đđđđđđđđ brief sexual contents (intentional unprotected sex, p in v penetration, creampie, âbreedingâ essentially), explicit language, fluff, (tw!! very minor mentions of body image), michael being a loving father. proofread but iâm half asleep at the editing stage, if you see any errors⊠no you didnât!
đđđđđđđ you felt ecstatic when you learned you and michael would be having your first child, even at the peak of his career. children bring many trials and tribulations, but to the two of youâthis was a blessing.
đđđđ, đđđĂ Ę đŐ Üž.ËŹ.ÜžŐ𩯠hi again! michael and his desire to start a family early has been lingering like clockwork on my mind, and i know all of us wouldâve given him a whole football team if he asked for it Ëđ·Ë
đđđđ đđđđđ 4.6K a pretty short (in my eyes) little one two while i brainstorm some longer fic ideas, enjoy! ââ§Â°đČÖŒđą
You and Michael had a bond that was unbreakable since the early years of adolescence. You often talked about the uncomfortability of growing up, and when life just wasnât going to be so simple anymore. You used to be afraid of getting older, having to put everything aside for what was to comeâand so was Michael. He wasnât able to have a regular childhood like you were. He was accustomed to hard work and heavy manual labor at the early ages of five years old. He wasnât used to the celebration of the major holidays, gifts under the Christmas tree, or even birthdays most of the time. Joseph thought things like that were a waste of time, and that work was more important than living through his childhood.
This affected Michael big time, too. When he would visit the small, one story house you and your parents lived in, he got a taste of what real childhood was like. Decorations for every holiday, birthday parties every year, and the biggest of allâyour own room, that was catered and decorated to directly fit your personality.
Was Michael a little envious of you as a child, of course he wasâhe had every right to be. But once you let him in your life, you helped him fill the void that was down in his heart. You two were able to be kids together, and he never failed to enjoy every lasting moment with you.
You hit your teenage years, and fell for each other. It was a feeling that sat in the low depths of your heart for the longest, too timid to ever admit your longing for Michael. When he asked you to be his girlfriend, you had no hesitation in saying yes. He had feelings for you ever since the day he met you, always telling his brothers in private that heâd marry you one day. He never wanted to push it, so if being best friends with you was how close he could be with you in that moment, he accepted it because of how much he loved you.
You were at every tour, every eventâall of it. Michael was so happy to have you in his life, through all of the things heâs gone through his entire childhood, having a loyal woman in his life who was there for thick and thin was something he not only cherished, but prayed for.
And this is why he got on one knee when the two of you turned twenty-one. A private proposal, just like you wanted. You talked about getting married young when the two of you were teenagers, and you talked about having children once Michael was at a good point in his careerâbut it was only a thought that sat in the back of your mind for years. Your parents knew that Michael would change your life for the better, and asking for their blessing was the first thing he did. You and your mother talked about the hypothetical life with you bearing Michaelâs children, and she gave you the ups and downs of motherhood. At first, it frightened youâthe pain and absolute torture it applied on your body, the complications, all the things that could go wrong. It all scared you more than anything, but your head brought you back to everything goodâbringing life into this world, a fresh start for a human being that you could call yours, and Michaelâs.
A FEW MONTHS AFTER THE END OF MICHAELâS âBAD TOURâ, â 1989.
You and Michael were settled in the luxury of your living room on the Neverland Ranch, your legs laid onto his lap, while the two of you watched Bambi on DVD for what seemed like the fourth time this week. You enjoyed moments like this, because before you knew it, heâd be back working again. You were always used to his schedule, if he wasnât rehearsing something, he was in the studioâif he wasnât in the studio, he was at childrenâs hospitals. And if he wasnât doing that, he was tucked away in his office, brainstorming ideas about new music. The only reason you never complained, is because despite all of this, he never let you go to bed aloneâand once the two of you got married, he learned to shut his brain off so he could cater to you. Was it a long process? Of course, but you knew that would come with the two of you being together. Michael was extremely work driven, but it wasnât his fault. It was engraved in his head that every song, every dance move, every performanceâit needed to get to a point of absolute perfection. But even when he beat himself up, one thing Michael never wanted for you, was giving you the impression that work came before you, and that was the first thing he said in his vows.
He rubbed his big hands along your leg propped onto his lap, feeling the smooth skin that made contact with his palm. He loved touching your body, and not just sexually. He needed to know that you were still real, and not just a figment of his very vivid imagination. He had his hands on you all the time, massaging you when you had a long day, or simply just interlocking your fingers to bring him a sense of comfort.
âBambi reminds me of you, baby.â You spoke, breaking the comforting silence between you.
He looked at you and smiled, his pearly whites leaving you in a trance like they always did. âItâs all in the eyes,â he laughed. âMother used to say the same thing.â
Your heart fluttered at the thought of Michael and his mother. You were glad that she still tried her best to give him those small moments of comfort, no matter how much Joseph fought her on it.
âI hope our kids have eyes like you one day, Michael.â You admitted, giving him a soft smile that just made him want to bring you in closer.
He ushered you to sit up, bringing you closer to him, and you nuzzled your head in his chest. He played in your hair and rubbed circles on your back, his mind now wandering about the statement you just admitted.
âWell, I hope they get your beautiful personality, mama.â He says, kissing the top of your head and gently laying your flyaways back down. The two of you sat comfortably like this for a while, listening to the soothing sound of the Bambi end credits. For a second, you dozed offâbut for some reason, (some reason being that you were his wife, and you knew him like the back of your hand), you could sense that Michael was lost in thought. You watched as he fidgeted with the drawstrings of his pajama pants, and when you looked upâhe was teary-eyed.
You sat up, all of your attention towards your vulnerable husband in front of you.
Before you could ask what was wrong, it only took you looking at him one time for him to vent.
âI justâyouâre the love of my life. I wanna give you children, but Iâm so scared that Iâm never gonna know the right way to be a father.â As he expresses this towards you, a single tear falls from his right eye. You sat on your knees, and grabbed ahold of him, bringing him in to hug you. He cried into your shoulder, and you rubbed on his scalp as gently as you could.
âYouâre gonna be a great father, Michael. There is no right way, honey. Just be you.â You comforted him, getting a little teary yourself.
You knew deep down Michael didnât want to be anything like his father, and you knew for a fact he was far from it. Michael had a different kind of love for children that werenât even his, and did everything in his power to give them as many blessings as he could, because he had to work for all of his blessings at their age. He wanted to show that children could make all the difference, they just simply needed all the help they could get. The children of the world were never alone as long as Michael was living, and he made sure of that.
âWhat if Iâm like him? What if I donât know how to be the parent our child would need?â He was starting to spiral at this point, and you gently shushed at his antics. Michael was the only candidate you saw fit for being the father to your children, and you knew better than to let just anyone help you bring life into this world.
âYouâre so much more than what Joseph thinks you are, honey. When the time is right, and we have children of our ownâyouâll be the best thing they have. I can promise you that.â You kissed his temple, and gently glided your thumbs across his face to dry his tears. You knew this was a tough subject, simply because the two of you had this conversation so long ago. Michael wanted to not only maintain perfection in his work, but for the things in his life, too. He felt that if he wasnât the perfect father to his future kids, heâd make them feel how Joseph made him feel.
Lost.
His tears slowly dried up, and he looked at you with his large, soft eyes. Just like Bambi.
âI canât believe I made you my wife.â He said, with a big smile creeping on his oh so beautiful face. He leaned and kissed you, and the two of you got back comfortable on your couch, sitting in the silence you learned to cherish.
You were moving around on the couch, trying to get into a comfortable position. Since the movie started, your lower back and neck began to ache from sitting in one spot too long. You made faces out of frustration, and Michael was amused by this.
âYou okay, baby?â He chuckled, sitting back to let you get this out of your system.
âNeck is killinâ me,â You started. âAnd I have to pee, all that orange juice you had me drinkinâ.â You laughed, and slowly stood up.
Michael tapped at the back of your thighs. âGo pee, baby. Ndâ when you come back, Iâll give you a massage or somethinâ.â He bit his lip a little at the thought, and all you could do was shake your head out of amusement. He watched you strut to the bathroom in your very short pajama shorts, leaving a little wiggle behind with each step.
FIVE MINUTES LATER
You stepped back into the hallway, shutting off the bathroom light. Michael heard your footsteps approaching, and quickly wrapped up the glass of orange juice he was pouring to go back to sitting next to you on the couch. You thought that it was so adorable that Michaelâs favorite things carried into his adulthood, because the amount of orange juice you had stored in your fridge would drive anyone else crazy. It was what he loved, and it made even more space for him in your heart.
You sat down on the couch and took a breath, watching as Michael walked back to your living room. He sat down his tall glass of orange juice on the coaster taking its place on your coffee table.
âFace your back towards me, love.â He demanded, his voice still maintaining that gentleness.
You turned your back to him, taking a deep breath while he worked his hands along your shoulders. He firmly massaged them, then worked his hands along your neck, being as gentle as possible while still getting the job done. His hands felt so good against your skin, so much so that you let out a quiet moanâhoping he didnât catch it.
âFeels good, huh?â He teased, his voice laced with that tinge of seduction he always used when he had his hands on you. He massaged a lot firmer, trying his best to get some sort of reaction from you. That was another thing Michael couldnât resist. Every groan, moan, whimper, any of it that escaped your mouth, immediately gave him shivers. He already loved listening to your voice, but any foreign sound that left your throat drove him crazier.
He kissed your bare shoulder, moving the spaghetti strap of your tank top out of the way. His lips were like heaven against your body, and you told him this countless times. Listening to the sound of his slightly wet lips pecking at your shoulder was turning you on, and that wasnât anything your husband couldnât see. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and the warmth radiating off of your body sent him over the edge.
âYâknowâŠthe thought of seeinâ you carrying my child makes me feel some kinda way.â Michael admitted, chuckling low against your skin. âYouâd be ten times more gorgeous than you already are, baby.â
You smiled and let out a shy giggle, placing your hand on top of the one Michael was using to rub at your shoulder.
âIâd get tâ watch you grow our baby,â he groaned in your ear, kissing behind it. He knew what he was doing, getting you all riled up just to deny his actions once you caved in. âCan watch these grow too,â he added, removing his hands off of your shoulders to wrap around your chest, gently massaging your breasts, still covered by your tanktop.
He loved kneading the fat of them, even when the two of you werenât indulging in anything sexual. He knew how tender they could get at times, and always sprung to action to relieve you from any pain. His hands were huge, and as you looked down to see your tits completely melted in his hands with no struggle, the heat between your legs started to ache you.
You whimpered from his touch, and the kisses on your neck began. They were serene, but you couldnât resist how he was making you feel. It was becoming unbearable, and your hand snaking to his neck from your position made him even more cocky. He knew you were falling apart, and this was all he wanted.
âIâm ready.â You moaned out, all your pent up frustration making you admit things you didnât know were entirely true. He brought his teasing to a halt, tilting his head. âI-Iâm ready, Michael. Sâ all I can think about now.â You added.
âReady for what, mama?â He raised his eyebrows, anticipating the sweet sound of your voice to finally admit to him that you needed him. Michael always teased you when you didn't use your words when you were fed up with his taunting, which only motivated him to do it more.
âI wanna make a baby, Michael.â You confessed, turning around to look at him with your low, begging eyes. You caressed his jaw with your hand, and Michael looked hungry. Everything he ever wanted was coming to a reality. He married the love of his everlasting life, and now he had the opportunity to plant his seed inside his woman to create a new life. A life that will never know what it feels like to go through half of what he went through.
âWell, letâs go make a baby, my love.â He smiled, standing before you with his hand reaching out to take yours. You took his hand, and he guided you in front of him. He left a polite slap to your ass, as you led the two of you to your master bedroom.
You already had the ambience for it, the candles you lit a couple hours ago leaving a warm hue, while the smell of cinnamon and cedarwood filled your nose. You had so many lamps around your house, including your bedroom. Michael always believed he could focus more and stay level-headed when there was more warmer toned lighting throughout the house. The super bright lights wired him as if he was on stage, and thatâs what he wanted to get away from when he was at home with you.
As you approached your king sized bed, you released your hand from his. You stood before him, and he watched as you pulled the straps of your tanktop from off of your shoulders, and let the cloth fall to the floor. Your nipples were already hard from the cool air in the bedroom, and it left Michael salivating. You tugged at your pajama shorts, wriggling your thighs out of them so they can also fall to your feet. All that was left on your body was your baby pink lacey panties, with a short white ribbon in the middle of them.
Michael scanned your body, and instead of pushing you down into the mattress like he usually would, he knew that tonight was the night he took his time with you. He needed to make sure it was more intimate than the two of you were used to when you had sexâthis was the night the two of you were in an attempt to conceive your child.
He stared at your breasts before walking towards you. He didnât kiss you just yet, he just looked into your eyes for a couple of seconds. You wrapped your hands around his neck, and he ducked just enough to reach your height. He placed his hands on your hips backing you into the mattress as gently as he could, despite his anticipation. He wanted this night to be a special one.
You followed his lead, leaving small pecks along his jaw, before you fell back onto the memory foam behind you. He stood over you like a ravenous animal ready to devour what was in front of him, and you knew that you were in for it. Michael had the tendency to keep his gentle persona while he drilled your pussy, and it drove you nuts. His face was so sweet, but it was finally that time.
He slowly untied the drawstring of his pajama pants, letting the fabric fall effortlessly. His boxers were on the tighter side, and the sight of his hard erection sent chills down your spine. He snaked his plain white t-shirt over his head, his beautiful chest exposed to you. It took a while for Michael to get this comfortable having sex with you, since it was a nude act most of the time. When he learned that you didnât care about his skin condition and loved all of him for who he was, it was easy to do this now.
He kept his boxers on, and he didnât want to take your panties off just yet. He leaned into your body, leaving wet, sloppy kisses on your collarbone. He was close enough to your heat to bait you to buck into his boxer clad cock, the bulge against your pussy feeling like a dream.
You tugged at his boxers, getting them halfway down before he took over, taking them off on his own. You looked at the sight before youâall mean nine inches that you took every other night still seeming to make you nervous. You were nervous for a completely different reason though this time. You and Michael usually fucked raw, simply because it seemed more intimate for the two of you, and there werenât many risks or scares because you let Michael cum on your chest most of the time, and he especially loved watching it drip onto your body.
But taking all of him inside, felt more intertwinedâlike puzzle pieces.
He hooked a finger into the side of your panties, yanking them down gently, watching the slight string of wetness follow behind them. You werenât ashamed of how much Michael made you leak, it was your way of showing him your submission. He grinned at the sight, tossing them on the floor with everything else.
âI want it to last a while⊠so put it inside now, not later.â You demanded, your voice still soft and submitting. You didnât want to rush anything, and with Michaelâs foreplay, you were bound to cum in under two minutes once he inserted his length inside of you.
âSâ whatever you want, beautiful. You needy, huh?â He mocked, kissing your neck some more. You arched your back off of the mattress slightly, and at this point he was done with his teasing. His girl needed him to please her, ânot laterâright now.â
He lined his cock up with your entrance, patting it against your clit just for the fun of it. He held his length, slowly watching as you took all of him with no hesitation. His bottom lip immediately made contact with his teeth, the feeling so good he almost bit skin off. He pushed all the way in, and fell on top of you. He grabbed at your hand, holding it against the sheets.
What felt like pure bliss, he gave you an unholy amount of strokes until he was reaching his end, and so were you.
âYouâreâŠmmphâgonna make such a goodâŠfuckâdaddy, baby.â You moaned out, using your free hand to claw at his back, leaving red marks you know might be a tad bit sore to the touch tomorrow morning.
âClearly I already am, mama. Yâ see how Iâmâshit⊠fuckinâ you? Gonna give you a pretty baby, I promise.â He groaned between strokes, the sound of his hips slapping yours making your brain feel fuzzy.
Your stomach was starting to grow that familiar heat, and suddenly he picked up his pace. This was the moment that matteredâfor the first time since your wedding day, Michael was releasing his seed inside of youâand it would really count this time.
A couple of strokes later, and you could feel him starting to spill out of your pussy from the white ring around his dick. He held your hand tighter, burying his head in the crook of your neck, letting out all kinds of whimpers and groans. You felt the liquid spray inside of your body, and it felt like it was sealing the deal.
You both attempted to try and recollect your breathing, but Michael thrusted a couple more times.
âJusâ wanna make sure it takes, angel.â
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
It goes to show that the night you and Michael shared seven months ago, definitely got your point across. Here you were, in your white sundress and relatively large baby bump, putting together the Bambi themed nursery for your baby girl. Ever since you and Michael found out the gender of your newest creation, you took forever trying to decipher what a fit name for her would be. You ultimately decided on âAngelinaâ, which Michael said meant âlittle angelâ, and thatâs exactly what she would be. You kept the announcement between family, but of course as they always doâthe tabloids got a hold of the news as well. Michael never cared about any of that, and was proud to tell the world that he was becoming a father, because in his eyesâthis kind of thing was a blessing, not a burden or curseânot even to his career.
Her nursery was almost done being painted, and Michael insisted that the two of you tackle this project without any help, because it seemed more authentic that way. You were in charge of decoratingâhe was in charge of painting and buildingâand soon enough this baby was going to be sleeping in something straight out of a Disney movie.
Michael was such a big help with everything too, and you thought to yourself how there was no way he thought he was unfit to be a fatherâbecause in your eyes he always did everything the right way. He kept his rehearsals at a minimum, spent time doing whatever it was you needed, and even caving in to try whatever pregnancy cravings you had just so you wouldnât feel alone.
