your ear.
you grabbed his shoulders to dig your nails into his flesh. he groaned, not at the pain but at the passion.
“gonna cum, baby,” he sighed out.
all you could do was whine in response, you couldn’t even process words. within a few more strokes, he pulled out and released entirely on you. you leaked even more between your legs, entirely embarrassed by the scenario yet feeling deeply loved.
michael placed a kiss on your forehead before lifting you up and placing you on a chair in the corner of the room. he covered your body with his own clothes, adoring the oversized look on you, and then grabbing your knitted blanket.
“‘m gonna clean up, okay baby,” he looked into your sleepy eyes.
you shook your head, “you’ve work tomorrow i can help…”
he smiled and brushed your hair out of your face, “you’ve done enough tonight baby.”
“‘m sorry…”
“why,” michael asked, tilting his head at you.
“‘so late n you have work, and you’re tired… n-“
you were cut off by a gentle kiss on the lips, before backing away he soothed, “i’ve missed you so much. can’t just leave my princess all alone to herself every night. you’re more important than work.”
you weakly smiled, your eyes failing to stay awake.
summary: a quiet, ordinary night between you and your boyfriend turns into something much bigger when you realize your period is late. michael steps in before your panic gets out of hand.
pairing: thriller!era Michael Jackson x reader
w/c: 5.0k
notes: story starts out steamy for the first five paragraphs or so, but does not go into full smut.
pregnancy scare. angst & discussion of anxiety/insecurities, ends with fluff! special thank you to my beta reader, who asked not to be tagged ❤️
disclaimer: i give absolutely no one permission use my writing to train AI ‼️
masterlist • ao3
The bedsheets twist around your limbs and the mattress creaks as you lie beneath your boyfriend, your mouths pressed together in a desperate and hungry kiss.
His hair is damp from sweat, and messy from your fingers raking through it, the dark curls sticking up in every direction. You let out a moan as he slots himself between your legs, grinding up against your core involuntarily.
You and Michael had been all over each other for days, taking advantage of every possible private moment before he leaves for the Victory Tour in less than a week—sneaking away between interviews, staying up late after rehearsals, staying in bed all day on his rare days off—soaking up all the physical contact you can before being forced to spend months apart.
Michael breaks the kiss and begins to trail his mouth down your neck. There are love bites—new and old—littering your skin as he eagerly adds to the growing collection.
He has a few of his own, too—the first few buttons of his black shirt are already undone from your earlier attack. His makeup artist is going to have so much fun trying to cover them up. You can’t bring yourself to care.
His lips are warm and soft, now sucking lightly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You shiver when he blows against the wet spot, pulling away to hook a finger into the collar of your—his—shirt, yanking it aside in order to expose more skin.
Quickly growing irritated at the obstruction, he finally yanks the shirt impatiently over your head. You lift your arms and allow him to slide the fabric up, breaking the kiss just long enough to be rid of the piece of clothing. You pay no attention to where it lands as he tosses it away, wrapping your arms around his shoulders so you can resume kissing him.
He immediately turns his attention to your now-exposed breasts. His hands, large and warm, cup them—thumbs brushing over your nipples. He pulls away and leans down, mouth open and ready.
The second he applies more pressure, though, a sudden and unexpected pain jolts through you. You yelp sharply—causing Michael to pull back immediately, eyes wide with concern.
”What’s wrong?” He asks, breathless. He looks equal parts cute and handsome like this—face flushed, lips kiss-swollen and shiny with spit, yours and his. His brown eyes are glassy and his pupils blown, hair even messier now. His hands hover hesitantly over you as he waits for you to tell him what hurts.
You gape at him for a second, nearly forgetting to respond as your brain stalls at the sight of him. You shake your head. “I’m not sure… They’re just really sore today, I guess. Keep going, I’m okay. I promise. Just be careful.”
He nods, hesitant, but leans back in—slower this time as he presses a gentle kiss against your skin, right on your sternum. Then another, then another.
You comb your fingers through his hair again, your mind beginning to drift as he resumes his affections, kissing and licking your sore breasts. Something… isn’t right.
You’d been extra horny lately. Extra emotional, too. You told yourself that it was simply the stress of him leaving soon—clinginess and desperation building as you anticipate being separated for months.
But you were sick a few days ago. And now, your boobs hurt. They’re always sore before you start your period but—
At that thought, a realization slams into you. Hard.
Without warning, you shove Michael off of you. He lands ungracefully on the bed beside you with a startled yelp.
You scramble off the bed, rushing straight toward the full-length mirror a few feet away from the bed. Your reflection stares back—messy hair, flushed skin, love bites scattered across your neck and chest. Wrong. Something is wrong.
And you’re pretty sure you know what it is.
Michael sits up slowly, adjusting his clothes as he watches you with a curious, but wary, expression. After a moment he speaks, voice small and hesitant: “...Baby?”
You turn sharply toward him, eyes wild. “Michael, what’s the date today?”
The abruptness of your question catches him off guard. “Uh…” He glances around the room, thinking. “It’s the… twenty-ninth, I think?”
His response feels like a physical blow—your face drains, your stomach drops. Knees go weak, and for a second you think you might collapse.
You curse, “Fuck!—”
His eyes go wide at the sudden explosion. “What?! What’s wrong?”
”I’m late,” you breathe, voice raising an octave as panic begins to set in. “Michael, I’m late!”
”Late.” he repeats, oblivious. “Late for what...?”
You stare at him incredulously, stunned that he doesn’t immediately understand. Instead, he sits there looking genuinely lost, brows knitting as he attempts to catch up.
Then you see it—the exact moment it clicks.
”Oh.” He says with a loud gulp. “You mean… late. As in, your—“
You nod, throat tight. “Like, over a week.”
The room suddenly feels too small, the air too heavy and your feet begin to move before your mind has the chance to catch up.
You begin pacing—fast and frantic, back and forth across the room. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you begin to hyperventilate.
“This can’t be happening,” you mutter, running your hands frantically through your hair. “This cannot be happening right now.”
Michael stands slowly, taking a cautious step in your direction. “We don’t know anything for sure yet—“
”That doesn’t matter!” You snap, voice cracking. “Even the possibility is insane! Thriller just came out. You’re about to go on tour. On tour, Michael! For months!”
He flinches at your intensity but stays silent, allowing you to rant. He keeps his distance as you begin to wear a hole in the carpet.
“Do you understand how bad this timing is? How impossible this will be?” You continue, volume continuing to rise.
“We will figure it out, baby. Whatever it is—“
”And we’re not married yet,” You cut in, nearly out of breath now. “Oh god—your mother, Michael. Your mother! Katherine is going to be so disappointed. She’s going to think we’re irresponsible. That I’m—“
His brows lift slightly, surprised at the sudden direction your panic has taken and opens his mouth again to speak but you cut him off again.
”And Joseph—“ You stop pacing just long enough to throw your hands up, bawling them into fists. “Joseph is going to throw a fit. He’s going to blame me. He’s going to say I ruined everything. He’s going to—“
“Hey,” Michael says, taking another careful step forward, beginning to reach toward you. “That’s not—“
But you’re already moving again, already spiraling—ranting about schedules and timing and the press and his family—and just about everything else that could possibly go wrong.