He kissed your belly goodnight every single night along with you, and made sure to give you space when it was time to sleep, but also never hesitating to bring you in when you were feeling isolated. You were glad that you had a husband that would take care of you regardless of his fame, because that was always something you feared. But knowing now that carrying his child was one of the best decisions youâve ever made, you were finally at peace.
TWO MONTHS LATER (total of nine months)
âKeep pushinâ! Youâre doinâ great, sweetie!â One of the nurses yelled out, boosting your confidence to get this baby up and out of you. In reality, you were struggling. The pain was nothing like youâve felt beforeâa hundred times worse than period cramps, and more uncomfortable than getting a pap smear. Michael stood by your side, draped in blue hospital gear, with a scrub cap on top of his head for the extra precaution.
You were squeezing his hand hard, but the adrenaline made him feel nothing at all. He motivated you just as the nurse did, telling you how great of a job you were doing, and he left so many kisses on your forehead. As you closed your eyes to give your final pushes, you felt a breeze of relief. The crying started, and you watched as they gently pulled the tiny human from out of your body, and to your surpriseâshe had a head full of hairâjust like Michael.
So thatâs why your heartburn was so bad.
Michael cut the cord, and the nurses finished their job.
The nurse cleaned her off and sat her on your chest, and this left you and Michael crying so many tears you could fill up a neighborhood pool. The nurses congratulated you, and took their leave, so you and Michael could have your first moments with your newborn.
âSheâs beautiful like her mama,â Michael starts, his voice muffled from the snot build up in his nose. He took the seat next to you, admiring his now two favorite girls. She was calm, and for a split second, she opened her eyes. They were doe-like, and honestly, very identical to Michaelâs.
âSheâs got eyes like you, Mikey. I knew she would, baby.â Michael looked at the baby sitting on your chest, then at youâthe woman he loved with all his might, who just gave birth to his child. He got teary eyed at the realityâfinally becoming a father, and not only thatâa much better father than Joseph wouldâve ever been. He knew that this was going to change his life forever, but he wouldnât have it any other way.
He scrounged around in the go bag the two of you brought for when this moment was supposed to happen, and found the camera he used when he took pictures of you to put in his office. He called one of the nurses back in, and he had a moment to hold his new baby. He sat back in the chair next to you, and smiled for the camera. Angelina seemed to understand, despite being a no less than an hour old, because the smallest smirk painted across her tiny face. The flash of the camera went away, and the picture printed at the top.
There were the three of you, Michael in his black button up shirt and slacks, those same loafers and white socks he wore everywhereâand the small hairs creeping up on his upper lip, really making him look like a dad. There was you, hospital blanket pulled up to your chest, anticipating to breast feed Angelina later. Your hair was stuck to your face from all the sweat, but your face was always as beautiful as ever. And then there was baby Angelina, so poised and perfect already. She was fast asleep, dreaming about who knows what, but now you finally felt complete, and so did Michael. And most of all, both of your wedding rings beamed in the light.
Michael took the polaroid and let it finish processing. He leaned in to show you, and couldnât believe the sight he was seeing.
âđđđđđđđđ; being married to michael jackson had its perks and downsides â the latter ultimately leading to your divorce. ex-wives, demanding jobs, and loneliness all lead to your split while youâre pregnant with his fourth child â but your secret, mutual love never falters. but, at your sonâs seventh birthday party hosted at neverland, and multiple bottles of wine â can the love be rekindled?
âđđđđđđđ; SMUT, 18+, p-in-v, creampie, mentions of love-bites & bruising, oral (f!receiving) ANGST, lots of it, failed relationship, divorce, mentions of pregnancy, birth, labour, etc, heavy drinking, fluff mixed in there too.
âđ/đ; sorry this took so long, itâs cuz itâs so long so strap in and enjoy! heavily inspired by @michaeldiary mwah love u
Alcohol often does incredulous things to people.
And right now, you finally understood why.
Waking up with a pounding headache, throat dryer than the Sahara, eyes squinting almost painfully from the bright light that shone through the ajar curtains, and an unsettling bubble of nausea growing in your stomach â all roads led back to alcohol.
What didnât lead back to alcohol was a noticeable sting between your thighs, and a dull ache from blooming bruises on your hips.
In the shape of fingers..?
And the puzzle piece only started slotting into place when your head turned to the side, eyebrows neatly furrowed into your forehead, as a hand came up to rub your tired eyesâOuch!
Your hand retracted instanetously when something cold, hard and metallic scraped along your eyelid â your eyes blowing wide open at the jewellery clad on your ring finger.
Your wedding ring.
One you had taken off over a year ago â was now firmly pressed back onto your ring-finger like it hadnât left at all.
And oh! If that wasnât enough to remind you of your previous night.
Your stark naked ex-husband, Michael, littered in lovebites and smudged lipstick, sleeping soundly next to you, in his bed, at his house, was more than enough to do so.
Looking down, reality hit you like a ton of bricks â you had evidently had sex with your ex-husband. Plain and simple â and embarrassingly clear. The deep, indented, slowly forming bruises now adorning your hips were, painfully obviously, in the shape of the hands of the man deep in slumber next to you.
Eight years together makes things like that easy to spot.
And that daunting fact, slowly, but surely, let the ever-so-wonderfully reminding thought that you were in fact divorced, creep back up into your pounding brain.
You were divorced. Split up. Not together anymore. Legally binding from February 2003.
But, this didnât look very divorced right now.
âOh, God.â You mumbled, voice hoarse and croaked as you sat up, stomach churning and the relentlessly thumping in your head never letting up, as you sighed, running a, wedding ring free, hand over your face.
Your hands fell lazily and defeated into your lap as you shook your head at your heedless actions â vision locking on the diamond-encrusted wedding band that fit like a glove on your finger, and was twinkling in the morning light.
The divorce had been messy, and rushed for that matter. A meticulous, devastatingly, continuous stamp on your heart every time you had to appear in court â bags evident under your eyes, the same ones that were glassed over in constant tears, and hands shaking from adrenaline and sheer emotion over having to recount the same story of your marriage over and over again to the Judge.
It wasnât as though anything particularly nefarious had happened in your marriage that would cause such a divorce, something horrible like infidelity or abuse, no, far from it, Michael was the perfect husband â until he started slipping.
He slowly, but nevertheless painfully, turned from the doting, present husband â to so brutally consumed in his career that it felt as though you were a single mother. Late nights at the studio, events that stretched long into the night, tours all across the States, even going as far as globally â all of it added up. Pushing you further and further into a lonely pit of despair â begging for the man you once knew.
Michael never did this maliciously, and that was quite possibly worse, he didnât even realise what he was doing. Nor the damage he was causing. And every time youâd bring it up to him, whenever you finally got a night just to the two of you, cuddled up in bed, a hand on your small, growing bump â he would act none-the-wiser, as if the pain you were feeling didnât exist. Promising that he would be home soon, be around more, that things would change â but, alas, they never did. If anything, he only got busier.
Having three kids was difficult, especially so when a fourth was on the way, and even more so when you have a career like Michael Jackson does â having to juggle recording, then interviews, then tours, then galaâs, and award shows, then signings, and then coming home to help look after three children and your pregnant wife.
But, none of it phased him â at the start. He was, and is, an excellent father. Spending every last second he could with his children before leaving for an eighteen hour day, or coming home at three-AM and kissing his children on their foreheads as they slept, and then retreating slowly into his bedroom, where his pregnant wife slept, and pulling her close, and holding her all night.
It came naturally to him â he was made to be a lover, and a father. And he adored every minute of it.
But, where the waters got muddied was when he began to blend those two separate aspects of his life â music and family. And when music seemed to become a higher priority than his family.
A house polluted with the noise of three screaming, giggling kids, a childrenâs television show blasting throughout the living room, or toys screeching out nursery rhymes from a plastic, worn out speaker that was staticky and stuttered pathetically, fighting against the electrics of the old mechanism â was now also filled the noise of demoâs, loud business men laughing, inappropriate jokes and guitar strings, plugged into an obnoxiously loud speaker.
In August 2002, youâd had enough.
It was the hottest summer the 2000âs had seen yet â the sun was beating down relentlessly over California, and the humidity was at its highest. Mixing the warmest weather youâd ever experienced in your lifetime with having a five-year-old, Prince, with the energy of a wild animal, a four-year-old, Paris, who was constantly screaming for her Father, and a clingy six-month-old, Blanket, who darenât not be on your hip or else heâd wail the place down, all the while being four-months pregnant, wasnât a good cocktail.
You silently cursed yourself for having such an attractive husband and being so horny only two-months postpartum that now led you to this mess.
And on top of all of that, Michael had so kindly, not, invited some friends, musical and not, round to work on some new demos heâd been cooking up late in the studio recently.
But, it wasnât the fact that heâd invited people over, that you didnât care about, you could handle the kids, to an extent, on your own just fine â it was the noise.
Michael was shy, and often quiet anyways, but with his pals round, his infamous loud laughter, mingling in with the loud strums of a guitar and the deep, rumbling voices of men youâd never even met before, was now sounding throughout the house like thunder. All that jovial, unnecessarily high in decibel, laughter blending with the screams and squeals from your children had now manifested itself inside you in a blinding headache.
This headache, now bordering on a migraine, wasnât just your average Joe â it was a deep, dark thud of pain that stretched from behind your eyelids to the nape of your neck. Any noise was a shrill, blood-curling scream in your head â grating through your bones like nails on a chalkboard.
It had to stop.
And it forced you to reach that extent
Usually, whenever Michael and whoever he had brought round for the umpteenth time this week, would make noise and near enough trash the house with cans of beer, cartons of orange juice (For your Michael) and boxes and bags of devoured KFC, youâd let them be â let the boys have their fun.
But, today, enough was enough.
âI know, baby, but Mamaâs feelinâ a little sick right now, okay? We can play outside later when Daddyâs not with his friends, how does that sound?â
âNoooo! âWanna to go outside, now!â Prince, tears now forming in his lower lash-line, demanded, stomping his little foot onto the carpet of his bedroom, now pushing your hands away abruptly as you attempted to change his shirt which was smothered in his lunch.
You sighed, your patience beginning to wear thinner and thinner as you repeated yourself for the thousandth time that day about not going outside as Prince refused to let it go.
You raked a hand over your face, a noise of frustration leaving the back of your throat as you met Princeâs eyes â whose were now streaming with tears as he cried violently, cheeks flushed and stained with the evidence of his upset.
âBaby, please, stop crying for Mama, please? I promiseâMama pinky promises we can go outside later, okay?â You tried one last time, trying to put on the most motherly, comforting voice you could as you forced the irritation down your throat.
Just as Prince began to consider diminishing his resolve and abandoning his tantrum, Paris ran into the room, âI wanna play outside, too, Mommy! Please, please, please!â
The groan that left you was failure of suppression â your eyes fluttering shut as the two small children now teamed up against you, both now chanting in their high-pitched voices to go outside. And if that wasnât enough to send you over the edge, baby Blanket began wailing at the sudden loud noise of his siblings screaming to do what you distinctively told them not to repeatedly over the past morning â his screeches and cries of displeasure colliding with the sound of Paris and Prince begging loudly.
You scurried to your feet, a lump in your throat forming, as you took Blanket in your arms, rocking him gently in your grasp, cooing softly into his ear as you attempted to nurse him to silence.
No avail.
For once, baby Blanket wanted nothing less than to be in your arms â you tried every rocking sensation you knew he liked, but no luck. He continued to scream â tears staining his cheeks now flushed a dark shade of crimson, as his little fists bawled up tight at his sides.
You had reached your wits end.
You only realised your feet were moving until you reached the stairs â turning on your heel to watch as your two younger children ran after you as you exited Princeâs room. Their relentless chanting to go outside had been, finally, abandoned â but, now replaced with âWhere are you going, Mommy?â âWhy is Blanket crying, Mommy?â âWhatâs wrong with Blanket, Mama, is he okay?â âMama get Blanket to stop crying! Itâs hurting my ears!â
It was incessant.
You absolutely adored your children â but moments like these you wished you could just run away.
And thatâs exactly what you did.
You stormed down the stairs, checking back every so often to make sure Paris and Prince werenât on the brink of falling, before heading directly towards the loudest area of the house. If that was even remotely possible with the screaming baby in your arms.
You marched into the room â eyes landing on Michael who was sat on the couch, surrounded by at least twelve other men, not that you even had the brain capacity to count in the moment, all laughing and shouting as they recounted former memories.
âBaby.â You spoke, voice trembling.
No answer.
The conversation continued, as if you werenât even there, the loud laughter only worsening the pain that consumed your brain.
âMichael.â
Laughter.
âMichael.â
Laughter.
âMichael!â
For the first time in weeks, the room fell silent.
The sound of your distraught, wrecked shout of his name even sent your wailing baby in silence â for about three seconds, before his screeches of discomfort sounded throughout the room once more. Everyoneâs eyes were on you, including your confused husband, whose were now wide with shock at the sight you â eyes now also streaming with tears, lip wobbling, hands shaking with a screaming Blanket in your arms, and Prince and Paris at your feet, now also babbling about the garden and tugging at your clothes.
âI canâtâI canât take this.â
Michael rose to his feet, âBaby, whatâs wrong?â
âDonât you âWhatâs wrong?â me!â You exclaimed, âLook at me!â
He was lost, and quite frankly, worried â he had never seen you so wrecked, a silent plea for help as you shook where you stood.
âTaâTake him.â You extended your still wailing baby out into the air, eyes fluttering as droplets of tears you didnât even realise had fallen, drooped from your eyelashes.
Michael rushed over to you, instantly taking Blanket into his embrace â rocking him slowly in his arms as the crying slowly fading into soft whimpers as Michael comforted him.
You let out a scoff of a laugh at the irony of the situation â Michael, who got to sit around and play with instruments like toys with his friends all day, soothed your crying baby in three seconds as if you hadnât been dealing with it all day with no prevail.
âIâve gotta go. I actually canâtâI canât do this anymore, Michael.â You started, voice rapid and racing, buzzing with emotion, âYouâYou canât sit around all day and do nothing, and expect me to deal with this all dayâI canât, I just canât.â
âBaby, please, what are you talking about?â Michael questioned, concern and confusion laced in his tone, âWhat happened?â
âWhat didnât happen!â You exclaimed, not caring that thirty pairs of eyes were all on you as you blew up what youâd been holding in for weeks, âPrince threw his lunch everywhere, all over the floor and his clothes, and then refused to change, and then begged and begged and begged to go outside even after I told him no.â You breathed out a laugh, despite finding none of the situation amusing, âAnd Blanket barely slept last night and neither did I, and he will not stop cryingâitâs been on and off all day, and Iâve got a pounding headache and Iâm tired, and I just canât take it anymore.â
Your rant ended with a loud sob, one that echoed throughout the room as your Nanny, one that had failed to be absent while all of the commotion from your children had occurred, took a concerned looking Paris and Prince away from the room by their small hands, as you ignored the way they stared at you worriedly as they exited.
âAnd donât even get me started on you.â You spat, pointing an accusatory finger at Michael, âYouâve been at this for weeks! Youâre a father too, yâknow! I need help, Iâm pregnant for fuckâs sake and doing everything while you sit around and fiddle with guitars like children and laugh at a fucking thousand decibels.â
âHoney, waitâcalm dowââ
âDonât you fucking dare tell me to calm down.â
He could tell you were serious. To your core. You had never ever spoke to him that way, ever. You looked absolutely destroyed â like the world had literally come crashing down on you all at once.
âIâve had enough. Enough, Michael.â You exclaimed, watching as the Nanny returned to pry a now sleeping Blanket from Michaelâs arms, before scurrying out of the room once more, âWhether itâs phone calls at three-AM, or late nights at the studio, or events that end you up in the club until early hours, or inviting God knows into our houseâyouâre not here!â Tears were now streaming down your face with no sign of stopping, every word now a silent sob as you broke down, âI feel like youâre notâsobânot even here anymore! I feel like Iâm doing this all alone, and weâve got another one on the way for fuckâs sake! I canâtâI genuinely cannot do it anymore, Michael, Iâve had it up to here.â
As your hand raised to demonstrate the intensity of how thin your patience has deteriorated â Michael couldnât help notice the way your hand shook aggressively.
It all finally rained down on him.
Like violent meteorites â all his wrong-doings came crashing down in an abrupt realisation.
Every point you made was correct, and thatâs what hurt most. You werenât exaggerating or overreacting â you were speaking the plain, distasteful truth. A truth that flooded guilt and heartache throughout his system harder than heâd ever felt it. His subconscious absence had pushed you over the edge â without him even realising he was doing it.
You had promised him, the day you started dating, that you would always be there despite his demanding career â but, you, nor him, imagined it would get this bad. So bad to the point you were considering walking away from the family you had built from the ground up. A family you had literally created in utero â and formed from a lousy blind date your friend set you up on, now blossomed into a committed marriage with three, nearly four, children.
In your romantic pledge, you didnât ever mean this. Never meant that youâd let yourself be humiliated and abandoned so brutally to the point where you were metaphorically, and nearly literally, tugging your hair out.
And Michaelâs flabbergasted silence only made things worse.
He couldnât even find the words to claw himself out of this grave that heâd dug â mouth opening and then closing as he stared at you, eyes still blown wide open as he watched you heave, still sobbing violently.