Your hands are trembling, breath uneven and wheezy as your thoughts continue to crash into one other.
“And I’ll be here alone,” you continue, breath shaking. “Pregnant, and alone while you’re halfway across the world.”
Michael's expression tightens—hurt flickering briefly across his features.
“You wouldn’t be alone,” he says quietly, voice soft.
But you don’t hear him. You’re too far gone, too overwhelmed and tangled in anxiety.
”I can’t do this right now. I can’t—I don’t even know how this happened—”
Michael opens his mouth, but quickly closes it, deciding that now is not the time to point out the obvious. He tries again, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Just sit down. Please.”
You shake your head, eyes beginning to well up with tears. “I can’t sit down. I can’t think. I can’t—“
“Alright, hey—“ Michael says, moving closer. You barely notice. You’re still spiraling.
“Hey!” He shouts—not harshly, but loud and sudden enough to jolt you out of your frenzy.
You halt mid-step, breath catching as his fingers close gently, but firmly, around your wrist.
“Look at me,” he says, your eyes snapping to his immediately at his firm tone. “You’re scared. I get that, yeah? But let's slow down so we can think. Just for a minute.”
He continues, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Okay, mama?”
You swallow hard, but nod—the buzzing beneath your skin is still there, but now muted slightly as he takes charge.
His own anxiety eases slightly when he sees you calm down, even a little.
He hands lift in a careful, deliberate motion and settle on your shoulders, warm and steady as he guides you toward the bed.
”Sit down,” he says softly, but with a firmness that leaves no room for argument.
You allow him to guide you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sit, body too overwhelmed to resist. You watch helplessly as he crouches down to pick up your discarded shirt from the floor, pulling over your head and smoothing your hair back until it's out of your face.
Michael lowers himself to the floor in front of you, kneeling until he’s eye-level. The posture makes him look smaller, but somehow stronger—like he’s bracing himself to carry whatever weight you can’t.
His expression is calm—almost unnervingly so—as he looks up at you. He takes your hands in his—enclosing them in his warm grasp and squeezing gently, as if trying to bring you back to reality with a single touch.
“We don’t know anything yet, and panicking won’t help. But I’m not going to expect you to be calm right now. So I’ll be calm for the both of us.”
The words land with a weight that makes your chest ache—he’s not asking you to be okay. He’s not telling you to stop feeling what you’re feeling. He’s stepping into the space he knows you can’t fill right now.
Your eyes sting at his complete and utter conviction. His hands around yours suddenly feel like the only solid thing in the room. You want to cry, but you no longer feel like you’re spiraling out of control.
"I’m scared,” you admit, voice trembling.
“I know,” He nods, lifting one hand from yours and bringing it up to your face, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek as he tucks a strand of hair back. “You’re allowed to be. We’re gonna take this one step at a time. Here’s what we’re going to do—we’re going to get a pregnancy test. And then we’ll go from there.”
Your breath catches—the word pregnancy still feels too heavy, too big. But you nod anyway, because he’s right.
Then, another reality sets in and your face crumples again before you can stop it. “Michael, we can’t just… go to the store. Not without being mobbed. And if anyone sees me buying a pregnancy test…”
”Right,” he murmurs, leaning back on his heels. “…I’ll call Bill.”
You don’t argue. You trust Bill as much as Michael does, but the idea of having to explain this to him, or anyone really, makes your stomach twist.
He stands, squeezing your hand once before letting go. He hesitates for a moment before picking up the phone from its receiver on his nightstand, taking a moment to gather himself before dialing.
Bill picks up almost immediately. You can hear his voice faintly through the reciever—warm, steady, familiar. Bill isn’t just security—he’s family. Practically a second father to Michael, and he’s always adored you.
“Hey, Bill. It’s me.” He says, voice uncharacteristically tight. “Um… I need a favor.”
There’s a pause. Michael swallows thickly. “No, no, everything’s fine. I just... need you to pick something up. From the drugstore.”
Another pause—his cheeks blushing immediately. You’ve seen him embarrassed before—shy, bashful, flustered—but never like this.
You would giggle if you weren’t so distressed yourself. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes squeezed shut as he struggles to find his words.
“A pregnancy test,” he finally blurts out. Michael begins to stammer immediately. “I mean—not for me. Obviously. For her. She’s—we think she might be—we don’t know yet, but—“
You hear Bill say something on the other end, and Michael stops, mortified. His cheeks go red—a full, warm flush that climbs all the way to the tips of his ears.
“Please don’t tease me about this, Bill.” He practically whines, voice small and embarrassed. “Just… Please? Will you?”
You can hear Bill’s tone shift—gentle and affectionate. He loves Michael like a son, of course he wouldn’t do this without a little teasing thrown in. But still, he doesn’t push it. He agrees without hesitation.
Michael exhales. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah. Thank you. And please… be discreet. I know you know. See you soon. Okay. Bye.”
He hangs up and immediately flops back onto the bed. His hands cover his face, pressing against his cheeks like he’s trying to cool them down.
“You okay?” You whisper, holding back your own amusement.
“Yeah,” He peeks at you through his fingers, cheeks still burning. “That was… embarrassing.”
“I know. Thank you,” you respond, leaning down to peck his cheek, the action not helping his blushing.
You lie on the bed in silence as you wait for Bill, listening for the sound of his car pulling in the driveway. You stay lost in your thoughts, and Michael stays in his. He opens his mouth to say something when you notice headlights finally sweep across the driveway.
“That’s him. I’ll be right back,” Michael says, pressing kiss against your forehead as he stands. He hesitates for a half second—not wanting to leave you—before finally scurrying out of the bedroom.
He’s gone just long enough for the quiet to press in around you, your mind beginning to race again. Before you can fall into another spiral, you stand and walk to the other side of the room, watching out the window as your boyfriend practically jogs across the driveway to meet Bill.
The older man gives him a look—half concern, half amusement—the kind of look only someone who’s known you since childhood can give. Bill says something you can’t hear, but you watch as Michael’s shoulders tense, then relax, and then tense again.
Bill hands him the paper bag, and pats his shoulder—a fatherly gesture, warm and steady—and says something else that makes Michael's cheeks turn pink. He shakes his head, embarrassed, but smiles gratefully, thanking him.
You watch as Bill climbs back into the car and drives off. Michael hurries back inside, and seconds later he steps back into the room holding the paper bag to his chest as if it held something delicate. “We got it,”
You nod, and head into the adjacent bathroom, Michael on your heels. He sets the bag down and pulls out the box—tearing it open and unfolding the instructions, smoothing them out flat against the countertop.
You stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, reading the tiny print together. His eyes move slowly across the page, afraid to miss something important.
“Okay…” You take a breath. “I guess I just… go.”
He nods, still reading. “Yeah. That’s what it says.”
You glance at him, expectantly. You clear your throat. He looks at you, blinking in response.
You raise an eyebrow. “Uh, are you going to watch?”
"Oh! Right. Sorry.” He spins around so fast he nearly bumps into the door, facing it like it's the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. He hums, hands folded behind his back as he bounces on his heels.