Instead of waiting for an apology you knew wouldnât fix things now, you scoffed and turned on your heel, storming out of the room as another sob wracked through you. Michael instantly chased after you, ignoring the tension that had settled from the uncomfortable audience behind him, his longer legs catching up to you as you made it to the front door.
âHey, hey, stopâbaby, wait!â He reached you, hands grabbing your arms and stopping you in your tracks, âBaby, wait, please, donât do this, please.â
Another loud, distraught gurgle of tears left you, your head shaking as you stared at the ground, âIâI canât take anymore, Michaelâ
âI know, I know, Iâm so sorry.â He started, âIâm so so sorry, baby. Iâve been the worst husband in the world, Iâm so sorry.â His heart clenched as another sob left you, âI shouldâve been there, Iâm sorry, I know better, I do. ThingsâThings have been hectic with the new album, and I justâI donât even have a reasonable explanation, I should have been around, thereâs no excuse.â
At the sound of his declaration of wrong-doing and his utmost apologies â your loud cries turned into soft sniffles and hiccups. You finally lifted your head, bloodshot and glossy eyes meeting his worried ones â lip quivering as you settled.
âBaby, Iâm so sorry.â Michael whispered, voice breaking ever so slightly, âPlease, donât leave. If itâs not for me, please donât leave the children. They need you.â He went silent, âI need you.â
âI needed you, Michael. But, where were you when I did?â
The words hit him directly in the chest.
It wasnât because they were hurtful, or disrespectful, or offensive â it was because they were true.
When they said the truth hurts â he never imagined heâd experience it this way.
Watching as his wife, mother to now four of his children, literally begging for his presence for weeks, and subconsciously taking no notice, had broken his heart â but, not nearly as much as he broke yours, which made things twice as bad.
âBaby..â His voice trailed off, quiet and broken, a beg for you, not that he was even in the place to do so right now.
You shook your head, another silent cry leaving your mouth, tears cascading down your cheeks in a slow, aching reminder to Michael of exactly what heâd done â a twang vibrating through his heartstrings.
âIâm sorry, I justâI need some space.â You spoke, a loud, huff of a shaken breath leaving you as you stepped back, retreating from his embrace.
âBaby, please,â Michael begged, âPlease, donât go. What about the kids?â
âOnly for a little while. Iâll be at my Momâs, just for a few days while I think.â
âThink? Think about what?â
âWhether or not I can take anymore of this.â
Michael didnât think it was possible to feel anymore heartbroken and scared â but your final sentence before turning your back to him and walking out the door exceeded that. His heart ached, a hand coming up to rest against his chest, as he watched you climb into the back of a car and whizz out the driveway â the last evidence of you being dust and dirt that flew up into the air at your exit.
That night Michael called your Motherâs house phone twenty-seven times â each time going straight to answerphone, as you begged your Mother to just ignore it as she held you while you cried into her lap. And each time, Michael would leave a message on her answer machine.
âBaby? I donât know if you can hear this but I love you, and the babies love you. I miss you already and Iâm so so sorry. Please come home soon.â
Beep!
Riiiiing! Riiiiing!
Ignore.
âIâm sorry, I donât want to bother, I know youâre upset, and I know itâs âcuz of me, but I justâI canât leave you there knowing youâre so broken and itâs all my fault. I wish there was something I could do to turn back time. I love you, baby, please come home.â
Beep!
Riiiing! Riiiiing!
Ignore.
âPlease, call me back, baby. I need you. Iâm so sorry I let things get to this. Iâm sorry I let things get so bad. Iâm sorry for everything. Please, baby, please, I love you so so much, I canât do this without you. And that quite possibly makes it so much worse, as thatâs exactly what you needed from me and I subconsciously denied it from you for so long. Iâm such an idiot, a total, complete and utter idiot. I shouldâve been better, Iâm so sorry. Please, honey, please.â
Each time the answer machine would beep and another message would come through, now late into the night as you curled up on the couch and drifted off to sleep, Michaelâs voice grew more and more wrecked, now laced with silent sobs and broken whispers to prevent waking the children. And each time, you would continue to cry â face smushed into the cushion, now soaked with your tears, until the answer machine finally went silent at four-AM.
The next morning, your chest sported a dull, deep ache of emotional distress as you awoke â eyes swollen from the relentless crying. The headache had subsided, thankfully, but now replaced with an intense heartache that you knew would never diminish.
Not after everything that had happened.
After a few days to allow the dust to settle, you decided returning home was a reasonable idea â letting your Mother lecture you about ânot putting up with anymore shitâ before you left her house, a bag full of dirty over-night clothes and an old toothbrush slung over your shoulder.
The drive back to Neverland was unusual â you werenât quite sure what the forefront emotion you were feeling was.
Worry? Sadness? Hurt? Confusion? â it wasnât clear. But, the waves of anticipatory nausea that flooded through you were enough to show that you were definitely concerned about where this left your relationship with Michael.
You had spent the last three days at your Motherâs pondering on what to do. The much needed space, despite calling your children every night to remind them that Mommy still loved them and was coming home soon, allowed you to think about whether or not your marriage was still fulfilling anymore â whether you could continue to live in a house that, despite being full to the brim of people, felt so unbearably lonely.
The walk up to the house felt longer than usual. Like you were moving in slow-motion as you reached the door, hands trembling, not only from the lack of sleep youâd gotten over the past seventy-two hours, but increased anxiety for what you were about to walk into.
And if youâd known what came forth â you never wouldâve stepped back into the house at all.
Your heart stopped as you pushed open the door, vision locking on the scene before you â face scrunching into a look of undisguised shock and despair, an array of swirling emotions buzzing round your body in a brutal battle to become the forefront.
But, the one that took the cake was disgust.
There, stood in foyer, laughing, smiling, joking, and holding your baby was Lisa.
Lisa Marie Presley.
Your husbandâs ex-wife.
When you described to people after the divorce what really happened, when they pried for answers to their personal, probing questions, you claimed you struggled to find a time where you knew the marriage was over.
But, you knew the truth.
You knew that this very moment before your eyes was that time.
And you knew Michael knew it too.
His eyes instantly shot towards the door, smile still pressed on his face at something she had said â before it fell faster than a brick to the ground. The sheer altitude of how swift the grin wiped itself off his face was almost cartoony â like the main character in a corny, childrenâs TV show had just had a nanosecond change in expression in the freeze-frame.
Alas, this wasnât a show nor fictional â this was your life. And the extent of the situation was becoming all too real for the both of you.
âBaby?â
Michaelâs voice sounded out first, breaking the atmospherically intense atmosphere that had skyrocketed from thin air â the squeaked sound of his surprised, scared voice filling the room.
At first, words failed you â all of the thousand things you couldâve screamed or yelled or cried lodged themselves in your throat like a hard piece of candy swallowed too quickly. It felt as though youâd been punched by world-class boxer in the stomach â knocking all the air from your lungs in a brutal, nefarious blow.
âIâI swearâI promise itâs not what it looks like.â
The classic one-liner.
You scoffed, the sound almost coming out gurgled as the lump in your throat formed â eyes glassing over in tears.
âWhat the fuck is going on here?â
He took one slow step forward, hands out in front of him, creeping like a man to a provoked bear, in attempt to keep you where you were. Your eyes darted between them â Michael, who looked as thought he was attempting to save million-dollar porcelain china from falling off a thousand foot drop, and Lisa, who looked like sheâd been caught in the act, an expression of bewilderment and shock plastered across her face.
âHoney, please, calm down. I swear thereâs an explanation.â
A breathless laugh left you as a single tear slipped down your face â cheeks flushed with exceeding adrenaline as your nervous system went into overdrive.
âWhy the fuck is your ex-wife here, Michael?â You snapped, voice a harsh, bitter spit of venom.
Michael sighed, eyes wrecked as he attempted to piece things back together helplessly, âIâI justâI got overwhelmed with the kids, and Blanket was crying and Prince was cryingâall for you, they wanted you, and I didnât know what to do.â He let out a broken breath, âI didnât know what to do, so, I called the first person I thought of who had children and would know what to do.â
Your heart sank.
No, no, more like violently plummeted â straight to your stomach, mingling with the growing nausea that never let up, concocting together in a ruthless cocktail.
âAre you fucking serious?â Your voice came out shaken and depleted, tears now streaming down your cheeks in a merciless storm, âYouâYou called your ex-wife for help with our children? You called your fucking ex-wife instead of the Mother of those children?â
You were shouting now â pointing and yelling as your voice hit a higher decibel than you knew it even could, sobs croaking from your throat in wrecked, consuming wails.
âI didnât know what to do! I was a messâA total mess, IâI was scared and worried, and you had left, and Iââ
âI only left because of you!â You roared, âAll of thisâthis fucking messâis because of you, Michael! You!â
âIâm sorry! Fuck, IâIâm so sorry.â The curse left him before he could even stop himself. In another scenario, if your brain wasnât total mush, you wouldâve realised Michaelâs apology was sincere due to his usual lack of using curse words, but you were too far down the rabbit hole of despair to notice.
As Michael began another spout of meaningless explanations behind his reckless decision, your glassy eyes landed on Lisa, who stood awkwardly by the stairs, vision locked on Michaelâs apologetic frame and your angered own â eyes refusing to meet your own.
But, upon further inspection, your stomach dropped again â as if on a never-ending rollercoaster that relentlessly dropped you from high heights, toying with your body like a game of cat and mouse.
âDid she fucking sleep here?â
The room fell silent â that was all the answer you needed.
Youâd figured that distressing fact out by paying close attention to Lisaâs clothes â her body sporting one of Michaelâs pyjama t-shirts, one that you had bought him at Disneyland on one of your anniversaryâs.
âBaby, please, I swear, we didnât sleep in the same bed.â
Michaelâs frantic plea for you to listen went on deaf ears as you stumbled back out the door â heart hammering nearly medically worryingly fast as you clutched onto the doorframe for support.
âOh, my God, Iâm gonna be sick.â
And that you did.
Hunching over and vomiting violently into the grass that adorned the front yard of Neverland â stomach churning as you emptied your guts from the sheer panicked and distraught truth that came before you.
Michael rushed to your aid, calling your name in a frenzied, worried manner as he pinned your hair behind your head, making sure none of your aggressive release got into it.
You instantly shoved him away â standing upright, and wiping your mouth, âDonât fucking touch me, Michael.â
For the first time in his life, Michael truly understood what it was like to not be the heartbroken, depressed, wrecked person, and finally be the one to be inflicting the pain â a feeling he never, ever, in his deepest, darkest nightmares, thought heâd be giving to someone.
Let alone his loving, devoted wife.
A loud wail sounded out through the room, this time not from you, but from Blanket who writhed in Lisaâs arms.
Anger became the fore-front emotion rapidly.
You stormed past Michael, barging past his shoulder harshly as you went, and marched straight up to the woman who was curating this argument. The sound of her comforting Blanket sent shockwaves of coursing fury through you â as if youâd been struck by lightning as you pried the baby from her arms.
âDonât you fucking dare come near any of my children again, do you hear me?â You yelled, face like thunder as you grit your teeth, not caring how deluded and psychotic you mustâve looked covered in tears, spit and vomit, as you came face to face with her.
âIâm so sorry.â She whispered, breathlessly as a single tear slid down her face.
You laughed a bitter, choked, unamused laugh, âWhat the fuck are you crying for? Realising youâve broken up a marriage? Oh, boohoo, poor Lisa, always the victim.â
âWait, what?â
The room fell silent as Michaelâs devastated voice hit your ears.
âBroken up a marriage?â He sounded windless and confused, eyes now brimming with tears as he locked onto your gaze, âSo, youâyouâre leaving me?ââ
âPrince! Paris!â
You ignored him as you shouted your childrenâs names, refusing to listen as Michael stumbled over his words at your insinuation.
Soon, two pairs of pattering feet came storming through the house, innocent giggles and squeals of excitement masking the sound Michaelâs broken stutters. Prince and Paris screeched in excitement as they clung to your legs, exclaiming their adoration for you, as they tugged at your clothes.
âMama, why are you crying?â Prince asked, a pout forming on his face as he took in your devastated expression.
You knelt down to his eye-level, pressing a kiss to both his and Parisâs cheeks, âMamaâs okay, baby, Iâm just a little sad, but Mommy will be okay, I promise.â
âDonât be sad, Mommy.â Paris chimed in, resting her cheek on your knee as she mimicked her brotherâs pout.
âIâm not, baby, donât worry.â You smiled at her as maternally, and convincingly as possible, âGo get in the car for me, okay? Weâre gonna go stay with Grandma for a while.â
âNo, baby, please.â Michaelâs voice cut through the discussion, âPlease donât do this.â
As Prince and Paris, now in the care of the Nanny, with a baby Blanket in her embrace, taken from your arms, were escorted out of the home, you stood back up to face him.
Anger had been replaced by unadulterated, hopeless anguish.
âWhy, Michael?â You whispered, another sob threatening to wrack from your throat, âWhy would you do this to me?â
Michael finally let himself break â a miserable, wretched wail escaping from his mouth, streaks of unstoppable tears falling from his eyes.
His hands reached for you as you stepped towards the door, âPlease, donât leave. Donât leave me, baby, I beg of you. Please let me make things right, IâI swear things will be better, Iââ
âI thought you loved me, Michael?â
I thought you loved me.
Those were the last, non-legally binding words you spoke to Michael, oneâs that rang in his head every-day since, before you left for good. Turning on your heel in a slow, wobbled movement, and scurried down the driveway, letting yourself cry for a few seconds more, before you hopped into the passenger seat of the black Mercedes, wiping your eyes and putting on a brave face for your children. You blocked out Michael who chased after the car in a screaming, dejecting protest as it sped off, leaving him in a cloud of dust, and a swarm of tears.
He was served the divorce papers the next morning.
From then on, it was everywhere â every news, radio and TV station was covering it, plastering pictures of you and Michael over the front cover with a taunting, exaggerated headline. You tried to block it out, like you always had done, but reading âNot even this one could hold Jackson down for even a decadeâ definitely had a negative effect on you.
After a long, mentally-depleting five months of court, the divorce was finalised in February, and you were now nine-months pregnant and over it. Your large belly had dropped â signifying you were creeping nearer to labour. You knew the stress of the break-up and the gruelling divorce wasnât good for the baby, so you took time after court steady.
Back in December, right before Christmas, you moved into your own place. It was a beautiful house, not as large as Neverland, nothing ever could be, but it was home. Unfortunately, or not, the home had been plagued before you even stepped foot into it.
As Michael had paid for it.
You had told him a thousand times that you werenât together anymore, that you were no longer âMrs Jacksonâ, so therefore paying for such lavish things like a whole house, wasnât necessary. But, as he always did, he insisted â and demanded you never attempt to give him even a cent back. Whether it was a sly con to get you back, you didnât know â but it certainly did work.
In the midst of the divorce, you settled for shared custody â that was a given. Michael was a fantastic father, and youâd never deprive him of his children. You thought just because your relationship broke down, didnât mean his with your kids had to. So, every week, Bill would turn up outside your front door in the same black Mercedes he always did, with an excitable Michael in the front seat â grinning like a Cheshire cat, opening the door before Bill had even stopped. Heâd race out the door and scoop up the children in his arms, kissing their faces all over and letting them ramble on about what they did with you that week. Youâd stand in the doorway, watching with a soft smile as Paris would instantly cling to Michaelâs clothes like she was scared he was going to disappear while Prince would pinch his cheeks, and a now nearly one-year old Blanket, nestled into the crook of Michaelâs neck.
If he couldnât be a husband, he was definitely going to be a dad. And a good one at that.
But, the damage had been done. And whenever Michael would approach you, letting Bill scurry the children into the backseat, clipping them into their car-seats, the awkward tension would arise. The conversation would be polite and acquainted, as if youâd never met before, with a simple âHow are you?â and âWere they good?â or âHow many weeks left?â
The last question always made your chest ache, not only because you knew youâd soon be a single mother, and having to accommodate your now ex-husband into your routine after the baby was born, but because you knew he already knew â he had kept a strict track of your pregnancy, knew every trimester, how many weeks, your cravings, discomforts, how you liked to sleep, how many kicks youâd had that day, he knew it all. So, every time heâd ask, you knew he was trying to be polite, and come across as nonchalant â like he didnât know you like the back of his hand.
But, the nonchalance melted into nothingness once the baby came.
It was a cooler day in February, clouds settling over the skies of California, and your back had been aching from the moment you woke up. Luckily, a lazy morning was in order as it was Michaelâs week to have the kids â so once eleven-AM rolled around, you forced yourself out of bed.
Unlike at Neverland, where personal chefs were at your beck and call whenever you so pleased, you had to grow to love cooking for yourself. Luckily, you often cooked for your children, even when you lived with Michael, and even more so now you lived alone, so cheffing up a quick breakfast wasnât too taxing.
But, trying to ignore the dull, relentless ache that settled itself in your lower abdomen was growing harder to do so, gritting your teeth as you scrambled eggs on the stove. This wasnât a usual cramp or crotch pain like youâd experienced â it was a familiar feeling that youâd felt three times prior.
And your suspicions only came fact when you turned on your heel to fetch salt from the pantry when a flood of liquid gushed through your shorts and onto the floor.
Contractions started simultaneously â growing more and more frequent from the car-ride to when they situated you into a private hospital room. You had been attempting to pace your breathing, the sharp, brutal pains of labour sending you into tachycardia as pain consumed you, the minutes between them decreasing quicker than you remembered they were supposed to, giving you no time to recover.
You were alone in the room, figuratively rather than literally, as dozens of nurses swarmed you, but no loved ones were present. And that was quite possibly worse, your anxiety was sky-rocketing, important people were asking important questions you didnt have the brain power to answer, and hands were all over you, attaching a cannula â it was all too much.
âMrs Jackson, Iâm going to have to ask you again to sit down, youâre bordering on seven centimetres, so baby could come at any time soon, and itâs important youâre in a sensible position.â
You groaned loudly, choosing to ignore the way the nurse referred to you as âMrs Jacksonâ, as your head hung low, eyes squeezed shut as you hunched over the bed once more, legs wobbling from the sheer intensity of the contraction.
âMaâam, I going to have toââ âEnough.â
You breathed a loud sigh of relief, one that your more mentally stable being wouldâve kept to yourself, as Michaelâs voice sounded throughout the room.
The room fell into hushed silence as he stepped forward, ignoring the eyes on him and shared glances between nurses, and pressed a hand on your back, glistening in tiresome sweat.
âDo you want all these people in here, baby?â
The familiar pet-name fell from his lips before he could even stop himself â an all too welcoming feeling spreading across your chest as you shook your head, mumbling an almost inaudible âNoâ that mingled into a loud whine of agony.
âYou heard my wife, if youâre not going to be delivering our baby, please leave.â
Michael was never rude to workers, but right now he was stern and he wasnât apologetic about it â he wanted nothing more than your comfort in one of the most important moments in both your lives.
But, even in your pain consumed state, you still managed to pick up on his words, âIâm not your wife anymore, Michael.â
He shushed you gently, rubbing soft circles into your back, before leaning down to press a tender kiss into your hair, âI know, but, just for today, baby.â
You wouldâve scolded him if you had the ability, tell him off for acting so husbandly and loving even though only a mere few weeks ago your divorce was finalised â but you hadnât the energy. And secretly, you needed all the love and support you could get right now.
Luckily, shortly after Michael ordered the dozens of nurses out of the room, your baby was born. You had decided to keep the sex a secret to you both for when it was born, a surprise meant to be then shared and celebrated once the two of you went home together â it was beautiful, but bittersweet, as you knew you would both go off to your respecting homes afterwards instead.
It was a boy â your third boy of the family, and now the littlest. Age and weight, he was, unlike most babies born after their siblings, smaller than your others â weighing seven pounds, three and a half ounces, all of beauty and wonder.
The birth was tiring, but luckily short, not diminishing your energy as much as the others had, and left you unscathed of any tearing. You liked to believe it was the universe giving you a little luck after the heartbreaking few months youâd had to endure.
Once youâd settled in your bed, blanket pushed up to your chest as you held your little boy in your arms, body aching nonetheless, Michael entered the room, pushing the door open quietly.
âIs he asleep?â He whispered, popping his head through the crack in the doorway.
You smiled, âNo, come in.â
Michael did so willingly â creaking the door open fully before stepping inside the room, and closing it gently. He walked softly, with a proud smile on his face as he approached you, taking a firm seat in the chair next to the bed with a sigh.
âHeâs perfect.â He spoke tenderly, voice cracking ever so slightly as he brushed a delicate finger over his sonâs cheeks.
You giggled as you watched your sonâs eyes darting around the room, totally entranced by the lights and noises surrounding him, âHe is, isnât he?â
âHave you thought of a name yet?â He asked quietly, eyes still locked on the way his sonâs nose twitched and his lips smacked as he became accustomed to life.
âWhat do you think about Mickey?â
Michael couldâve sworn his heart had grown twice the size already today at the birth of his third son â but this moment was slowly tripling it.
His eyes flicked up to yours â a raw, deep, utterly loving expression crossing his face.
âYâknow, âcause you love Disney and Mickey Mouse so much..â You trailed off your explanation, âHe can still be Michael Joseph, but, I donât know, I just thought it was sweet.â
âBaby..â
Your expression softened at him for the first time in nearly a year â he was wrecked. Slow, overwhelming tears trickling down his cheeks that flushed crimson, lip wobbling and eyes full of adoration at your idea of his sonâs name â chosen solely from his love for Disney.
âDo you like it?â
âHoney, I love it.â He whispered, sniffling, a hand coming across to rest over your own that cradled the babyâs head, âI love it so much, baby, thank you. Thank you for thinking of me.â
ââS okay,â You whispered, smiling softly at him, âSo, Mickey it is?â
âMickey it is.â He confirmed, leaning down to press the gentlest kiss known to man-kind to the top of Mickeyâs warm head, âMickey Jackson. Heh, kinda sounds like Michael, huh?â
You chuckled, âBad or good?â
âGood. Real good.â
You noticed the way his thumb absentmindedly stroked over your knuckles â a romantic display of his utmost adoration and gratitude for you for bringing his fourth baby into this world. And in that moment, your heart had never felt so full â even after the worst pits of hell youâd felt youâd crawled into over the past few months after everything that had occurred, none of it mattered in that room, holding your baby as he drifted off into a slumber, with the father of said baby holding your hand as he did so.
The overwhelming hormones and emotions from birth hit you like a truck as tears began to fall â cascading down your cheeks just as Michaelâs did.
âHey, whatâs wrong, honey?â Michael question, a tight knit in his eyebrows as he glanced at your upset expression.
âNothing, nothing, IâmâIâm okay, I justâIâm just happy.â You sniffled, âHappy youâre here.â
You looked up from peering at Mickeyâs sleeping face and meet Michaelâs eyes â ones that were full of devotion. His hand left the embrace of your own, and reached up to wipe the tears that slipped from your waterline.
âMe too, baby.â He spoke delicately, his hand coming across to cup your flushed cheek, âMe too.â
The silence that followed wasnât awkward or forced like it had been recently since the divorce, no, it was raw â a subtle demonstration of overpowering intimacy that needed no words, only a look of sheer joy at the miracle that had been brought onto this Earth from the love you both shared. The intensity of the soul-baring, vulnerable, cherished sensation that flooded both of your systems became overwhelming â the sound of both of your hearts hammering in your chests blasting in your ears as you remained locked in a sincere gaze.
âMichael.â
He didnât even need confirmation â he leant forward before he could stop himself and connected your lips in a gentle, warm, deeply devoted kiss that send shockwaves of electricity throughout your body. You gasped into his mouth, hands tightening ever so slightly around Mickey to steady yourself as he moved his mouth slowly against your own. You kissed back immediately â a sound almost like a sob leaving your throat as more tears spilled from your eyes, as your lips collided together in a scared, dreamlike connection.
You pulled away to catch your breath â panting softly as your head lolled forward to rest your forehead against his own, the scent of his cologne becoming intoxicating from the closeness.
No words were spoken about that kiss ever again.
Not when yours and Michaelâs family came to see the baby, especially so when your three children came to do the same, and even more so when you returned home and went about your lives. And there was definitely more than enough time to discuss it, even though it never was, especially when Michael was at your house practically every day to come check on you and help out with Mickey.
Some nights heâd even sleep on the couch downstairs, and take the night shifts to let you rest, or heâd take the kids out into the garden or back to Neverland to play, with Mickey, while you showered and cleaned the house, or took everyone out for dinner to save you cooking â he was always there. And instead of feeling uncomfortable and awkward like you assumed it wouldâve been while you were still pregnant, it was surpisingly pleasant. And felt like old-times.
But, once Mickey reached the four-five-six month old mark, you didnât need as much help â and your old routine went back into motion. And with all things considered, everything between you and Michael was jovial.
Until Wednesday.
Today, Friday, thirteenth of February 2004, the day of your son, Princeâs, seventh birthday â you had to battle showing a brave, excitable face for your son, who was buzzing in joy over all the presents laid out in the living room of your home, with the undeniable fury that flamed inside you at what Michael had done.
On Wednesday, Michael had been spotted out at a lavish, fancy restaurant in Manhattan with his ex-ex-wife, Lisa Marie Presley.
Oh, yes! The same woman that helped break up your marriage two years ago â that Lisa!
Why Manhattan? Why that restaurant? Why the secrecy? Why two days before his sonâs birthday? Why Lisa?, most importantly â a million questions swirled around your head, and you knew itâd be difficult to keep them there, and not spewing out of your mouth.
Especially when you were seeing him in an hour.
Michael had decided to host a massive gathering for Princeâs birthday at Neverland, inviting all of his family over to celebrate â and obviously, being Princeâs mother, included you. And you definitely werenât going there looking like you usually did, oh, no, you had to make a statement. Remind him of who gave him four children, who stayed even though the marriage was failing, and carried his baby all through an exhausting divorce â you.
So once Paris was in her prettiest dress, Blanket and Prince in their finest dress shirts, and baby Mickey in an ironic Mickey Mouse t-shirt, you slipped on the most eye-catching, jaw-dropping dress you could find appropriate for the occasion.
It was black, Michaelâs favourite colour on you, and figure-hugging â clutching your hips and curves in all the right ways, and showing just enough cleavage to make Michael sweat. It was perfect â and just enough to make him realise what he was missing.
Not that you were intending to make him come back, or so you thought.
The drive was boisterous â nearly one-year old Mickey was, unusually, wide awake, most likely from all the noise his siblings were making as they chatted loudly in the backseat. Paris, now six-years old, and Blanket, two nearly three, were old enough to engage in playful conversations as Prince recounted to you, and Bill who chuckled in the drivers seat, all of his favourite presents, which, surprise surprise, was all of them.
âThank you, Bill. Nice to see you.â You spoke kindly, offering him a sweet smile as you pulled Mickey onto your hip, as the others clambered out the car.
âAnd you.â Bill replied, âTell Michael I said hi.â You smiled thinly, knowing there was nothing you wanted to do less than speak to him, âIf heâs still surviving after seeing you in that dress, that is.â
You laughed loudly as Blanket took your hand, now old enough to walk, âWell, if you donât hear from him, then you know why.â
Bill chuckled softly as he waved goodbye to the children, before driving away. Paris and Prince instantly took off towards the door, squealing as they went. Blanket, although confident and more than capable of running, was still the clingy baby you birthed nearly three years ago, and liked it better by your side, as Mickey nestled his face into your collarbone, sucking his thumb.
You took a long, precise, deep breath as you reached the door, collecting yourself and pushing your anger further down your nervous system before pushing the door open.
The room erupted in excited laughter and shouts of your names as they locked eyes on your presence entering the home. Prince and Paris, of course, had sped off in the direction of where all the noise was â jumping into the arms of their uncles and aunts, and accepting countless kisses from their Grandma Katherine, Michaelâs mother.
Blanketâs hand slipped from your own as you shut the door as he jogged towards an all too familiar face that emerged from the crowd.
âDaddy!â
âHey, Applehead!â
The hilarious term of endearment Michael had given all of his children rang in your head as Blanket jumped into Michaelâs embrace â instantly wrapping his short little arms around his neck as he cuddled into his shirt.
âYou okay, buddy? How was your morning at Mamaâs?â Michael asked, smoothing his hair across his forehead.
âGood, Prince got loads of presents.â Blanket revealed, as you fought the urge to laugh.
âWell, thatâll be you in a few weeks, bud.â
Michael was right, Blanketâs birthday was only around two weeks post-Princeâs, thankfully, not, for your bank account. Michael looked up from Blanketâs smiling face to meet your gaze, and he folded instantly. He didnât even try and hide the expression that spread across his face â jaw slack and eyes blown as his vision trailed along your frame, clad in a gobsmacking dress and heels.
However, your stare was ice-cold, and he noticed â watching as you darenât smile as you sauntered near him, heels clicking against the floor.
âHey, you okay?â He spoke, clearing as throat as he attempted to regain some composure.
You hummed in response as you stopped next to him, watching as he gulped thickly.
âHey, little man, howâs my littlest boy, hm?â Michael turned his attention the smallest son your hip, who now blabbered and kicked violently in your arms at the sight of his daddy â now slobbering all over himself.
Michael reached over and used his free hand, the one not holding up Blanket, to use his bib to wipe his mouth clean, âHow was he this morning? Prince didnât wake him up with all the noise, did he?â
âNo, heâs been good. Theyâve all been good.â You forced out jovially through gritted teeth, eyes only focusing on Mickey who giggled as Michael squished his cheeks.
âSo, Prince had a good morning, then? Iâve been so busy recently, I canât believe how fast his birthday has rolled around.â
âBusy, huh?â You fired back as Blanket wriggled from Michaelâs grasp and ran towards his Auntie Janet who beckoned him over, âYou been real busy, Michael?â
You knew you didnât need to say anymore, as you walked away, from the look on Michaelâs face â he knew you knew now and it was obvious in his expression. His jaw twitched as it fell ajar ever so slightly, his eyes squeezing shut as you walked away, muttering under his breath, shaking his head.
âHey, girl!â Janet called, her voice excitable as she smiled at you, waving you over as she just did Blanket, who was now playing with her hair.
âHey, Jan.â You smiled, leaning over to kiss her cheek, as she did the same âHow âyou been?â
âOh, yeah, good, good. What about you?â
The conversation flowed from there as if you saw one another yesterday â laughing wildly and joking playfully about all of her brotherâs and sisterâs, who fawned over your kids dramatically, while discussing her relationship with American rapper, Jermaine Dupri, who sheâd been with for two years at this point.
âYeah, heâs so good to me, itâs so refreshing.â Janet told you as you settled on the couch, shortly after saying hello to the rest of Michaelâs family, âWeâre going away to Hawaii in April, Iâm convinced heâs gonna propose.â
Although you smiled and gasped in joy, grasping her hands and asking a thousand questions about her possible engagement, you couldnât help but let your heart ache at the mention of the start of a new beginning â your mind instantly jumping to the memory of Michael proposing, and then your wedding, and into the start of your marriage.
âGirl, I know that look, talk to me.â Janet cut herself off, raising her eyebrows at you as she took a sip from her glass of red-wine.
You groaned, rolling your eyes with a playful smileâ Janet knew you nearly as much as Michael did, playing the part of a real sister, even if you werenât married to her brother anymore.
âItâs justâPlease tell me you saw it too.â You started, not even wanting to say it out loud.
Janet instantly knew what you were referring to, âHoney, everyone saw it.â She scoffed, âI think heâs a complete idiot for doing that.â
You laughed, shaking your head, âWell, itâs not like weâre together anymore, so thereâs no loyalty there, but, why her, yâknow? Out of everyone he couldâve chosen to take out, or even date, it had to be her.â
âSheâs a vulture.â Janet spat, âI never forgave her for going on vacation with her ex while they were together. Totally unforgivable. And I will support Michael till the day I die, and I did when he didnât speak to her for six weeks after that, but this? This is a big no.â
You sighed, âYeah, me too. Heâs the father of four of my children, so, Iâve gotta keep the peace for their sakeâbut, fuck, Jan, Iâm livid. I didnât think I could even get this angry anymore.â
Janet rest a soft, comforting hand on your knees as you let out another audible breath, âHoney, I donât blame you. Not after what she did before you broke up. She knows exactly what sheâs doing.â Janet leant in, âBut, I doubt Michael had such, how do I put this?, devious intentions. Like you said, he is technically single and can date whoever he likes, but I doubt heâd ever do it to hurt you. Heâs just too polite for his own good and it ends him up in bad situations. But her? Sheâs got an ulterior motive â âcause sheâs a bitch.â
You chuckled again, harder this time, âNo, I know. I know he would never intentionally hurt me, but I just get more irritated when itâs her, yâknow? Especially after everything that happened between us three.â You let a breathless laugh escape you, âI mean Iâd rather it be Diana.â
Janet cackled, âGirl, I reckon that ten times worse.â
The two of you shared more laughs and glasses of wine as you changed the subjects quickly â discussing vacations, work, your children, fashion, family, everything. Janet had always been your favourite, after Michael of course (not that youâd ever admit that to him now), and then Marlon, who was now approaching you from across the room.
âThere she is! My favourite baby mama!â He called, arms out wide as he entered your orbit.
You snorted in laughter as you stood up to hug him, âWhat the hell, Marlon? Iâm pretty certain all of my children are Michaelâs.â
âLet a man dream, alright?â He quipped, nudging your shoulder with a playful grin, âHey, later on, all of us are gonna have some drinks once the old fogeyâs leave and the kids are asleep â just like old times. Whaddaâ say?â
What Marlon referring to was when you and Michael first started dating, you would often go with him to Hayvenhurst when he visited his parents, alongside his siblings. And once Katherine and Joseph went up to sleep, all the siblings and their partners, including you, would all huddle in the living room and drink to your heartâs content â the house getting increasingly more loud as the group of you got more and more intoxicated. Michael never got that drunk at that age, and especially so when he felt a responsibility to take care of you â which he did. More often than not after one of those evenings, carrying you to bed once you returned home, undressing you and taking your makeup off while you babbled and kissed him all over, before passing out, which often amused him.
âUh, duh.â
Marlon laughed, clapping his hands together in anticipatory excitement to his future drinking, before Katherineâs voice sounded out into the room.
âCake time!â
Prince practically exploded with excitement as he raced over to you, squealing like a little piglet as he clabbered onto your lab. He sat with his small back facing your chest, legs kicking wildly against your shins as he radiated with joy â little hands grabbing at the material of your dress in anticipation.
Soon, the room fell into silence just as Blanket and Paris climbed next to you, nestling into your sides, as the lights flicked off before Michael arose from the darkness, a large buttercream frosting covered cake with seven ignited candles standing atop â as his melodic, sweet-symphony of a voice sounded out into the room.