”Michael…” You sigh, defeated. “You gotta get out.”
He whips around halfway, eyes wide. “What? Why?”
”Because I’m pee-shy,” you hiss, flustered. “Especially with you just standing there listening.”
“But I want to be supportive!” He objects, looking genuinely wounded.
”I know. And you are. But you can be supportive from the other side of the door.”
He hesitates—torn between wanting to be close and wanting to respect your space—but finally obliges when you point impatiently at the door.
”Alright,” he sniffs. “I’ll be right outside, okay?”
He slips out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You let out a long, shaky sigh, slumping against the counter. You take a breath. Then another.
You do what you need to do—heart pounding and hands trembling as you follow the instructions step by step.
When you finish, you set the test on the edge of the counter—carefully, as if it were a bomb and not a pregnancy test.
You stare at it for a moment, then finally leave the room to find Michael sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, hands wringing together anxiously.
His foot taps nervously against the floor. He's tightly wound, but his expression is thoughtful. Focused. Worried. There’s something else there too—something you can’t decipher.
He looks up quickly when he notices your presence. “You okay?”
You nod, though you feel anything but. ”It’s done… it says it’ll take five minutes.”
Wordlessly, he extends his arm out in a silent invitation. You don’t hesitate—falling into his embrace and curling up against his side, letting his warmth wrap around you like a blanket. His arm folds around your shoulders, pulling you tightly against him.
He rests his chin on the top of your head, his fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair—twisting a strand around his finger and letting it fall again over and over again. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, allowing the familiar scent to calm your nerves.
A minute passes like that. Maybe two—you’re not sure. Time feels strange, stretched thin and heavy. The bathroom is only a few feet away, yet it feels like another world.
One where a tiny, unassuming piece of plastic that could change the entire course of your life sits on the counter, counting down minutes that feel impossibly long.
Finally, Michael breaks the silence, his voice low, chest rumbling softly against your cheek where it rests.
“No matter what,” he says, pausing to kiss the crown of your head. ”It’s going to be okay.”
You want to agree, but the fear doesn’t go away. “But what if it’s positive?”
He doesn’t flinch. His fingers continue moving through your hair, gentle and deliberate. “It’ll still be okay.” He says—the certainty in his tone causing your breath to catch. You want to believe it. To believe him.
You shift slightly, pulling away enough to face him—to ask how he can be so sure, to question the promise he’s making so easily. But before you can speak, he leans in and presses his lips against yours, quieting your thoughts.
He lingers for only a second before pulling back, resting his forehead against yours. The panic that had been clawing at your heart finally loosens its grip, and you feel like you can breathe.
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.
”I should…. Go check,” you murmur, the shakiness in your voice betraying your nerves.
Michael tightens his arm around you briefly—keeping you anchored a second longer, before releasing you. You take a deep breath as you stand. He rises with you and you walk side by side into the bathroom, where the test sits exactly where you left it.
You hesitate. “I’m afraid to look.”
”We’ll look together,” he says, shoulder brushing softly against yours. You lean forward at the exact same.
One single blue line.
Negative.
The breath you were holding leaves you in a rush, your knees nearly buckling with relief. The tension drains from your body so fast it makes you dizzy.
“Oh my god,” you gasp. You press a hand to your chest, closing your eyes as you allow the relief to wash over you. “Praise the lord.”
Behind you, Michael doesn’t move. He barely reacts, simply staring at the now-useless test—blankly, quietly. Almost… longingly. But you don’t notice.
Your relief is too loud, too consuming, too overwhelming for anything else to register.
You turn toward him, now feeling sheepish—cheeks suddenly turning red with embarrassment as the memory of your earlier panic flickers back. “I’m sorry. For how I acted. Well… overreacted.”
Michael shakes his head, his expression unreadable. He steps closer and leans down, pecking your forehead. ”You were scared,” he murmurs. “I’m glad it’s… over now. I’m—I’m… glad.”
His voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it—something quiet and thoughtful. Something you can’t quite place.
“It’s late,” he continues before you can question him. “Let's go to bed, yeah?”
You nod gratefully, suddenly realizing how tired you are—emotionally wrung out and physically drained from the whole ordeal.
He doesn’t say anything else, remaining uncharacteristically quiet as you each get ready for bed. You can usually read him so well, but his expression stays neutral and it makes you wonder what’s going on in that head of his.
You lay in bed for a long while. The room is quiet, but it’s thick and heavy, pressing against you.
You’re lying on your side, your back to Michael, but you don’t need to look to know he’s awake. You can practically feel the faint tension that seems to hum from his side of the bed.
There’s something he’s not saying. You can feel it. You stare at the wall for another few minutes—trying to convince yourself you’re imagining it. But the longer you lie there, the more certain you become. He's awake, and whatever he’s thinking about is sitting heavily in the dark between you.
Finally, you decide to bite the bullet—turning slowly onto your other side. The mattress dips slightly as you shift. The room is dim, but the moonlight cutting through the window illuminates his face.
He’s indeed awake—one hand tucked under his head, the other resting lazily on his abdomen. His eyes are open, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, lost somewhere far inside his own mind.
“Mikey?” You whisper, reaching out to gingerly place a hand on his chest.
He grasps it immediately—instinctively, really—his fingers curing around yours like he’s been waiting for you to touch him. He hums in response, a low sound from deep in his throat, but doesn’t look away from the ceiling.
”What’cha thinking about over there?” You ask softly.
“Nothin’,” he responds after a moment.
“You’re a bad liar.” You scoff. “And a loud thinker.”
That earns a small, quiet chuckle from him. His thumb begins to slowly trace small shapes on the back of your hand. “Tell me what's on your mind. Please?”
He goes quiet again, gathering whatever he’s been holding back. You wait patiently, watching him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm.
The moonlight catches the edge of his profile—the curve of his cheekbone, the soft line of his jaw as he chews the inside of his lip, the faint crease between his brows that only appears when he’s thinking too hard.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Anyone else might have thought he had fallen asleep.
”Would it have been so bad?” He finally asks, voice soft and barely above a whisper. “A baby? With me?”
The words land hard, shattering something in your heart. His voice is small, the words vulnerable. He still doesn’t look at you, but his hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.
Then you see it: a faint echo of the way he stared at the negative test earlier—a look you didn’t understand at the time.
You know immediately that this is one of those moments—one where you need to choose your words carefully, where the wrong phrasing could bruise something tender.
“Michael…” You murmur, cautiously. You lift yourself up on your elbow slightly—enough to face him without breaking away physically. “You know that’s not what my panic was about, right? It wasn’t about you.”
He nods slowly. He bites his lip, gaze drifting back to the ceiling. “Yeah, I know.”
You study him for a moment. “Then what are you saying?”
“It’s just that…” He swallows. “I wouldn’t have minded if it had been positive.”
The admission is soft, and he continues staring upward, like he can’t bear to look at you as he says it. Your heart twists as his voice betrays something aching. Something he didn’t mean to reveal out loud.
“I know the timing is bad,” he continues, voice trembling slightly. “The album… The tour. Everything’s… complicated. But part of me was disappointed when the test came back negative.”