Everyone soon joined in, even your two little ones next to you, for the famous Happy Birthday song, even Katherine. You knew birthdays and Christmas werenât celebrated amongst their family due to Katherineâs religion â so, you felt an extra splash of gratitude for the Jacksonâs when it came to celebrating the day of your sonâs birth without their faith in mind. But, you knew Kate would do whatever her grandbabies.
Just as Michael reached you, crouching down to Princeâs level as he giggled, the song came to an end, and the birthday boy blew out his candles, with a slight struggle from his little lungs. And as the room enclosed into darkness and cheers of âHip-Hip Hooray!â echoed in your head, your eyes landed on Michaelâs, whose were already locked on you.
The look in his eye was a familiar one â a glint that he wore four times previously, and on this day seven years ago when his first baby was born, was one of pride and intense adoration. The same look he also sported before the intimate lock of lips you shared in the hospital last year when Mickey was born â the look of love.
It was undeniable â the way his lip wobbled as his eyes glassed over in proud tears, cheeks flushing a sheer shade of burgundy, and the raw shine of adoration in his vision.
You soon adorned the same look, a simple, unspoken expression that said a thousand words, as well as one more plain sentence of âThatâs our baby boyâ.
But, the lights flicked on and you both snapped out of it â clearing your throats and swallowing thickly as you looked away from one another, forcing your attention onto Prince who demanded a slice of cake that had to be bigger than Parisâs. And soon, the night continued as it had done, now with bellies full of cake and, for the adults, wine.
However, as ever, Michaelâs intense and noticeable gaze was hard to ignore â every conversation you slotted yourself into was always dragged away by a subtle eye movement behind said person, and catching the locked stare of Michael, who watched you like a hawk, often letting his bottom slip between his teeth before looking away. Every time your stomach would jump â a flare of burning electricity coursing through your veins like wildfire.
And, as it always does, the party began filtering out â offering hugs and kisses to cheeks before heading out the door. Even including Joseph, who grumbled a good-bye, and Kate, who engulfed you in a tight embrace, kissed your cheek and thanked you for bringing her beautiful grandchildren into this world, before leaving with Michaelâs eldest sister, Rebbie, who had to send her children off to bed.
You did the same â sending your four babies up the stairs of Neverland, and into their respecting bedrooms, cooing each little one to sleep with a sweet, hushed bedtime story or a recount of their day, before they all succumbed to a much needed slumber. And as Mickey, who fell asleep in your arms, was laid carefully in his crib-like bed in Michaelâs room, you shut the door and head back down the stairs to where the party awaited you.
And then, there were nine â You, Janet, La Toya, Jackie, Marlon, Jermaine, Tito, Randy and, of course, Michael.
The dozen of you situated yourselves in the living room adorning three large couches â all spreading across the furniture in equal numbers. Michael, tactically, sat across from you. You knew exactly why â he wanted to keep staring. But, youâd let him â what else was the dress for?
Marlon took a firm seat before letting three bottles of wine clatter onto the small table that sat in the middle of the room â before grabbing one himself and pouring a large glass.
âLetâs get the real party started.â Jermaine laughed as he took the bottle from Marlon, and topped his one glass of.
âHey, thatâs my babyâs birthday party youâre dissinâ.â You quipped, chuckling as you thanked La Toya for passing you the bottle after sheâd finished with it.
âIâm not dissinââ Jermaine defended with a smile, taking a sip of his wine, âIâm just sayinâ, ainât this way more fun?â
âLove Prince, but absolutely.â Marlon joked, sending the room into laughter.
The room settled into a comfortable buzzed environment â everyone quietly conversed with those nearest to them, occasionally engaging in a large group discussion, as the multiple glasses of consumed wine took over everyoneâs blood-streams.
âOooh, you know what we should play,â La Toya squealed, ââNever have I ever?â!â
Jackie laughed, âSeriously? Are we fifteen?â
âWhat? Itâs fun!â Toya defended, crossing her arms over her chest.
âI mean,â Marlon started, grinning playfully, a joke clearly pending, âWe are in Neverland.â
âYou are so corny.â Randy shot with a chuckle, âIâm down.â
âYeah, me too.â Janet said with a grin, âWhy not?â
As everyone, including yourself, agreed, all eyes landed on Michael â who had remained deliberately quiet.
âYou in, Mike?â Tito question, placing his nearly empty wine glass on the side table, peering over at his brother next to him.
Michael let out a breathy laugh, eyes flicking up to you before he nodded, âSure.â
Everyone cheered before putting one hand in the air as La Toya cleared her throat, before stating the first prompt.
âNever have I ever spent more than $50,000 in one day?â
The room chuckled as Jermaine, Michael and Janet put a finger down â but, Michael was a given. He was Michael Jackson after all.
âThatâs so tame, sis.â Marlon laughed, âNever have I ever had sex in a pool?â
âEw, Mar, what the hell?â Janet scrunched her face up, as Marlon cackled with laughter.
La Toya, Tito, Jackie and Jermaine put a finger down, succumbing to the teasing that soon followed from their siblings as the room erupted into laughter once more.
âAlright, alright, if thatâs the route weâre going down, Never have I ever had sex more than ten times in one day?â
Well, shit.
Your eyes locked on Michaelâs as the room fell into silence as everyoneâs visions darted towards everyoneâs hands â but, soon chaos ensued as you and Michaelâs fingers slotted down.
âOh, my God, Mike.â Jermaine cried, clutching his stomach, âYou dog.â
You chuckled, shaking your head as you recounted the memory clearly in your head. It was the night, and more so day, after your wedding â and you spent the whole twenty-four hours after tying the knot making love. So much so, you both slept for at least fourteen hours that night, both covered head to toe in sweat, spit and cum â and completely spent.
âWeâd just got married, what did you expect?â You giggled, the deep smile on your face on deepening as Michael dropped his head as he laughed breathlessly, clearly embarrassed from such intimate talk.
A few more intimate, hilarious and interesting rounds followed â memories from the siblings childhood, as well their respecting relationships and embarrassing moments all being revealed with each breath. As well as more wine.
âI canât believe you peed on Randy, you two.â Janet gasped for breath as she laughed.
Michael laughed loudly, shaking his head, as he recounted the memory of sharing a bed with his brothers, âHeâs such a liar.â He spoke, his words slightly slurred as the alcohol took over.
âI am not!â Randy fired back.
âWell, it wasnât me.â Michael giggled, raising his eyebrows in Marlonâs direction who screamed with laughter.
âWhen you gotta go, you gotta go, little brother.â He winked, ignoring the way Randy cursed at him, âAlright, if you wanna come for me, Never have I ever got caught having sex by Mom?â
Randy groaned as he put a finger down, just as you gasped, âOh, fuckâs sake, that includes us!â
âNo way! When?â La Toya gasped as the room bustled with questions at your drunken revelation.
âOh, come on, girl, whyâd you tell âem?â Michael whined, his voice drawled as his cheeks flushed, as he slotted a third finger down.
The alcohol had clearly hit everyone, including you, as your cheeks flushed pink and your body buzzed with a heavy, noticeable daze of intoxication, as you began retelling the story. It had been a night just like this, five years ago, when Paris was still young, and your Mother had been looking after her and Prince while you had a party-night at Hayvenhurst with all the siblings. But, this time, Michael got equally as drunk as you, and was too under the influence to attempt to get home, so opted for spending the night at his parents. And, as most coupleâs do when drunk, you began having sex, albeit much louder than you intended to. But, you hadnât let Kate know you were staying over â so, when she marched into the room, wondering if there was a burglar, she witnessed you, naked, atop of her son, riding him.
Michaelâs hands enclosed around his face as Tito shook his shoulders with a laugh, teasing him, as you added Kate had a stern talk with you the next day, like you were irresponsible teenagers, about safe sex, especially after having a baby.
âThat was your fault.â Michael pointed at you, a lazy grin spread across his face, as his eyes drooped slightly.
You giggled, âMe? You came on to me.â
âMore like into, but sure.â
âOh, good, God, Michael!â La Toya squealed, covering her ears as everyone laughed.
âI always forget how he gets when he drinks.â You slurred with a chuckle, âAs the story reveals.â
âOh? You wanna go there?â Michael fired, âNever have I ever broke a mirror during... it?â
You gasped, folding a finger down as the memory of your legs giving way, and falling forward when Michael was fucking you from behind in front of the mirror, and it smashing from the weight of your tumble, hit your brain.
âAlright, Never have I ever fell asleep during sex?â
Marlon cackled as Michael pursed his lips together, âIt was after the tour, girl, I was tired!â
âPut that finger down, Michael.â
âFine, speaking of fingers, Never have I ever broke a finger during sex?â
As you slot a finger down, recounting the way you jumped on Michael from the edge of the bed, in between switching positions, and broke his pinky finger, you shot back, âNever have I ever slipped in the shower during sex?â
Michael cursed with a laugh as he put a finger down â the tension of his previous actions melting into nothingness as your teasing continued.
âNever have I ever been pregnant?â
âOh, thatâs playing dirty.â You gasped, putting a finger down until one was left, âNever have I ever woke the kids up from how loud you were being?â
âFine, Never have I ever argued with me during sex?â
âNever have I ever been an asshole that it required an argument?â
Michaelâs jaw clenched as the room fell into uncomfortable silence, âNever have I ever divorced the one man who actually put up with you?â
Oh, now he was pissed â and so were you.
âOh, fuck you.â You spat, the tension rising back up as you dropped your hand, now not caring about the game, âNever have I ever ruined my marriage by letting my ex-wife sleep over at my house and take care of my loving wifeâs kids while she was crying at her Momâs house because of what Iâd done?â
âYou know it wasnât like that.â Michael spat through gritted teeth, his hand also abandoned.
âOh, really? So maybe, Never have I ever took my other ex-wife out for dinner who ruined my marriage, two days before my sonâs birthday, is more fitting?â
Before Michael could even get another word out, you slammed your wine glass onto the table and stormed out of the room â heels clicking wildly against the floor, covering the sound of your quiet sobs as tears slipped from your eyes.
You soon found one of the many downstairs bathrooms, slotting yourself inside with a stumble due to your intoxication, and locking it shut. You hunched over the sink, letting tears drip onto the cold tiles that surrounded the basin as you choked out a sob.
âDivorced the one man who put up with youâ rang in your head like a blasting speaker in your mind â circling around in your drunken thoughts. Michael had never been cruel, even when drunk, but his words had been harsh, which allowed your slurred brain to run away with itself, believing that it was true.
After a few minutes, a soft knock sounded onto the wood of the door, âHoney? Itâs me.â
Janetâs quietened voice hit your ears from behind the door, as you stood up with a huff and unlocked the wooden barrier, pulling it open. She sighed sadly at the sight of your crying frame, before pulling you into a tight hug, rubbing your back as a few stray tears fell from your waterline.
âIâm sorry, honey, IâI have no idea what happened back there, but, I think you two have a lot to discuss.â She spoke gently as she pulled away, offering a small smile, âWeâre all heading home now, do you need a ride?â
You let out another long sigh, âNo, Iâm okay. And youâre right, we should probably talk. Iâm sorry you had to see that.â
âDonât stress it, sweetie. Call me if you need, okay?â
And with quiet goodbyes with his brothers at the front door, who teased you carefully about your dispute with Michael, letting the tears dry and soft laughter erupt from your chest, the house fell into loud silence â the kind where you could move one step and it would echo.
You breathed out again, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand, before heading back to where the group had once been. Your chest ached at the sight of Michael â head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, body unmoving, now in dim lighting, the main light dialled down to a softer array of light across the room.
Michaelâs head lifted at the sound of your heels clicking as they had done all day, your footing still unstable from the lingering alcohol, as you approached him. You took the high road, sitting firmly next to you with a huffed breath, hands settling on your thighs as you got comfortable.
The room, if it was even at all possible, fell into deeper silence, the only sound radiating between you was the sound of your slurred, slow breaths.
âIâm sorry.â Michael finally spoke, voice croaked and quiet as he sighed, âIâI donât know why I said that.â
âWhy did you?â Your voice a near whisper as tears threatened to brew at the reminder of the sentence that was haunting you, âWas I really that bad?â
âNot at all.â He spoke quickly, turning towards you briskly, his eyes meeting your own, âI was just angry and I blurted it out.â He ran a hand across his face, âI donât know why I did.â
âThat really hurt, Michael.â You breathed, âAnd, when youâsighâwhen you, yâknow, with Lisa the other day.â You swallowed down the lump in your throat, âWhy?â
Michael grew quiet, pursing his lips together as he breathed out once more, âI donât even know. I was bored, and in Manhattan for a gala, and she called me asking if I was free. I justâI just wanted to catch up.â
âCatch up with your ex-wife? After all that happened?â You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows.
âI know it sounds ridiculous, I hear it, I do. I donât even know why I agreed really, but, we didnât go home together, or kiss, or nothinâ, if thatâs what youâre thinkinâ, âcause I bet you are.â You let a soft chuckle at his words, which were undeniably true, âIt was harmless, to me at least. I definitely see how it looks.â
âLooked real bad, Mike.â You laughed breathlessly, âJan said you were probably just being polite, and I guess she was right. But, it still hurt, Michael, seeing you with her, it was like opening an old wound that I worked so hard to heal.â
Michael didnât reply right away, just stayed locked in your gaze, eyes a sunken display of his upset â hurt in the way heâd caused you pain. The look in his eyes was a watered down version of the way he looked at you when you caught him with Lisa the day you split up â the vision sending shockwaves of irrevocable pain coursing through your traumatised veins.
âIâm sorry.â He mumbled again, a hand coming down to rest over yours that crumbled together in your lap, âThe last thing I want is for us to fall out when we have kids. Itâs not fair to you, as well as them. Thatâs the last thing I want for us.â
The latter word hung heavy in your head the second it left his lips â a spike of a familiar adoring feeling spreading through you.
âUs.â A smile drifted onto your face, as you glanced down at your connected hands, âHavenât heard that in a while.â
Michael watched as you toyed with his fingers, rolling the digits between your own, rubbing the soft skin with the pad of your thumb so delicately his heart skipped a beat at the touch.
âWe were pretty good together.â He admitted softly, âYou made it perfect.â
Your smile deepened, âSo I wasnât hard to put up with?â
Michael chuckled softly as you reciprocated, âNo, not at all.â He confirmed, âI wouldnât be who I am today without you, and thatâs a positive thing. I mean Iâm a dad of a four now, and I love being a father, and I love our kids, and I love yoââ
He cut himself off, visibly tensing, before he could finish the sentence â but, it was too late. The way you gasped softly revealed youâd heard it â his casual revelation for his love for you, even after all this time.
âMichael.â You whispered, peering up from your entwined hands to meet his gaze, âWhat did you say?â
You had heard, loud and clear, but you needed confirmation before you let your heart burst, while it hammered violently in your chest.
âI said I love you.â Michael sighed, accepting defeat and owning it, âI do now, as I always have done, even after everything. The break-up, the divorce, the kids, Lisa â everything.â
His voice was lazy and slurred, and strong smelling of alcohol as it drifted over your nose from his breath.
âMichael, Iââ
âYou donât need to say anything. I know you left for a reason, and a valid one at that. I know I fucked everything up, before and after we split up, I justâI donât think I can go another day without you.â He let out a broken, shaken breath as a single tear slipped down his face, âI still love you so much, so much it physically hurts whenever I see you leave when you pick up the kids. I can literally feel my heart breaking in my chest whenever we talk like we didnât spent eight years together. Eight years learning routines, and favourite dinners, andâand little quirks. Eight years of sleeping next to one another, washing together in the shower, and rubbing each otherâs feet after a long day, or taking off your make-up when youâre too drunk to do it.â You laughed softly at his words, âEight years of marriage, seven of being parents to the most wonderful children on the planet, I justâI canât bear that they think their Mommy and Daddy donât love each other anymore, when thatâs not the truth.â He finally took a breath after he rambled, âAt least it isnât for me.â
You didnât even realise you were crying until salt lingered on your tongue from where your tears trickled onto your lips â eyebrows tucked deep into the crease of your forehead, lip wobbling as you let him pour his heart out, a raw, vulnerable display of his adoration.
âI never stopped loving you, Michael.â
The sound that left Michael was a broken choke, half a sob as his hands enclosed tighter around your own.
âI was mad at youâfuck, so mad at you. So mad and distraught and lonely, and you saw none of it. You were just so busy and cooped in your own insanely demanding career that you took me for granted. Assumed Iâd always be there, that Iâd never leave, that Iâd always put up with it.â You sniffled, wiping the tears that dripped from the tip of your nose, âBut, I just couldnât. I let you push me closer and closer to the edge, until I willing jumped off, yâknow? I just couldnât take anymore.â You continued, âBut, that never meant I stopped loving you.â
As you finished, you let out a deep, trembling breath that released all of the past two years of stress from your body â your shoulders slumping ever so slightly as more tears slipped from your eyes.
âI could never, ever stop loving you, Michael.â
Michael didnât waste a beat â hands flying from your enclosure to cup your cheeks, and connect your lips.
You gasped into the kiss, your own instantly taking a hold of his shoulders as he moved quickly against you. He was making up for lost time â his hands moving from your face, to your neck, to your waist, pulling you closer to his body radiating pulsing heat, as he hummed into your mouth. A low, deep grumble left him as you crawled onto his lap, lips still connected, instantly finding a familiar comfortability as your legs settled either side of his. Your tongue swiped his bottom lip, requesting entry, as your hands splayed across his panting chest, as he let you in. The kiss only got frequently more frenzied, hands running across one anotherâs bodies, as if attempting to remember the shape, as your tongues glided together â the kiss growing warm, wet and messy.
If alcohol wasnât in the equation, you most likely wouldâve left it there â pulling away from the kiss and continuing the conversation about your relationship, maybe even attempting to reconcile or rekindle, but not now. Not when your hips slowly began grounding down on the obvious tent in his slacks, moaning into one anotherâs mouths as his hands cupped the curve of your behind through your dress. The same one that had ridden up your thighs, now revealing your delicate, lace panties that sported a wet patch from where you drooled from anticipatory arousal â now rolling against Michaelâs crotch.
âOh, God, I missed this.â Michael panted, lips leaving your own, revelling in the way you whined into the air, as his mouth trailed down your jaw, to your exposed neck, as your head lolled back, âMissed you, shit, I missed you so much, baby.â
His mouth licked and sucked the skin of your neck, erupting in red-hot heat from the alcohol, and the ecstasy his mouth was providing â littering your skin in dark, blooming love-bites, ones he soothed with his tongue afterwards.
âMichael, please.â
Michael groaned at the sound of your needy plea â a hand guiding your rocking hips against him as he leaked into his boxers at the sensation, âTell me what you need, sweet girl.â
âNeedâfuck, need you, baby, Ohââ
Your breath caught in your throat as Michael lips reached your breasts â pressing open-mouthed, spit-stricken kisses against your cleavage as a hand crawled up to cup your left breast, kneading one in his palm.
âYeah?â He breathed, voice panted and wrecked, mouth now covered in your lipstick, âWhat do you need, baby?â
You whined, loud and desperate, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he grazed your erect nipple with his teeth, your back arching at the feeling, âMake love to me, please.â
How you ended up in Michaelâs bedroom was a blur â a rushed, hushed and stumbled run up the stairs, shedding clothes before you even made it to the room, stealing kisses and subtle touches in the dark, in quietened voices to not wake your sleeping children.
But, once you made it, Michael pounced like a lion on its prey â guiding you backward as he kissed you until your legs hit the bed, before laying you down gently. Michael had always been a tentative, doting lover in the bedroom, making sure you always finished first, and had the most pleasureful, comfortable experience possible â and even after all this time, he was the same.
He had already rid his shirt outside the room, and managed to pull your dress halfway up your legs, so when he fell to his knees in between your bare thighs, he only had to push your dress the other half of the way off, before you were bare before him, aside from your panties.
He shimmied your soaked underwear down your legs and shuffled back on his calves â eyes trailing over your stark naked, trembling frame.
âWow.â He breathed, âMy beautiful lady. God, the things you do to me.â
âI think I have somewhat of an idea.â Your voice was teasing and tantalising as a bare foot, your heels left to rot on the stairs, pressed firmly onto the bulge in his trousers.
Michael cursed under his breath, head falling forward to rest against your knee as his hand gripped your ankle at the sensation â he hadnât had any sort of physical contact with a woman, besides hugging, since you split up a year ago, and by God, was he desperate now.
As your foot retracted and he gained composure, he pressed swift kisses up from your knee and along your thighs â before two large slowly parted your legs as he slot his face between them.
Before he delved in to where you needed him most, he peered up at your panting frame, eyes blow at the anticipation of his mouth, âCan I taste you, baby?â
âOh, God, please, yeâOh, fuck, Michael!â
The cry left you before you stop yourself as his tongue flattened against your sex â a low rumble of a groan leaving his lips, vibrating against your core as he let the taste of you settle on his tongue. You writhed at the vibration, soft gasps and whines leaving your throat as he began slow, practiced figure-eights along your throbbing clit â your hands flying to capture his hands that rest against your thighs in a tight grasp to steady yourself.
âFuck, you taste even better than I remembered, mama.â Michael mumbled against your sex, licking a long stripe from your weeping hole, to where your clit twitched violently.
He dove back in, but this time, slipping a slender finger inside you â revelling in the way your back arched and you cried his name, the pleasure you yourself too hadnât felt in a year consumed you entirely. His fingers found that spot instantly â rubbing the part of your drooling cunt that made you cry out in overwhelming pleasure repeatedly as you saw stars.
With the dual sensation of his fingers and relentless mouth now suckling your clit into his mouth, releasing it with a pop! and then swirling his tongue around it â your orgasm approached quicker than you expected. And hit you like a freight train.
âOh, my, God, Iâm gonnaâfuck, Michael, Iâââ You sounded awfully desperate and whiny as you panted, legs shaking as your first non-self-inflicted orgasm washed over you.
His name fell from your swollen lips like a chant â hitting his ears as he contained to stimulate you, his tongue and fingers never letting up as you rode the wave of your release.
âThatâs it, thatâs my girl.â Michael coaxed, his fingers slowing as you slumped against the sheets, âDid so good for me, baby.â
Michael gasped as you sat up and grabbed him by the belt â dragging him to his feet as his crotch became level with your face from where you sat on the bed. Your nimble fingers worked open his belt with practiced ease, an action youâd performed thousands of times over your relationship, as you pushed his slacks and boxers to his ankles.
Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of him â youâd seen his cock, hard and soft, a million times before, but this time was different. He looked the hardest heâd ever been â twitching cock flushed a deep shade of pink against the mauve-coloured tip, pulsing veins painting the underside of his shaft, and sporting a drool of perfectly white pre-cum from the head that stained his abdomen as it slapped against it.
You pulled him down by his hips as you lay flat against the sheets â back hitting the bed as Michael crawled atop of you. He connected your lips instantly, but, this kiss was gentler than the previous â his mouth moved slowly and delicately against yours, as if savouring the taste of sweet red-wine and buttercream frosting on your tongue, mixing with the familiar taste of your saliva.
His hands moved quicker than his mouth â pulling your legs up into the air by the back of your knees, and slotting them onto his shoulders, as he nestled closer to your chest. With a spare hand that wasnât cupping the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, Michael took a firm hold of the base of his cock and slot it between your folds with ease only a former husband of eight years would know to do, even in an intoxicated state.
âPlease, baby.â
âPatience.â He whispered against your mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before sitting up on his knees, âWanna do somethinâ first.â
He leant over to the nightstand next to the bed, ignoring how you whined from the lack of touch, and retrieved a small black box. He lodged himself back between your raised legs, and chuckled, opening the black box, as you gasped.
âWanna be my wife again for the night, baby?â
There, in the black, velvet box, the same one he opened nine years prior on golden sands in Italy at sunset, held your engagement ring, and nestled neatly above it, your wedding ring, the same one you wore for eight years, and mailed back to him the day after you broke-up. One that he kept all this time in the drawer of his nightstand â a subtle way of holding onto you all this time.
Michael pulled the wedding ring out of the box, saving the engagement ring for safe keeping, and threw the box across the large bed. He slotted your legs over his shoulders once more, slithering his cock between your glistening folds, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth at the sound of your breathy whine â before guiding himself to your clenching hole.
With one swift, beautifully erotic jerk of his hips â Michael sheeted himself inside you, at the same time as he slipped your wedding ring back onto your ring-finger.
The sensation of not only being stuffed to the hilt of the cock youâd missed for two years, the one you touched yourself to the thought of every night since you left, whining as your cunt struggled to stretch around the size of him, but also your finger now snug with your wedding ring around it once more had your pussy gushing and pulsating around the length of him.
Michael didnât miss it â leaning forward, slotting himself only deeper with a huff, and pressing his mouth against yours, âOh? You like that, huh?â He teased, lips ghosting against your own, âYou like the idea of being my wife again, baby?â
âMmhâfuck, yeah, babyââ Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of his cock nudged your cervix â a sensation that had you gasping for breath at the fullness.
âThatâs right, darling,â Michael breathed, pulling back slowly so only the tip of him remained, ââWanna make you mine again so bad.â
And his relentless thrusts began â hips moving at such a pace that you lost your breath, eyes rolled so far into the back of your head you became dizzy, and noises of undeniable pleasure so loud you were certain at least one of your children were to wake. Michael always had insane stamina, especially so after your wedding, but right now it was unstoppable â so pent up for your body for over a year that you didnât think heâd ever stop.
His hands rest harshly on your hips, grip so hard you were certain itâd leave a mark, and that it did, as he fucked you back down onto his cock â the sound of your squelching cunt filling his ears.
âOh, sweetheart.â Michael breathed, breath warm against your skin, âListen to thatâyâpussyâs so wet fâme, honey. Missed your husband that much, huh?â
âSoâfuckâso much, MikeyâGod.â
Your noises were whiny and needier than youâd ever heard them, not that your drunken brain was registering in the moment, as you buried yourself into the crook of his neck â lips instantly finding solace in his warm skin, covered in a sheen of sweat, that danced on your tongue as you sucked marks into the flesh. Michael groaned near the shell of your ear, hands tightening around your hip as you clamped down on him â now rutting impossibly faster at the sensation of your spasming cunt and your lips against his skin.
âMichael!âHoly fuck, oh fuck, oh fuckââ
You only got louder, and therefore whinier, when he pressed your legs against your chest in a brutal mating press â now despicably deeper inside you, and relentlessly abusing the sweet spot, the one he previously curled his fingers against, as your second orgasm crept up your abdomen.
âGod, baby, you feelâJesus, just like how I remember.â Michael panted, moving his head to capture your mouth in a fierce kiss once more, âFuck, I love you.â
You cried out indefinitely into his mouth, hands threading through his soft locks of hair at the nape of his neck, âI loveâMmh!âlove you so much, Michael.â
He cursed under his breath, jaw hanging swiftly slack as his eyes squeezed shut â cock now twitching violently inside you as he quickened his thrusts swiftly. Your orgasm was dangerously close â now only a few ruts against your G-spot away as Michael continued to pepper kisses over your lips and face, groaning against your skin.
âFuck, baby, Iââ He cut himself off with a whine, deep from his chest, âWanna give you another baby so bad.â
His words sent you over the edge â cunt clenching him so hard his thrusts faltered ever so slightly as he cried out at the sensation. Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks â your back arching and mouth falling open for frenzied pants and whines to escape your throat as the sweet, delicious familiarity of an orgasm coaxed out by Michael consumed your body. Irrevocable ecstasy coursed through you like buzzing electricity â setting you alight as you mumbled incoherently into the air.
âJesus, is that what you want, mama? You wanâ a fifth? Oh, Jesusââ
Speaking the filthy words aloud, Michael threw himself into his own release â hips sputtering as he pushed himself impossibly deeper, spilling inside you with a loud groan, muffled by the safe haven of your collarbone, his teeth sinking into the skin to soften the noises. His pushed his incredibly, obviously, fertile seed further inside you â retracting his teeth and licking the marks in your skin in a soothing manner as his hands tightened around your hips, the jerks of his own slowing with each lazy thrust.
Soon came the silence â now this time not angered, or tense, or awkward, or saddened, but familiar. The ragged pants of breaths as you attempted to catch them, and gentle, loving, soft kisses stolen on necks, jaws, cheeks and lips â whispering heartfelt desires and thoughts into one anotherâs skin, promising love and devotion.
Michael pulled out with a wet pop! and crumbled next to you â instantly pulling you to his chest, and situating you under the blankets. His head hit the pillow with a sigh as you nestled onto his skin â both your brains swirling with alcohol and adrenaline-induced intoxication.
Just as your eyes fluttered shut, sleep threatening to take over, Michael pressed an adorably gentle kiss to your forehead. Your eyes squinted open, fighting sleep in a loosing battle, as you met his too sleepy gaze.
âWhatever happens in the morning,â He whispered, âJust know I love you.â
He didnât expect a reply, especially so when your eyes fell back shut and you drifted off to sleep, as moments later he did the same.
And thatâs the reality of the night that had hit you in this very moment â sat upright in Michaelâs bed, more hungover than you anticipated, and swarming with dread as you stared down at the wedding ring on your finger.
The night wasnât unpleasant â it was far from it. If anything, it actually fixed the main problem in your life â being a single mother of four, and having to pretend like you didnât still have feelings for your ex-husband. But, fucking him drunk wasnât exactly the route you thought youâd take to reconcile your relationship.
âBaby?â
Michaelâs hoarse, croaky, morning voice hit your ears, making you jump as you gasped softly, breaking out of your train of through as you met his sleepy gaze. He mumbled softly as consciousness erupted in his system, rubbing his tired eyes as they settled on you â covered in love-bites, bruises and completely stark naked.
âOh, Jesus, did weâ?â
âI think thatâs fairly obvious, Michael.â You forced out a scarce laugh, pursing your lips against one another as Michael slotted the puzzle pieces together, âDo youâDo you remember anything, or..?â
âIâI think so, I donâtâIs that your wedding ring?â
You peered down at the shining jewellery, as a soft chuckle escaped you, âUh, yeah. I think we kinda got re-engaged last night.â
âOh, my God.â Michael groaned, covering his face with his hands bashfully, âIâm so sorry, I just know it was me who instigated that.â
Another genuine laugh slipped from your mouth, mingling with Michaelâs in the air of the bedroom, âYeah, seems like it.â
Silence followed shortly â but, as it had been ever since you revealed your unspoken love for one another after everything, it wasnât tense. Nor unsettling. If anything, the silence was calm and peaceful â like you both had so much to say, yet felt no pressured obligation to do so frantically.
âWell, you, um, you put it on.â Michael spoke shyly, âSo, do you want toâdo we, uh, shall Iââ
You slipped the ring from your finger, and presented it to him, âI think we should have this decision when weâre of more sound mind.â
âOh, yeah, sure.â Michael replied quietly, taking the ring from your grasp.
You could tell from the way he spoke that he was disappointed â like you had shattered his heart all over again.
âThatâs not to say I donât want to discuss us, and what was said last night. Iâm not closing that off for good, so, donât worry. I just think getting engaged before we even discuss getting back together is a bit far-fetched.â
Michael chuckled, a real laugh escaping him as a smile danced onto his lips, âYeah, youâre right, good idea, mama.â
You couldnât help but let your heart flutter with fondness at the easiness of the nickname â the familiarity of it sending waves of butterflies through your stomach.
The rest of the morning was jovial â you washed and dressed yourself, in a pair of Michaelâs old joggers and an old Victory Tour t-shirt, with light banter and easy conversations with him, both of you waking the children up together and curating breakfast for the whole family. You managed to shut down any probing questions Prince and Paris hounded you with, like âMama, why are you here if you donât live with Daddy anymore?â or âMama, are you and Daddy back in love?â and âDaddy, are you gonna marry Mommy again soon?â
You diminished them all with a stern warning to stop asking, before exchanging hushed giggles and side-eyed glances to one another at the comedic timing of your two eldest.
But, all good things must come to an end, as Michael helped you with yours and the childrenâs belongings to Billâs car, which awaited you out front. As Michael conversed with Bill, you ushered the children into the back seat, clipping them in like you had done the day previously, before turning to Michael.
âCome here.â He smiled, opening up his arms.
You chuckled softly, walking into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around your waist, as yours situated against his chest, the sound of his rhythmical heart beating making your heart flutter. He pressed a swift kiss, while the kids werenât looking, to your forehead before you pulled away.
âCall me, okay?â He spoke to you, blowing a kiss to Paris as she waved at him through the window, âWe can talk about everything, whenever you want.â
âOkay, Michael.â
You returned the smile he offered to you as he pulled the car door open for you, and pushing it gently shut once youâd climbed in. Michael waved theatrically goodbye as the car sped off out the driveway â his frame becoming smaller and smaller in the wing-mirror as Bill drove further away.
âThe dress trick worked then, huh?â Bill teased with a playful smile.
You laughed, âDonât even start.â
From then on, you contacted Michael frequently â calling him, even if it was just to ask him about his day, often, just to hear his voice. You didnât know when you wanted to discuss that night, as you were the one who ended the relationship, and as dearly as you loved him, you had to be sure that things were going to change. You didnât want to mess yourself around, as well as your children, by getting back into a relationship out of infatuation and attachment, rather than knowing for sure.
So, Michael would take any opportunity he could to show you just how much he meant what he said. He took you out anywhere and everywhere, just the two of you, dates like the old days when you first got together â dinners, theme parks, movies, bowling, dancing, all child-like and utterly ridiculous, but yet so meaningful. And he never once talked about work, unless you asked, never answered a phone call, or started mentally drifting away from the conversation as his mind slipped back into work mode â he was there. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
He started making a real, true, genuine effort â and one that you never asked him to.
The first time you called him after that night was a few days afterwards â just to check in. And he asked you out â said he would love to take you out to dinner to the restaurant you both used to religiously go to when you were married. Your favourite Mexican restaurant in all of California.
And from that point on, he never stopped â never let up on his effort. He took you everywhere, and treated you like you werenât his ex-wife whom he was attempting to get back. He was behaving out of pure love and devotion to you â proving himself and making up for lost time. Meanwhile, not once did he ask nor expect sex â your drunken night had been intoxicated led, and as much fun as he had, he strictly told you that the time you were spending together wouldnât be sexual, as he wanted it to be meaningful. When you teased him that you thought he was saying your sex wasnât heartfelt, he quickly shut it down â reminding you that although sex between you two is sacred to him, earning your trust and respect back was more so.