As the words leave his mouth, he winces slightly. “I’m sorry.”
”Why are you sorry?”
He shrugs—a small, helpless motion.
“Because I know that you’re—that… we’re not ready. Either of us.” His voice tightens, like he’s trying not to cry. “But… It hurt a little. Hearing you say that you’d be alone. ‘That you think I would abandon you and our baby.”
He turns his head, finally looking at you fully—bambi-eyes watery, and in them you can see the aching that he’s been carrying around for the last few hours. He’s not angry or resentful. Just… Sad.
Yearning for something he doesn’t have.
You open your mouth to respond, but before you can speak he shifts, his grip tightening around your hand.
”I would cancel the tour,” he continues, slight defensiveness creeping into his tone. “before I left you alone and pregnant.”
“Michael…” you start, voice catching. “That’s exactly why the timing is wrong. I don’t want you to put your career on hold for me.”
He rolls his eyes slightly—not at you, but at the situation. “I don’t want to go on the Victory Tour in the first place. You know that.”
“I do.” You exhale, nodding. “I do know that, baby.”
He looks at you sharply, frustrated. Not with you—never with you—but with everything else:
The obligations. The pressure. The expectations. His father.
”But you made a commitment.” You remind him gently. “To your fans. To your brothers.”
His jaw tightens, conflict registering across his face.
He knows you’re right, that he couldn’t simply walk away from the tour. Not without consequences.
”And…” you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I want to be married first, before we have a baby. And I know you want that too.”
Again, you’re right. He does want that. To do things the ‘right’ way.
He wants that more than anything.
“Yeah,” he finally relents. “You’re right.”
A beat of silence settles into the space between you as he resumes his task of tracing shapes into your skin, slow and thoughtful.
Then, suddenly, he stops.
“Would you marry me if I asked?” He blurts out, as if the thought had pushed its way to the surface before he could stop himself.
Your entire body goes still—the abruptness of his question essentially giving you whiplash.
You stare at him, stunned—mouth opening and closing over and over as you try, and fail, to form a response. ”Michael… I— are you asking me—?“
He shakes his head immediately, quick and earnest. “No, no. I’m not asking you. Not like this.”
He turns his whole body to face you—a boyish grin tugging at his lips. “I’d do it in a much more romantic way than in bed on a random Tuesday night after you just peed on a stick.”
Your heart does a backflip at his certainty, at the sweet promise tucked into his words.
“I was just wondering if you would say yes.”
“Oh.” You say dumbly, your face growing warm as you smile despite yourself. You squeeze his hand. “I—Yes. If you asked. I would.”
“Okay, good.” he nods, almost to himself, a secret little smile playing on his lips. He lets out a relieved sigh, squeezing your hand in return.
He reaches up and brushes his thumb along your jaw. “Thats real good. Because after this stupid tour is over with… I’ve got all sorts of plans.”
Your heart flutters, and you can’t hold back the little giggle that escapes as you lie back down against his chest. The thought is warm, dizzying, and impossible not to voice—
”Engagement.” You murmur. “Wedding. And then a baby?”
“Babies.” He corrects.
”Babies.” You repeat, deadpan. “Like… multiple?”
”I want eighteen,” he states with full conviction, not even slightly joking.
“Michael Joseph Jackson!” You squeak, smacking his chest playfully. “That’s not… I can’t believe—let me remind you, Mister ‘Eighteen Kids’, that you would not be the one pushing something very large out of a very small hole.”
He snickers mischievously—a warm, delighted sound. His bright eyes crinkle at the edges, the tension from earlier finally melting into something soft and hopeful.
”Okay, alright,” he concedes, dramatically rubbing the spot you hit. “We’ll start with one. And see how that goes.”
Your mutual laughter fades into a quiet hum as you settle against him again, and the future you’re both imagining—engagement, wedding, marriage, and babies—hangs in the air like a warm, sure promise.
You lift your head up from his chest just once more—and lean up to kiss him.
His lips meet yours without hesitation, and when you pull back his eyes stay closed, as if savoring it.
”M’gonna miss you so much. This tour is already too long, and it hasn’t even started.” He murmurs against your lips.
”I know, baby. I hate it too. But we’ll talk every day. And write letters. And I’ll visit you on as many stops as I can. And hey—one perk of me not being pregnant is that I can visit you on tour as much as I want.”
“That is a perk,” He admits, but the melancholy in his tone doesn’t fade.
”And besides,” you continue teasingly, trying to cheer him up. “You’ll be keeping yourself real busy looking for an engagement ring.”
He laughs finally—an actual laugh, warm and bright and boyish.
”Hush, woman,” he playfully reprimands, poking you in the ribs. “Don’t go and try to spoil my plans, now.”
Your left hand rests against his heartbeat and suddenly, in your mind's eye, you can see it: a ring sitting there, glinting softly in the moonlight, comfortable and natural, like it always belonged there.
The picture continues to unfold—a life, a full and happy one, with the man you love. A life with Michael.
(and, apparently, his eighteen babies.)
He hums contentedly as you curl up against him, pulling you impossibly close before drifting off to sleep.
a/n: if you’ve read this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart!
any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. please enjoy and be kind ❤️
taglist: @roses-without-raindrops @amnesia-sc @slickdickwitchbitchh @daydreamerwithnolife @umibug @unknwnbrii @i-heart-carlisle @yomamajbkj @18lkpeters @alohaluz @miratate @sarcasmismyfirstlove @escuzimwa @brownsugarletters @ap-ple-head @alikedaya @moonwalkheart @strawbevrri @imbetterinstereo @bunnykay @mysterious--treasure
comment to be added or removed :)
summary: michael finds y/n’a diary and after having a little snoop, he bookmarks a few pages just for later…
masterlist
thinking about best!friend!michael who finds y/n’s diary on her bedside table one day, when she’s gone out into the garden to pick flowers with janet.
he knows it’s wrong to snoop, but he can’t help it, maybe a few pages won’t hurt, right?
oh, but the things he reads? he’d never have thought that y/n would be thinking all those things, especially not about him.
best!friend!michael who makes sure to bookmark a few pages that particularly interest him, so he knows which ones to come back to later.
he spends the rest of the day thinking about everything he’s read, waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring it up with y/n, to see how she’d react.
best!friend!michael who finds y/n in her room later in the evening, sat on her bed with a book laid open on her chest, turning the page every few minutes.
he drops the diary next to her, biting on the inside of his cheek as y/n stares at it, realisation filling her face as she notices how a few of the pages have the corners folded over.
“michael…” her voice trails off, her mind going to the exact things she had written inside of it.
best!friend!michael who somehow ends up with y/n’s skirt bunched up over her waist, his fingers dragging down her waist, the book laid open on the first page he’d folded the corner of.
y/n moans, his lips sucking on the sensitive part of her neck, tongue flicking against her pulse point, legs tight round his waist.
“read it t’me,” he groans into her ear, his dick throbbing in his trousers at the thought of her writing all those things, thinking no one would ever find them.
he watches how she stutters at first, trying to wriggle out of having to read it aloud.
he watches how her face burns in embarrassment - but where was that when she wrote such filthy little things in her diary?
best!friend!michael who nudges his knee against her burning core, making her gasp, her lips parting at the slight warning he gave her.
y/n eventually gives in, her shaky hands pulling the book closer to her, almost hiding her face behind it as her eyes focus on the first words, his hands still holding tight into her waist.