At the six week mark of you and Michael beginning to rekindle your relationship â you had never felt so high. Your children were let on to a âlittle secretâ that Mommy and Daddy are close friends now, and can be around one another â so dinners and trips out were spent as family again. Their adolescent brains didnât question it for very long â but you could tell your eldest were secretly pleased. Especially Paris, who whispered to you one night while you coaxed her to sleep, with Michael stood in the doorway, watching happily, that she was happy you and her Daddy were friends again, and that she loved you both so much, before falling asleep.
That was all the confirmation you were making the right decision that you needed.
Michael had woken at his own house alone, this morning, for once â you had spent the evening out with his sisters last night, and requested a solo night at your house. A choice he respected â which led him to awake in his bed all by himself. He had the kids round, which meant his peaceful morning would probably be disturbed in a matter of minutes, with Prince, Paris and Blanket leaping on bed, before he fetched Mickey from his.
But, the first disruption was the loud sound of the phone ringing.
Michael jumped â body seizing as the sound rattled through him. He cursed under his breath as he reached for the phone, picking it up and bringing it to his ear.
âHello?â
âMichael?â
The sound of your voice would usually bring a smile straight to his face, and flutters throughout his body â but, you sounded panicked. And he instantly noticed.
âBaby? Are you alright?â
âYou better get that wedding ring out again, Mike.â You laughed, but clearly sounded unamused as Michael furrowed his eyebrows.
âHuh? What do you mean, honey?â He replied, confusion swarming his senses.
a late night of driving around with your bf leads to some finger action (don't ask how he doin this....just know yall both inna car ok!?)
Anyone would have thought this was a quiet night, just a quiet drive around town between you two.
Outside, the streets of Los Angeles drifted by in a blur of glowing traffic lights, neon signs, and palm trees swaying beneath the warm summer night.
It was a quiet night, Michael drove with one hand resting on the steering wheel as the engine purred beneath the hood. His other hand, occupied somewhere else. Just on the other side was you, relaxed in your seat wearing one of his leather jackets and a dress.
The windows were tinted so no one could see either of you. Michael thought this was a good chance to tease you.
First, his hand rested along your thigh, like he usually does when he drives around with you. To him this was natural, always feeling you on his finger tips. As the drive went on, his song came on the radio....Lady of my life.
What a surprise, he thought to himself. You loved this song, it was one of your favorites. His voice was so sexy, it felt like a soft promise against your ears, and you told Michael so. His response had been that bashful little smile of his, the one that always seemed to appear whenever you complimented his singing.
"I need you by my side, don't you go nowhere..." he sings the lyrics of his song quietly.
His hand lightly squeezed your thigh. You hum softly as he did. "Michael baby," you say softly looking over to him.
"Hm?" He spared you a quick glance, his hand still resting on the steering wheel. "Yeah, baby?"
"I loveeeeee this song," you say humming.
"Do you?," he smiles, "How much do you like it?"
You guys have been teasing each other all day, in the studio, backstage, everywhere. Whether it was a glance over or a slow lip bit. It became a quiet game between you two, and you wanted to go a little further. You were nervous, but you slowly parted your legs. Michael couldn't fully see what you were doing, he was focused on the road, however, his gaze drifted toward you for just a second.
You hum slightly as you glide his hand close to your most intimate parts. Michael let out a shy chuckle, trying to play it cool. Your panties stuck to your pussy when you felt his fingers get closer, he teases the wet spot. The street lights flash against his face as he smiles teasingly.
"You really like this song huh? You like my voice?" He asks innocently. He then turned the wheel, turning into another lane, coming to a red light. He then turns to you, sitting up from his seat. "Quincy had me beg in the studio to sing it, had to dim the lights," he chuckles while eyeing you.
"Oh really hm?" you lean back in the seat slightly, "I wanna hear you beg right now," you say shrugging.
He slowly bit the inside of his lip, for you, he'd do anything.
"Lemme see...please baby?" he asks his that soft tone of his.
And so you did, it didn't take much to convince you. You slowly peeled your panties down your legs and sat back.
And now.... here you were, whimpering quietly from his fingers, while his song still played in the back.
His hand still on the wheel, and the other still working your puffy clit. You couldn't help but let out a shaky little chuckle, âDonât you need both hands, Michael?â you ask referring to the wheel, your eyes were half-lidded, full off that late night lust and locked on his face.
"Yeah I do" he paused before speaking again, "... but then I wouldn't be able to drive," he replies smiling to himself. He then takes another turn, his foot carefully still on the pedal. "You close mama?" He ask you while glancing to you then back to the road.
You let out a quiet moan and nod, "Yeah m'close," he then sits up in his seat and adjusts. His middle finger then slips down into your soaked pussy, so slick, so wet and messy. He pumps his finger in and out, curling it. You moan a little louder, your back arches.
"Fuck Michael...oh my gosh!," you say whining slightly.
"Yeah I know baby, feels too good?" His finger pumps faster, the slickness rubbing against his other fingers as he quickens his motions. You felt a different feeling this time, a nice feeling of pressure in your stomach.
As he continued you whimpered out his name, "Michael...Michael..." you say as your breaths speed up, maybe a slight warning. Your walls clenched around his fingers, and then you left it. A warm sensation, a milky white liquid comes rushing out.
Michael looked over, surprised but with a happy smile. "Oh gosh girl," he chuckled a little breathlessly. "I think you just squirted". You let out a light breathy chuckle, but his fingers didn't stop, instead they continued. He wanted to get every last drop from you.
"More... gimmie some more," he said greedily, his thumb circled your clit before his middle finger slipped back in.
You stuttered out, "Michael-mmm- I don't wanna make a mess." He chuckled, trying to still hold onto the wheel, gosh he was so close to pulling over, in fact he did. He quickly pulled over to a sidewalk and undid his seat belt.
He then quickly leaned over and gave you a few kisses on your lips, well maybe more than just a few. His tongue caressed over yours, his lips smacking firm, "Cmon baby," he says through the kiss. "Can you give me another one? Just another, I have a towel in the back."
You scoffed slightly through the kiss and glare at him, "Is that why you've been giving me so much water lately?"
"No," he says biting his lower lip at you. "It was hot today," he coos softly. His fingers then start again while looking at you, slipping in deeper and faster, "Wanted to make sure you stayed hydrated baby." His fingers kept working you, two of them now, sliding in deep and curling right against that spot that made your thighs shake. He watched your face the whole time, shy little smile on his lips even while his hand stayed nasty against your pussy.
You bit your lip quietly, trying to keep quiet, but the moans slipped out, "M'pussy feels so good Michaelllll"
You tried to close your legs but he gently pushed them wider with his free hand, his thumb rubbing your swollen clit. His middle and ring fingers pumped faster, the wet sounds filling the car. He bit his lip, cheeks a little warm, but he didnât stop talking. He contuined to talk you through it all.
"Mhm that's right, squirt all ova," he says quietly to you, "Wet the seat, I don't care baby."
He leaned in and kissed you again, tongue slow and deep while his fingers stayed relentless. When he pulled back he was still shy-smiling, voice barely above a whisper.
"One more. Give me one more, Iâll clean you up with my mouth after, m'promise," he begged quietly. Michael wanted to see you squirt so bad again, his brown eyes flicking between your face and the mess between your thighs. He sounded almost desperate, like he needed to watch it happen again, needed to see that your pussy gush again.
Your legs shook, gosh you were so close to cumming again, so close.
Your gaze stayed fixed on him the whole time half-lidded, glassy, lips parted in that perfect âOâ as the last spurt left you. Your fingers dug into the seat, nails scraping the fabric while you fought to keep the moan from turning into a full scream.
"Michael please," you say whining, your hand slowly holding onto his wrist. Some more liquid came rushing out from your pussy. âFuck⊠Michael,â you breathed out, still staring at him, voice shaky. Your thighs trembled hard, your muscles twitching as another orgasm built fast and tight in your core.
Michaelâs smile widened, eyes locked on the mess you were making. âMhm, that's my girl,â he murmured, voice low and warm while his fingers kept working you through it. His fingers curl against that spot had you right on the edge, and when the final push came, your whole body jerked, his fingers slowly stopped but softly rolled over your clit helping you ride it out. He then leans over again, kissing the side of your mouth gently, his eyes still heavy, "Think you can handle my tongue now?"
"M-maybe tomorrow"
authors note! "squirting is nasty" well I'm def a nasty bih so ok. and also....his hands!?mmmmmmmm. i'll go back and edit later <3.
You are a gift from the universe!! Thank you thank you for writing these wonderful smuts <3
I have an idea. Thriller pre BAD era. Reader and Michael recently wanted to try having sex as they both just couldnât wait for it. But because Michael is so big he couldnât get it in. Do whatever you want with this, thank you in advance <333
âmdni 18+ p in v, canât put it in , pussy eating.
The sacristy smelled of old wood and incense as Michael locked the door behind the final parishioner. Thriller pre BAD era Michael kept his black cassock buttoned high, but his eyes burned with the same need that had been building between you for days. You both knew why you lingered after service.
He backed you against the heavy table, hands already shoving your skirt up around your waist. "Weâre doing this now," he muttered, voice low and urgent. His fingers yanked your panties down and off one ankle. You fumbled with his belt, pushing the cassock fabric aside until his cock sprang freeâlong, thick, flushed dark, the broad head already leaking.
Michael lifted you onto the table edge and spread your thighs wide. He pressed that fat crown to your entrance and pushed. The resistance was immediate. Your pussy stretched around the blunt head but refused to take him. He grunted, adjusted his grip on your hips, and tried again, rocking forward with steady pressure. The head caught and stretched you painfully wide but still wouldnât sink inside.
"Fuck, youâre tight," he hissed. He spat into his palm, slicked the shaft, and lined up once more. The head forced your folds apart but stopped at the same tight ring. Every small thrust made your legs shake. You were getting wetter, slick coating his tip, yet the sheer girth kept him from breaching.
Michael dropped to his knees between your spread legs. His tongue dragged hot and flat over your pussy, licking broad stripes before pushing inside. He sucked your clit hard, working two fingers into you, then three, scissoring and pumping to stretch you open. Spit and your juices dripped down your ass onto the table. He stroked his own cock with his free hand, keeping it rigid while he ate you.
When he stood again, he pressed the head back to your entrance. This time the crown popped inside with a wet sound, but only the first inch sank before your walls clamped down. Michael groaned, forehead against yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck. "Breathe. Take it."
He rocked in tiny increments, each micro-thrust forcing another fraction deeper. Your pussy stretched obscenely around his massive cock, the burn mixing with heat as he worked in. Halfway buried, he paused, thumb circling your clit to keep you relaxed. Your slick coated every thick inch. He pulled almost out, watching your entrance cling to him, then thrust forward harder. Nearly the full length sank inside this time, your body finally yielding.
The table creaked. Michael stayed buried to the hilt, both of you panting. Then he started movingâslow, deep strokes that dragged his cock almost completely out before slamming back in. Wet sounds filled the quiet room. He hooked your legs over his arms, folding you nearly in half, and fucked you harder. The heavy slap of his balls against your ass echoed off the stone walls. Your pussy gripped him greedily now, stretched wide and dripping.
Michael leaned down, biting at your throat while he pounded into you. "Thatâs it. Taking every inch." He shifted angles, grinding the head against that sensitive spot inside until your legs shook and you came hard around him, pussy clenching in rhythmic pulses. He didnât stop. He kept fucking you through it, using your orgasm to push even deeper until his hips met yours with every thrust.
Sweat dripped from his jaw. His rhythm grew erratic, thrusts turning short and brutal. With a low groan he buried himself to the root and came, thick spurts flooding your stretched pussy. He stayed inside as he softened slightly, watching his release leak out around his cock when he finally pulled free.
Michael tucked himself away and helped you down on shaky legs. His cum trickled down your inner thigh as he smoothed your skirt back into place. "Next time," he said quietly, voice still rough, "we wonât have to fight so hard to get it in."
!warnings! â ; SMUT, MINORS GO AWAY! unprotected p in v (wrap ur willy), softdom-ish!Mike, fem!reader, descriptive sex, a little fluffy at the end, reader is obsessed with Michael's sex faces, creampie.
wc; 0.5k
a/n; hiii!! this is my first ever smut fic, so it isn't as amazing as i wish it was. i hope ya'll enjoy it! it is quite short ://
It's a peaceful, cloudy night. Except peaceful wasn't quite the word for it. Not inside your bedroom, it wasn't.
Grunts and moans circle through the room, thumping of the headboard against the wall, and the squeaking of the mattress.
You would say something about how loud you two were being, but not a single word could be formed as Michael ruts his cock deep inside you. And not to mentionâhow distracted you are by his facial expressions.
Every time he bottoms out, hips flush against your thighs that are wrapped around his waist, his eyebrows twitch. Godâhe looks unreal like this.
Throughout yours and Michael's relationship, every time you'd gotten intimateâyou couldn't help but be fascinated by the faces he'd make. He'd either throw his head back with furrowed brows, or have his eyes locked onto every inch of you with his lower lip trapped between his pearly whites as he thrusted his dick so deep you were sure you could feel him in your gut.
But there was something about tonightâsomething about the way he looked that you couldn't take your eyes off.
You fight your fluttering eyes as his cockhead brushes that spongey spot far inside of your dripping pussy, needing to see every flicker of his brows, flutter of his lashes, or even if he swallows a certain way.
His hips stutter as your walls flutter around his length, his eyes rolling back. "Sâshit.. so tight, mama.." he groansâyour own moans harmonising with his in a filthy melody.
You feel the pressure in your lower belly tighten even more into an impossible knot, tingling heat blossoming from your toes, all the way up the length of your spine. Your eyes roll back as the upcoming orgasm becomes unbearable.
"MâMike, m'gonna comeâ" you gasp, thighs trembling against his hips.
"Yeah? Come for me, baby. Need to t'feel you fall apart." He pants out, his own peak nearing. He speeds up with thrusts, and thats what does it.
"Mmâ im coâcoming!" You cry out, the knot snapping, sending shockwaves towards every nerve ending in your body. You choke on a moan as he reaches down to draw figure-eights on your swollen clit, your back arching into his chest.
He whimpers as your pussy clamps down onto his cock, his own orgasm threatening to wash over him. "Im closeâ fuck, im close.." he whines airily into your ear, rutting his hips desperately into yours.
Your eyes snap open instantly, gaze locking onto his face. His eyes are screwed shut, mouth dropped open slightly, brows pinched together. Delicious you cant help but think.
His orgasm finally crashes down onto him. Thrusting once, twice, before locking his hips against yoursâmoans and whimpers leaving him as he spills deep into your poor cunt.
When his own orgasm finally subsides, he relaxes against you. His eyes flutter open, finding yours.
He laughs softly at how fixed your gaze is on his face, leaning forward to press his lips softly against the spot between your eyes.
"You're cute." He whispers, his hand running up and down your side soothingly.
Your heart swells at his words, a smile curling your swollen lips. "I could say the same thing."
He mirrors your smile as he gently lifts his weight off of you.
đąÖŽà» otw!era micheal is obsessed with making you squirt.
mdni 18+
sometimes you wished you couldnât squirt.
not because it didnât feel good. god no. it felt like heaven cracking open inside you every single time. like your whole body turned into liquid heat, waves rushing down from deep in your belly, flooding out in hot, pulsing bursts that left you shaking and gasping and soaking everything.
like every nerve lit up at once and spilled over, messy and uncontrollable and so intense it almost hurt. like your pussy was surrendering completely.
it started off so innocently. at his familyâs pool party.
âhere baby, drink some water,â michael would say softly, refilling your glass again with a sweet smile. every time the ice got low he was right there, pouring more, pressing the cold cup into your hand.
âsâhot out. stay hydrated fâme.â
you shouldâve known.
the way his eyes lingered too long when you came out of the pool, the way he shifted in his chair when your wet bikini clung to your curves. you shouldâve known what he was really preparing you for.
đŒâ.àłàż*:
this was now your second orgasm and he still hadnât gotten what he wanted. the first two times you had cum hard, thighs shaking around his head, pussy fluttering and clenching on his tongue and fingers.
but you didnât squirt.
not the way he needed. and each time he pulled back his eyes had that flash of disappointment, dark and hungry, before he buried his face again like he couldnât stop.
by this point youâre heaving.
chest rising and falling fast, body slick with sweat, legs trembling uncontrollably. your voice is hoarse, words barely forming. you look down through half-lidded eyes and his face is a mess â lips swollen and shiny, chin dripping, curls sticking to his forehead. his pupils are blown wide, completely black, like heâs high out of his mind. as if he just finished doing lines. drunk off your pussy.
âplease,â he whispered, voice cracked and desperate. his breath fans hot over your soaked folds.
âjust one more. please baby. let me try one more time. one more timeâŠâ
you canât even speak. your throat is raw. you just nod, weak and shaky, because what else can you do when he looks at you like that?
he whimpers in relief and dives back in.
his tongue is everywhere at once â messy, frantic, licking long stripes through your dripping folds before sucking your swollen clit between his lips.
heâs whimpering into you the whole time, pathetic little sounds vibrating right against your most sensitive spots. you can hear him grinding against the edge of the bed, hips rutting desperately, probably already came in his shorts like he always does when he gets like this. but he doesnât care. he just needs this.
âis this good?â he mumbles against your pussy, voice muffled and broken. he sucks harder, tongue flicking fast. âam i doing good? tell me⊠pleaseâŠâ
âitâs⊠sâgood mikeyâ you moan, the words cutting off into another gasp as he pushes two fingers deep inside you, curling them just right.
he moans loud at your answer, hips grinding harder against the bed.