“d-dear diary,” she starts, still trying desperately to hide her face behind the book, “i had dinner r-round m-michael’s house today,”
she pauses when her eyes flicker onto the other half of the sentence, before he notices her stopping, his hands pausing on her waist.
“carry on,” he pushes his knee again as she whines, her head falling back into the plush pillows, “and don’t hide your pretty face from me,” he tugs the book out of her face so he can see her.
best!friend!michael who has to physically sink his teeth into his lower lip to stop him from moaning as she continues reading, “…a-and he…he looked s’good at dinner, and…i never realised how long his fingers were,”
he could physically see her face go all flushed as she read the words aloud. “y’were thinkin’ about my hands while we was having’ dinner?” he watched y/n’s eyes drop down to her skirt, so she didn’t have to look at him.
“while my own mother was sat opposite you,” he hums, hand sliding down between her thighs, “how about we make that little fantasy of yours a reality?”
y/n barely has any time to react before his long fingers hook under the waistband of her panties, soaked from being so close to him, before he drags one finger along her pussy, collecting her arousal on the tip of his finger.
best!friend!michael who watches her squirm as he brings his finger to his mouth, tasting her sweetness against his tongue as he groans, making sure to savour every last drop of it.
“please…mike,” she moans as he moves his hand back between her legs, tracing gentle circles round her throbbing clit, almost teasing her, before he moves it down, ghosting over her entrance.
“so wet…this all f’me?” he leans downs his voice low, y/n’s head tipping back into the pillow as he nudges her clit with his knuckle, “needy thing,”
he uses his other hand to hold her stomach down before he slides one long, slender into her tight hole, letting her warmth envelope him as she moans, back arching slightly, eyes fluttering closed.
best!friend!michael who pushes into her til he settles knuckle-deep into her pussy, bending his finger as he watches her face contort with pleasure.
“so damn tight,” he whispers, her pussy clamping round him, “don’t think my dick’s gonna fit,”
y/n responds with a moan as he moves his other hand to her clit, rubbing messy circles into her sensitive bud, pumping his finger in and out of her slowly.
he curls his finger in the perfect spot, making y/n gasp and buck against his hand, before he pushed another finger in.
“god, you’re so perfect,” he groans, her teeth catching her earlobe as she hissed, eyes fluttering closed.
her back arches further, right til he settles knuckle-deep inside of her, his fingers doing a scissoring motion inside of her as her toes curl, her slick covering his long fingers.
best!friend!michael who pulls his fingers out with absolutely no warning, earning a shriek from y/n as he drops the book into her lap again, a smirk on his pretty face.
“read the next page,” he says, watching as y/n’s face contorts into another look of embarrassment.
“jus’ had my fingers knuckle deep inside of you,” he hums, watching as she shakily turns the page, “don’t go shy on me now, pretty girl,” he drags his tongue round one of his fingers as y/n whines a series of ‘please’ and ‘i need you’.
“read,”
“d-dear diary,” y/n swallows, her eyes focusing on the page, trying to ignore how much she needed him against her pussy, “watched the boys play basketball…”
her voice trails off again, heat coming to her face as he gave her an impatient little slap on her pussy, making her gasp, the sound slick, and wet, and filthy.
“carry on,”
“and-and,” she continues, close to tears now, “m-mikey looked s’good in his shorts, h-his thighs…”
best!friend!michael who takes the book from her before she finishes, a wicked little smirk on his face as she whines, desperately dragging her pussy against his leg.
“s’needy,” he hums, looking at how pathetic she looked, “c’mere,” he tugged on her arm, “ride my thigh,”
y/n didn’t need to be told twice, crawling forwards with absolutely no shame, her hot pussy settling against his thigh, muscular thigh as she moaned, the contact making her body shiver.
“c’mon, ma,” he settles his hands on her waist, “wanna write all these filthy little things in your book, show me what you were imaginin’,”
best!friend!michael who guides her against him, dragging her wet cunt along his thigh, her slick coating his gorgeous skin as she moans, head thrown back.
the sounds are filthy too, wet and thick, her hands on his shoulders for support as she rides his thigh, her movements full of desperation.
“all these dirty little thoughts,” he leaned back on his arms so he could get a good luck, her hips jerking frantically, “from such a sweet girl, hm?”
y/n just lets out a choked moan, her head thrown back as he watches her, god she looks delicious.
best!friend!michael who picks up the pink diary, waving it in her face, teasing her, “such a pretty pink book,” he hums, “full of such filth,”
she doesn’t even react when he opens it to one of the other countless pages he’s bookmarked, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he reads it aloud.
“‘can’t keep my mind off of him’,” he watches as her movements become more frantic against him, “‘i need him so bad.’ that true, mama? need me that bad?”
she let out a whine, biting onto her lower lip as he hummed, not at all impressed by her lack of an answer,
“tell me,” he says, voice stern as he grabs her hips, stopping her pathetic little movements, “tell me what your filthy little mind’s been thinkin’ about,”
“you,” y/n gasps, her words choked her hips buck in the air wildly, desperate for contact again.
best!friend!michael who’s had enough time teasing her, and lifts her off his lap as she whines, the diary on the floor now as he rids himself of his clothes.
he watches as y/n’s lip trembles, his dick semi-hard against his stomach.
he pushes her so she’s bent over the bed, dragging his throbbing tip through her folds as he pumps himself a few times, his dick heavy and thick in his hand.
“y’gonna take it all, ma?” he leans down, voice low on her ear as she nodded, twisting the bedsheets tight in her hands.
best!friend!michael who holds her waist tight with one hand, as the other guides his dick into her, stretching her pussy round him as she moans, settling deep inside of her as he groans.
y/n throws her head back, eyes rolling back as he rocks his hips, his dick hitting to her g-spot.
“feels s’fucking good,” he groans into her neck, pulling her back into him as he sped up, his tip slamming into that perfect, spongy spot inside of her.
his hand comes forwards to her hair, pulling her head back to drag wet, hot kisses down her jaw as he fucks deeper into her, muttering praise into her ear.
“takin’ me so well, such a pretty, filthy girl,”
best!friend!michael who can tell y/n’s close, her face hot, eyes hazy and lips parted, her pussy clamping desperately round him as he slows down, dragging himself painfully slow into her.
he makes her savour every inch of him inside of her, before he resumes his quick, harsh snaps, his hips smacking into her ass.
his hands reach forwards round her, cupping her tits and squeezing, pulling soft moans and whimpers from her as he groaned, forehead against her shoulder.
"right there, right fucking there," she mewls, desperate for him, as he hit that perfect, sweet spot.
“here, ma?” he angles his hips a little away as she whines, pathetic and needy, shaking her head, “what about here?”
y/n just shook her head again, toes curling.
best!friend!michael who knows exactly what she wants, finally driving hard against that sweet spot, making her shriek in pleasure as the knot in her stomach tightens.
“finish f’me,” he hisses, “i know you’re close,”
she gasps, her eyes rolling back as he keeps hitting that spot hard, her body shaking as she finishes, his dick still fucking into her through her high.
“michael, mikey fuck-,” y/n gasps out, so desperate, her voice thick as he fucks her through her high.
he moves almost embarrassingly easy inside of her, her pussy wet enough for him to slide in and out of her.
best!friend!michael who pulls her arm back so her back arches just enough for him to hit that perfect spot with exact precision. “so close, feel s’good round me, fuck, ma-,”
he finishes with a deep groan, cum spurting inside of her, hot and thick as he holds her in a tight bear hug, his hair sticking to his forehead, chest covered in a light sheen or sweat.
“shh baby,” he whispers into her hair as she comes down from her high, his dick twitching inside of her, “s’alright now, you did so good f’me,”
he pulls out of her so slow, so not to hurt her, his hand threading gently through her hair to comfort her, muttering sweet nothings into her ear as he does so.
best!friend!michael who decides the best decision of his life was choosing to read that diary.
SUMMARY: Coming home early from a girls' trip, you accidentally walk in on Michael during a very private moment. Mortified at first, your embarrassment soon turns into curiosity, and instead of pretending it never happened, you begin asking the questions you've always been too shy to voice. Patiently and without judgment, Michael helps you understand feelings you've never been able to put into words before.
WARNINGS: softdom!michael, inexperienced!reader, established relationship, age gap, guided exploration, masturbation (m), praise, reassurance, emotional intimacy, fluff, aftercare, smut
Disclaimer! Reader is an adult in her mid-twenties!
WC: 3k
A/N: I hope you like this, babes <3 But I need to write some bratty!reader next, I miss herrrrr
-Baby
♡ ───── ♡ ───── ♡
Sometimes, Michael couldn’t help himself. When you were out, or he was alone in the studio, he would take his weeping cock out of his pants, wrap his hand around it and stroke himself until completion. You were inexperienced, and not ready to take things physical yet. And while he was understanding and respected your pace, his cock still throbbed in his pants sometimes.
You had been on a girls trip with friends, and weren’t supposed to come home until late at night. He used that opportunity, sitting on the couch, slumped against the cushions. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his pants entirely, just enough so he could pull out his hard length and wrap his fist around it.
A sheen layer of sweat sat over his lip, his eyes shut and brows raised in bliss as he made up imaginations of you inside his brain. He saw you kneeling before him, mouthing at his fat tip with that cute overwhelmed expression you had anytime you explored something new with him. His legs were spread wide, and he felt a tiny sense of guilt for fantasizing about you in such a lewd way.
But he couldn’t control it. He was just a man who loved you after all. Of course he stole a glance whenever you bent over in your little sleeping shorts, trying to find a seasoning hidden deep in the cabinet. Michael was just being slick with it, averting his eyes to his cup when you turned around with a smile of success, holding onto whatever you were searching for.
He would hate himself for making you feel uncomfortable, so he put your needs first, and his second.
So maybe that’s why, when you had opened the front door, and closed it behind you with a soft thud, he hadn’t noticed. His heavy breathing and grunting filling the space of the living room.
It reached your ears, and the first feeling you had was concern. You thought that maybe he had hurt himself. You kicked off your shoes and hurried to the living room. But the sight you were met with definitely didn’t live up to your expectations.
He sat there, his head thrown back into the cushions, hair sticking to his forehead and sprawling out around him beautifully. His brows were furrowed, eyes closed, and his bobbing adams apple on full display. His rough lips were parted, letting out moans and heavy breaths.
But then your eyes dropped to his crotch.
His hardened length was dripping beneath his long fingers as he tugged his foreskin up and down in a steady rhythm.
Your eyes widened, and you covered them with your hand, a small yelp of surprise escaping you.
His eyes shot open, and his hand stilled upon hearing the sound of your voice. His chest rose up and down quickly, breathing through his nose now as he watched you standing in the doorway. You wore cute, pink little sweatshorts with a matching top. He bit his lip, before smiling and lifting a hand to his brow.
“Baby?” he asked, rubbing his fingers along his brow, “What are you doing here?”
You didn’t lower the hand over your eyes, a blush spreading on your face as Michael started getting a little flustered. He opted from circling his fingers around his dick to covering it with them, not being able to fully do so with just one hand.
“Uhm,” you stammered, turning your head sideways, “one of the girls got a headache, so uh, we decided to leave a bit early”
“Oh,” he nodded, biting his lip a bit, “Can you look at me?”
You hesitated.
“Is it – are you? I mean, are you wearing clothes?”
He couldn’t stop himself from breathing out a laugh.
“Kinda?”
You dared to peek at him through your fingers, only to find him barely covering himself with his hand.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you would be home for another few hours baby”
You kept looking through your fingers, your brows scrunching together a bit. He moved his hand away, and started pulling his pants back on, but as you saw his bare length, hard and thick, something inside you changed.
“Wait” you said, the word leaving you faster than intended.
He froze, tilting his head in your direction. You finally lowered your hand, not sure were to look at. Your gaze fell on his face, then down to his cock, before quickly searching the room for a distraction. He wasn’t sure what your reaction meant, but he settled into the couch a little more comfortably again.
“You can look baby, it’s okay”
Your eyes widened.
“Michael”
“What,” he shrugged, giving you a warm smile, “I can tell you’re trying very hard not to, you don’t have to do that”
You bit your lip, but still didn’t allow yourself to stare at him. It was the first time to see him like that. You only saw him shirtless, but never exposed like this.
“C’mere, let’s talk”
You gulped slowly, before walking over to the sofa, sitting on the opposite end of where he was, hugging your knees to your chest and still avoiding his gaze.
“You want to just forget about this and watch a movie?” his tone was gentle, though it carried the tiniest hint of hope. Hope that you would deny his offer.
Your eyes finally met his, and you gave a small head shake to him.
“I-I’m curious, Mikey” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, “can I see what you did earlier…?”
He wet his lips, gliding his gaze over your body once, his cock twitching upward a little at your request. A look of surprise crossed your face as you saw it. You were so clueless about the male body, and if you were being honest, about your own body too.
“Are you sure? I’m okay, baby”
You nodded, meeting his round eyes.
Michael hesitantly wrapped his fingers around his dick again, just holding it. You wanted to stare so badly, but felt shy to do so. While he was the one sitting exposed before you, your shyness overpowered.
“I have a question” your voice came out small, and your ears were heating up.
“Go ahead, baby girl” he said, beginning to move his hand slowly, revealing the blushing tip to you. A warm feeling stirred low in your belly, and you found yourself not able to look away from him now.
“Mmh…, do you do this, like, often?”
Michael chuckled a little before answering.
“Sometimes,” he said, “when you’re out or I’m at the studio”
His breathing picked up slightly, matching the pace of his hand.
“A-and,” you stopped yourself, feeling embarrassed to ask the question burning on your tongue.
Michael laid his head back into the cushions, tilting his face into your direction. Having you sit innocently beside him was so much better than the images he made up in his head. Even though you weren’t doing anything explicit, the mere sight of your flushed face before him was enough. He let out a deep groan.
“Ask, baby. There is no need to be shy, you hear me?”
You took a deep breath.
“What do you… think about?”
Michael gave you a lazy smile, a strand of hair sticking to the side of his face.
“You”
You froze for a second.
“…Me?” you asked, searching his face with your eyes, “Like?”
He briefly closed his eyes, a little grunt spilling from his throat as the earlier images crept into his brain.
“Wanna know what I imagined before you barged in?”
You nodded, a little too eagerly for your liking. Your heart pounded strongly in your chest.
“Thought ‘bout you on your knees baby,” he breathed, staring at your bare legs, and stopping right above the seams of your white socks.
“How it would be like if you kiss my cock,”
You winced at his choice of words, but he ignored it.
“Imagined that cute, overwhelmed expression on your face” his breathing was heavier than before, and his stare on you was hot. He pointed to your face with his free hand.
“There, exactly that one, god”
You bit your lip, and squeezed your thighs together a little, trying to ease the ache between them.
“Come a bit closer, please” he almost moaned, his eyes begging. You watched his hand moving up and down, twisting his wrist a bit as he reached the top, before scooting a bit closer.
Michael’s large hand wrapped around your ankle firmly, squeezing and rubbing the skin there to ground himself. The sounds that left his lips stirred a new feeling inside of you, a deep ache in your core. You didn’t know how to ease it, and it felt overwhelming.
“Michael, I,” you wanted to express the feeling that you couldn’t order into a category, but didn’t know how to. The fingers burying into your skin felt reassuring, though they left you antsy. Shifting in your position, and rubbing your legs together subtly. Of course you knew that tingling feeling it gave you, but you had always felt it on accident, never trying to chase it.
“What’s the matter baby, tell me” he breathed, his hand stroking faster.
“I don’t know” you whispered, feeling overwhelmed, “I feel like wanting something, but I can’t put into words what it is”
Michael nodded, he noticed you rubbing and squeezing your thighs together.
“Does the feeling ease when you rub your legs against each other like that, baby?”
His words left your eyes to widen, feeling caught. Your cheeks were burning, embarrassment flooding through you. But that feeling of want was stronger.
“A little” your voice came out so small he barely overheard it.
He stilled his movements on his cock, exhaling deeply.
“Baby,” he started, scooting a little closer to you, “do you ever touch yourself when you’re alone?”
You weren’t dumb, you knew what he was referring to, but you still wanted to be a hundred percent sure, just for the small chance he had a different meaning.
“Touch… where?”
His expression stayed serious, and his voice came out dark as he spoke.
“Between your legs”
Your fingers began absentmindedly fidgeting, rubbing against each other and tugging at your nails carefully.
“No” you whispered, taking in his surprised expression.
“Never? Not alone?”
You shook your head, a shy smile pulling at your lips.
He groaned a little, his thumb continuing to rub circles into your overheated skin.
“I can’t believe it” he mumbled to himself, agonized that you had never felt the pleasures of exploring your own body. His eyes found yours carefully, and he stared into them intensely.
“You want to ease the ache, baby?”
You were surprised, wondering how he knew it was literally aching, but maybe that was just your inexperience talking. You gave him a hesitant nod, unsure of the meaning behind his question.
“Sit over there” he said, gesturing to the corner of the couch that you had sat in earlier. You did, leaning your back against the cushions, sitting down sideways. Michael stood, pulling off his pants entirely. His cock hung heavy between his legs, throbbing, aching to be touched. But to Michael, you came first. He took a seat before your feet, as you were still hugging your legs close to your body.
He radiated this new energy off of him, luring you in. you wanted him closer, wanted to bury your head into his neck and be held by him. But you waited patiently for what he was about to do next.
“Can you take off your shorts?”
You blinked at him a few times.
“Not your panties, just the shorts” he clarified.
Your fingers moved to the hem of the pink fabric slowly, unsure in your doing, before hooking underneath it and awkwardly sliding them off.
“Good, now spread your legs a little for me”
A look of horror crossed your face.
“Spread?” you whispered, feeling a bit insecure.
He nodded without hesitation.
“You’re still wearing your panties baby, don’t worry, I won’t bite” he smiled.
You let go of your legs, unsure of what to do with your hands now. You spread them just a little, carefully, but enough for Michael to see the damp spot that had formed on the pink cotton. He sighed, his cock stirring in it’s wake.
You noticed, and felt a sudden wave of shame rush through you, moving to close your legs a little again. But Michael was quick to stop you, placing a hand on your knee, holding them open.
“It’s okay baby, I like it” he said, his stare on your clothed pussy hot.
“Can you touch yourself for me?” he asked, but you shook your head.
“I don’t know how” you mumbled, slinging your arms around your waist in a weak attempt to cover yourself.
His mouth parted a little, before he gave you a smile.
“Can I?”
You exhaled shakily, but gave him a nod, anticipating his touch. But he didn’t give it to you where you wanted it most. He started trailing his fingers up your calf, his touch soft and gentle, before moving to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You spread your legs wider unconsciously, the smallest sigh escaping you.
Michael gave you a warm smile, and kept his gaze on your face as he carefully placed his thumb on your clothed clit. He applied light pressure, beginning to move it up and down. You gasped, lowering your head to watch his hand moving on you.
“Michael” you whined.
He pressed his thumb down further, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You had never felt anything like this before.
“Ssh, I got you” he said. You lifted your hand up to your mouth, covering it to stop the embarrassing sounds that threatened to leave you. You squeezed your eyes shut, concentrating on the intense feeling of his big thumb on your little clit.
“That’s it baby, just feel it” he murmured, circling his free hand around his erection again, beginning to stroke it in the same rhythm that he pleasured you with. You dared to look at him, a loud moan came out muffled against your palm as you saw him touching himself while looking at you. Your body felt hot, and a layer of sweat began to form under your knees.
“Let me hear you, please” he groaned, letting out a few grunts himself. You did, lowering the hand that covered your mouth to clutch his sleeve. Michael found that endearing, how you always seemed to hold onto him in overwhelming situations.
“It’s g-good, Mikey,” you breathed, meeting his brown eyes, “never felt something like this”
He nodded, and his thumb glided over your core more effortlessly as the fabric continued to get wetter, slicking up the material.
“God baby,” he moaned, “you’re so wet”
You whined upon hearing his lewd words, and something inside your core seemed to tighten, a new feeling rushing to your body. You took another look at his face, his hair stuck in strands to his forehead, his skin glistening with sweat. His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth, and the sight of him tightened the feeling even more.
It was unfamiliar, coming fast, and it made you panic.
“M-mike, it’s, it feels different,” you breathed, your brows furrowed and lips glistening with your own spit.
“I know baby, I know,” he reassured you, picking up his pace, “You’re getting close”
A broken sob left your lips, your hips beginning to grind into his hand, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt tighter.
“Close?”
“Yea, close to your orgasm, release, baby”
Oh, this is what it was. You were finally able to put a name to the tightening knot in your lower belly.
Your breathing picked up, coming in short and shakily. Your toes curled, and an unexpected wave of warmth rolled through your body, leaving you to hold your breath as you stared at Michael with parted lips. Your limbs seemed to tense up, especially your core, before a shock of release rushed through you.
Michael was mesmerized as he watched you experience your first ever orgasm, sucked in all of the little details of your reaction. The way your legs trembled, and your lids threatened to close, and the way your nub pulsed beneath his finger.
You let out a cry, the intense pleasure soon turning into too much, leaving you to trap Michael’s hand between your thighs and shake your head. He understood, and let his fingers wander to your hand, intertwining it with his. The stroking on his cock never faltered, and you took him in with tired eyes.
“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, “you’re so pretty when you cum”
It didn’t take him much longer to reach his release too, throwing his head back and letting out a broken grunt as he shot ropes and ropes of his warm seed onto his shirt. You watched him in awe as he squeezed your hand almost bruisingly.
He slumped into the cushions, out of breath and exhausted, before shooting you a smile.
“You okay?”
You returned his smile warmly.
“Yea”
Michael moved to shrug off his dirty shirt, before pulling you into his embrace. You settled against his chest, nuzzling your face into the warm skin. His scent felt grounding, reassuring.
“That was…” you trailed off, not knowing how to word your feeling, “amazing?”
His chest vibrated with a quiet laugh.
“You did so good, baby” he whispered, threading his fingers through your hair. You smiled against his skin, before tilting up your head and stealing a peck from him.
ᰔᩚ you and michael are in the studio recording man in the mirror while bickering and teasing each other + quincy finding it utterly hilarious.
michael had blown up your answering machine for almost a week now. repeated calls with the same mantra — “hey, it’s michael,” a small pause with the sound of papers rustling around.
“i was wondering if you’d want to, uhh, partner up…for a song” and right as you thought it was sorta endearing that he thought of you of all people — his pop queen counterpart to be in a song with — he continued, “quincy has been insisting i ask..” que the eyeroll.
“just give me a call back, you know my number..goodnight” overall it sounded like a good deal but you were painfully stubborn. you had a shtick of never doing collabs. they felt conformist and draining. forcing yourself to sit by someone in the studio for hours knowing the two of you will not be continuing a friendship afterwards. ugh.
you tossed your lyric filled notebook onto the coffee table and stalk over to the phone to delete your voicemails. “take a hint” you muttered to no one. turning on your heels to continue writing, your phone lets out a loud ring. you quickly cock your head to the side in annoyance. 10:35 p.m. the clock read. “who on earth — hello?” you questioned the silence in the other end.
“hey, sweet girl” quincy’s voice was warm and sweet, the stark opposite of your sharp and mean greeting. you let out a sigh already knowing why quincy was calling this late. “quincy, did michael make you call?” “sweetheart, we both would love to have your voice on this track” he tried to reason. michael was so sneaky. he knew how much respect you had for quincy, he was like a second father to you. this made it incredibly hard to say no to him especially when he’s the main reasons for your fame in the first place. “what’s the title of the track?” you asked.
Westlake Recording Studios, Los Angeles
the studio was busy to say the least. forgotten food, empty coffee cups, scattered papers, miscellaneous instruments, an insane amount of wires and three people trying to reach an agreement.
“instead of message, can you say messahge” michael asked with a slight twang on the word. you slipped your headphones back on using them as a makeshift headband to hold back your curls.
your voiced carried around the studio following michael’s suggestion.
“and no message could’ve been any clearer” as soon as you finished the note you looked at michael who had a pleased expression, and that was what caused your 50th eye roll of the night. unfortunately, michael immediately saw.
“what was that about” he squinted at you.
“what was what about” you argued back.
“it’s not nice to roll your eyes at someone”
“oh please, as if-“ your rebuttal cut off by a loud quincy.
“kids please” quincy pled, rewinding the tape so you both can sing again.
“kids?” you and michael questioned simultaneously. all quincy could do was laugh, the track had restarted and you both had to lock back in on recording background vocals.
michael watched as you sung your dedicated lines. he swayed side to side while chewing on the headphone cord, and patting his thighs to the rhythm. deep inside he wanted to compliment you, thank you for taking your time out of your busy schedule, but you both were tired, hungry, and agitated. it wasn’t the time for soft spoken compliments. instead he turned to quincy and gave a thumbs up that quincy also returned.
“hey antsy pants, i can hear you moving while i sing” you fuss.
“you know, when you complain you sound like carol burnett” michael muttered while turning the pages in his lyric book.
a dramatic gasp left your mouth and you put a hand over your chest, exaggerating your offended nature. quincy took this as an opportunity to pull out a camera. after pressing all the right buttons he panned the camera up, aiming it at the both of you.
the footage was shaky and grainy. you could be seen with one hand on your hip and the other pointing a very accusing finger at michael. michael on the other hand was staring at you with nothing but infatuation, his mouth was slightly agape as if he wanted to argue but was too amused.
then quincy’s voice could be heard from behind the camera.
“one day we’re gonna look back on this footage…and it’s gonna be at their wedding” quincy said — not so quietly.
all of a sudden the bickering stopped. sorta. your face slowly turned to the camera. with one eyebrow raised your pointed finger was now pointed at quincy and if anything michael’s smile just got bigger.
“i didn’t even know she could hear me.” was the last thing the camera heard before the tape cut.
— guide to writing in the mj fandom if you’re not black !
hi everyone! i think it’s about time someone from the black community puts this together just for everyone else to know what’s acceptable and not acceptable when writing in this fandom, and basic etiquette in a fandom dedicated to a proud black man.
your username/blog name!!
of course we’ve all probably seen the discourse around that blog and their username including a word associated with the black community (the word being ebony). if you use a word that associated with being black, or a race that isn’t yours, don’t use it!!!
how you portray yourself!!
using reaction photos/memes that primarily depict a black person should be avoided!! pinterest and the internet is a wide place to search for alternatives. of course, you may stumble across a few of another race that you like, but if you only limit yourself to using black people as images, it comes across as you’re making fun of us.
how you speak (outside of fanfics)!!
the majority of “tiktok slang” derives from aave and black people centred dialects. think about how you come across when using it, and maybe search the connotations/origins of the words you’re using before you do so.
how you create speech in fanfics!!
michael was a proud black man, we all know that. but non-black authors should steer clear of using aave in their work. it isn’t for you, using it comes across as trying to imitate/mock us. instead, try to keep dialogue “neutral” and avoid common patterns such as knocking letters of the end etc.
using stereotypes!!
being black doesn’t automatically make you sassy, aggressive, or “street”. this goes for writing michael as well, avoid using their tropes, and instead rely on interviews/videos to see his real personality instead of labelling us under the same umbrella. and michael was not white.
black characters in your work!!
again, avoid using stereotypes. we are not all “hood”. not every lesbian black woman is butch. we do not all speak the same way. avoid writing black characters purely because you can not relate to our experiences or have lived a day in our shoes.
black authors, feel free to add anything else onto this at you’d like to in the comments. everyone else, thank you for reading and please be mindful of who you’re writing about, speaking to etc. there has been far too many instances of conscious and unconscious racism in this fandom, which is shocking considering who this fandom is about.
lots of love,
@bambijackson 🪽 (a proud black woman)