âare you okay?â
he asks, almost frantic, like heâs terrified of doing it wrong even while heâs devouring you. his fingers pump faster, slick sounds filling the room as he laps noisily at your clit.
âyeah⊠yes, mikeyâ oh godââ you try to answer but it turns into a broken moan when he sucks particularly hard, cheeks hollowing. your pussy clenches around his fingers, fluttering wildly. youâre so wet itâs dripping down his wrist, down your ass, making a complete mess.
heâs panting into you, whimpering between licks.
âi need it⊠need you to do it for me⊠just one more timeâŠâ
his free hand grips your thigh hard, holding you open while he grinds his hips pathetically against the mattress.
you can feel how desperate he is, how lost he is in the taste and smell and heat of you. his tongue works faster, sloppy and eager, sucking and licking like heâll die if he stops.
your walls flutter again, heavy liquid pressure building deeper and deeper. every flick of his tongue sends sparks shooting through you.
your clit throbs under his mouth. your legs wonât stop shaking. youâre on verge of hyperventilation, moaning, barely able to breathe as he keeps asking in that wrecked voice.
âwill you do it for me please baby?â
you can only nod and moan, your eyes rolled back, hips twitching against his face. heâs so pathetic like this â face buried deep, whimpering, humping the bed, completely addicted â and itâs turning you on even more.
he laps at you like heâs trying to memorize every single fold, every twitch, every drop of wetness that keeps leaking out of you.
his fingers curl and thrust deep, hitting that spot over and over until your back arches hard off the bed, spine bowing as the pressure inside you swells bigger and heavier than before.
your thighs wonât stop shaking. they clamp around his head but he just pushes them wider, whimpering into your pussy like the suffocation is the best part. every flick of his tongue sends pleasure jolts that seep into every every part of your body.
your clit is swollen and throbbing under his mouth, so sensitive that every suck makes your hips jerk. you can feel how wet you are â dripping down his chin, down his wrist, soaking the sheets underneath you.
your fingers are tight in his curls, pulling him closer even as your body tries to twist away from the overwhelming feeling.
he moans loud against you, the vibration making your walls flutter hard around his fingers. âsâperfectâ he mumbles, barely pulling back enough to speak. his voice is wrecked, desperate.
âyou promise to do it right?â
âyesâ yes, of course mikey for youââ
your words cut off into a long moan as he sucks harder on your clit, tongue flicking fast while his fingers pump quicker. your back arches even more, breasts pushing up toward the ceiling.
heâs grinding frantically against the edge of the bed now, hips rutting in short, pathetic thrusts. you can hear the little whimpers heâs making into your pussy, like heâs right on the edge himself.
his face is buried so deep you can barely see anything but his messy curls. heâs completely lost â pupils blown, cheeks flushed, chin dripping with you.
the pressure keeps building. deeper. heavier. your pussy clenches and flutters around his fingers, getting impossibly wetter. your legs are trembling violently. your breathing is just short, desperate gasps now.
âmikeyâ i thinkâ iâm gonnaââ
he doesnât answer with words. he just moans louder and doubles down, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curl perfectly against that spot inside you.
it hits you like a wave crashing over your head.
a hot, powerful gush floods out of you, soaking his face, his neck, dripping down his chest in warm streams. your whole body convulses, back arched so high it almost hurts, thighs locked tight around his head as pulse after pulse of liquid spurts out of you.
the relief is overwhelming, mixed with sharp, blinding pleasure that makes you cry out loud. your pussy spasms wildly, walls fluttering and clenching as the orgasm drags on and on.
michael moans deep and broken against your gushing pussy, the vibrations making the orgasm even sharper for you, dragging it out longer.
he keeps licking through every pulse, tongue working desperately like he canât bear to miss a single drop. his hips stutter hard against the bed and you hear him whimper loudly as he, well you assume, cums in his pants, grinding through his own orgasm while still buried between your legs. his moans vibrate right against your oversensitive clit, making you shake even harder.
when the last spasm finally fades you collapse back onto the bed, chest quivering, body limp and trembling. michael rested his soaked cheek on your thigh, breathing hard, face shiny and flushed.
his lips are plush and abused, swollen from how long heâs been devouring you. he looks more fucked out than you do his eyes glassy, pupils still blown wide, like heâs floating somewhere far away.
youâre barely able to breathe yourself, but you reach down with a shaky hand and gently pat his damp curls. he leans into your touch immediately, nuzzling his cheek against your thigh with a soft, content sound.
âare youâŠ
you let out a breath.
okay, mikey?â
he looks up at you, like youâre the only thing in his world. his eyes are soft and full of worship even through the haze.
âi will be.. if you let me go one more time?â
â§âËâàŒâ§âË.
a/n: hi sweeties ive been young and turnt and havent updated in a hot minute.. anyways ill be uploading more and i see ur reqs i swear im not ignoring them hopefully theyâre finished soon, kisses!
content ! 18+, unprotected p in v, praise, sweet sex, pet names (baby, honey)
"fuck!" you cry, throwing your head back and letting your jaw go slack. michael is pistoning his hips against yours relentlessly, the only sounds in the room being the lewd skin slapping and the heavy panting and moans emitting from both of you.
"i know, honey" he coos, trying his best to be sweet verbally despite how rough he's being with you physically. "m'sorry babygirl" he tries.
the stretch was borderline excruciating. he was just too big. the funny part is he doesn't even know he's that big! or atleast he didn't know it until you started screaming complaining about it.
"s'too big, michael!" you mewl, squirming under him, but you can't help but arch into him. it's almost instinctive.
"just breathe, baby... breathe" maybe he should take his own advice, because he's barely able to take in a full breath with just how tight your gummy walls are squeezing and fluttering around him.
"i- can't-" the pleasure becomes overwhelming when michael reaches in between the both of you to aimlessly rub at your clit, anything to get you to stop whining. he immediately notices your eyes roll back and your breath hitch. "s'that better honey?" he asks, "that feel a little better?" you nod frantically, barely able to compute his sweet words as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to coming undone. the sniveling and the cries coming from you morph into delighted moans as the stretch becomes euphoric, his praises egging you on impossibly.
"there she is" he purrs, a small, knowing smirk playing on his face.
"there's my girl" he litters your face with small kisses in an effort to calm you down as he continues his thrusts, growing closer to the edge himself.
"g-gosh- baby," he groans, his big fingers still working at your clit.
"feels s'good michael!" you moan, right at the edge. "yeah?" he moans right back at you. "that feels good, huh?" he speeds up his thrusts, making you squeal. "feel me so deep, yeah?" he looks down and sees himself poking through your lower belly. he reaches down and presses on the bulge, making you wince at the tightness. the bulge is disappearing and reappearing with every thrust. "shi-shoot, honey" he mutters.
you feel the white hot band in your tummy snap, pleasure shooting through your body as you cry out his name. that alone is enough to push him over the edge as well. he cums deep inside you, fucking into you a few last times. you both lay there, panting. he's heavy on top of you, laying sweaty on top of you (not that you mind). and of course, michael is quick to comfort you.
he pushes some of the hair out of your face, off of your damp, flushed skin. "you did so good, baby... m'sorry i was so rough" he speaks gently, kissing your forehead.
a/n: i got this idea from @prettyangeliczz ! i was supposed to been put this out but that's not the point! i was giggling to myself while writing this lmao
You were in Michaelâs room at Hayvenhurst, watching a movie while laying in his arms on his bed. His hands ran through your fluffy blowout as you both focused watching the film in front of you. While he was calm, a nervous feeling was swirling around in his gut. Your mom had called you earlier, asking you to come to a cookout your father was throwing.
âHi Mommy,â you said, putting the phone between your ear and shoulder.
âHi baby, youâre still coming to the cookout, right?â Your mom asked
âYes, I am. Iâm actually getting ready to start packing for my flight,â you replied.
âOkay, good.â your mom pauses. âAnd while youâre at it, bring your boyfriend while youâre at it.â
You pause, fighting a smile forming on your face. Michael's been your boyfriend for a while now, and ever since you told your mom you had a boyfriend, she would not let it go. "Mama!"
âWhat? You told me about this mysterious boyfriend and thats it. I don't know his name or nothin'. â She replies with a laugh. "How about this. Your daddy's having a cookout next Sunday. How about you bring him and introduce him to the family."
âYou sure daddyâs going to be okay with that?â You ask.
âGirl, you know how your daddy is. He loves having cookouts, and he especially loves making sure that people eat, whether he knows them or not. He can make a dish too if heâd like.â
âOkay, Iâll ask him, but please tell him not to do too much when he meets him.â You groan, knowing how protective he is over you, especially when it comes to dating.
âI canât make no promises, but Iâll let you know.â
That conversation was two days ago. You now laid on your boyfriendâs chest, thinking of many ways to tell him to meet your family. You didnât want to keep him from your family, but hell, he and his family were global superstars and your schedules didnât always align with each other. That, and your family was crazy as hell.
The thought of asking him your family started to eat you up more, and you couldnât take it anymore, you lifted your head and looked your boyfriend in his eyes. âBaby,â you said softly.
âWhatâs up, mama?â He asked looking down on you. The nickname makes your stomach flutter as you sit up a bit.Â
âWhatâs your schedule looking like for you next weekend?â
âI shouldnât be too busy, why? Is everything alright?â Michael now sits up too, his back touching the headboard.
âNo, no! Everythingâs fine. I was on the phone with my mom a couple of days ago, and she said my dadâs having a cookout next weekend, and I was wondering if⊠you wanted to come?â
Michaelâs eyes widened in surprise. He was happy that you asked him to meet your family, especially since he never has the time to do anything due to his growing career.Â
âOf course Iâd go with you mama,â he says with a growing smile on his face. âThis would be a perfect time to meet your parents especially. Theyâre the reason why I was able to meet such a beautiful young woman like you.â
You blush hearing your boyfriend compliment you, your lips forming into a smile. âOkay, Iâll let my mom know, looks like youâre meeting my family.â
âLooks like it.â
The smoke coming off the grill was a thick, hickory-scented cloud as your uncle taught your little cousin how to flip burgers. The speakers were blasting Stevie Wonder while kids ran around and your aunts and uncles played an intense game of Spades.
âAye muthafucka! I saw you try to put that card in your shirt! Cheating ass nigga!â one of your uncles exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table.
You snickered as you watched your uncles bicker through the kitchen window. You helped your mom straightened up the kitchen, fixing the chairs and wiping down the counters,
âSo, whoâs this mysterious boyfriend you keep talking about, babygirl?â your father asked, pulling you into a hug and kissing your forehead.
âYouâll see when he gets here dad. You really havenât guessed who he is yet? I told you he was in the industry!â
âBaby, that can be anybody,â your mom said, walking into the kitchen with a stack of paper plates. âBut whoever it is, we will love him no matter what.â
âI donât know about love, honey,â your father teased, a playful edge to his voice as he adjusted his apron. âHeâs gotta pass the Spades test first. If he can't hold his own at the table, then I don't know.â
âOh, relax. My parents were the same way about you, and look where weâre at,â your mom shot back, swatting his arm before turning her sharp eyes to you. âBut seriously, babygirl. Heâs are going to be here any minute and you still haven't given us a name. Is he a singer? A producer? If he a singer, he better actually know how to sing, some singers are full of shit.â
Before you could answer, you saw a familiar car pull up. You instantly knew it was Michael and Bill. Your heart did a sudden flip in your chest.
âHeâs here!â You blurted out, slipping past your parentsâ playful banter before your dad could look out the window.
Your hands started to get sweaty as you smoothed down your yellow tank top. You took a deep breath as you unlocked the door and swung it open.
There Michael and Bill the porch, and you eyes instantly locked with Michaelâs. He looked incredibly handsome, wearing a blue button up with some of the buttons unbuttoned, and blue bell bottom jeans. In Billâs hands, he was tightly gripping a massive, foil-covered tray.
âHi guys!â You excitedly exclaimed as you hugged the siblings. âCome on, Iâll bring you guys to the back.â
You walked off the porch and to your backyard with Michael and Bill following behind, Stevie Wonder still blasting in the air. âHey, mama,â Michael whispered in your ear, his soft voice barely carrying over the blast of the music. His cheeks were flushed pink with nerves. "Am I... did I dress okay? I brought the peach cobbler I had LaToya and Janet help me make, as you did say I can bring a dish. I didnât want to come empty handed. I hope it didn't spill in the car.â
âYou look good babe, and Iâm am very positive my mom will be grateful for you and your siblingsâ services,â you replied with a laugh. âAre you ready for this?â
âI think I can manage,â he chuckled, his large hand resting your waist as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. âThough Marlon and Randy wanted to come so bad, I practically had to lock them in the house. I thought it was best if it was just me first."
âSmart move, Mr. Jackson,â you laughed, taking his hand. âCome on letâs introduce you guys to my family.â
You walked up to your parents first, your fingers tightly intertwined with his. Your mom was outside, engaged with your dad in a conversation while sipping on some sweet tea.
âMom, dad,â you started, your voice catching in your throat out of nerves. âThis is my boyfriend.â
Your parents turned simultaneously with smiles on their faces to give their greetings. But the words completely died in their throats.
Your mom froze, a wet glass dripping in her hand as her eyes went from your joined hands, up the sleeve of the shirt, straight to the iconic, wide-eyed smile of the most famous man on the planet.
"How do you do, sir? Ma'am?" Michael said politely, breaking the paralyzing silence. He stepped forward, extending a hand to your father with a respectful nod. "It's an honor to finally meet you. I'm Michael.â
Your father stared at Michaelâs extended hands for three seconds, his brain trying to process how the hell the guy on his music vinyls was staring at him and offering a handshake.
Slowly, your dad wiped his palm on his apron and took Michaelâs hand, his grip automatically firming up out of pure fatherly instinct.
âMichael,â your dad repeated, his voice dropping an octave as he looked the superstar up and down. âAs in⊠Jackson?â
âYes, sir,â Michael said softly, giving a polite, nervous little nod. He cleared his throat, his fingers twitching slightly as he pulled his hand back. âMichael Jackson. Itâs really nice to be here. Your daughter talks about you both all the time.â
That finally broke your mother out of her trance. She dropped the dish towel onto the counter, her mouth forming a wide âOâ before she slapped a hand over it. âOh my Lord. Michael Jackson. Babygirl, you didnât say you were datingâoh shit, let me fix my hair!â She immediately patted the sides of her hair, her hospitable Southern roots overriding her shock. She stepped forward, completely bypassing the handshake to pull Michael into a warm, tight hug. âWelcome to our home, sweetheart! Forgive the mess, weâve been prepping all morning.â
Michael was a little startled by the embrace, but he instantly relaxed as he buried his head into his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. âThank you maâam. It smells amazing here. I hope you donât mind that I brought my bodyguard, Bill here.â
âNo we donât mind at all! Please enjoy. And call me Ms. Sandra, I donât do all of that maâam stuff.â Your mom pulled back to pinch his cheeks. Your parents also greeted Bill, switching between gushing on seeing Michael and giving greetings.
Your mom noticed the foil-covered tray in Billâs hands. âOh, whatâs this?â
âOh! Peach cobbler,â Bill started. âMichael and his sisters made it fresh this morning. He wanted to make a good impression by not showing up empty-handed.â
Your dadâs eyebrows shot up ad Michaelâs face flushes in embarrassment. âPeach cobbler, huh? Well, thatâs a point in your favor.â He crossed his arms. He was trying hard to maintain his tough-dad persona, but the sheer absurdity of the situation was cracking his exterior. âSo, Michael. You and your siblings are in the industry, as my daughter says. You guys do a little singing?â
âDad, stop,â you groaned, shifting your weight.
Michael just laughedâthat high, genuine chuckle that you loved so much. âA little bit, sir. Trying to keep food on the table.â
âMmhmm. Well, you brought cobbler, so you can stay,â your dad joked, finally breaking into a grin and shaking his head. âIâm just playing with you, son. Welcome. Come on out back, let me get you something to drink.â
Your heart swelled as you watched your dad clap Michael on the shoulder. Michael flinched just a fraction at the sudden force but kept that brilliant smile on his face as your dad led the way deeper into the backyard.
You led Michael deeper into the chaos of the cookout, hands banging against the table as your uncles were playing spades, the sounds of the younger girls singing while playing double dutch.Â
Your cousin Ryan was playing spades with your two older uncles. Heâd put his cards down to pour some soda in a styrofoam cup when his eyes locked on you and Michael. Heâd do a double take, before tapping his uncleâs shoulders.
âDad!â your cousin exclaimed, tapping on Uncle Greg.
âWhat nigga? Now shit, you getting ready to fuck up my train of thought.â Your uncle replied, frustrated.
âYour niece is here with her new boyfriend.â
âMan donât nobody give a fuck about-â He started but his words caught in his throat as he looked at you and Michael. He couldnât believe his eyes, heâd had to stop the spades game to rub his eyes to make sure he wasnât going crazy.
âNigga, is that Michael Jackson?!â
The backyard went dead silent. The song that was playing started to finish and fade, your aunts stopped gossiping at the lounge chairs, the kids stopped running, and your uncles stopped moving completely, your uncle Nathan's hands in mid-air, a king of spades gripped tightly in his fingers.
Everyone started to rush towards Michael, his lips twitching into a shy smile as she instinctively shifted closer to you. He raised his hand, giving everyone a small, polite wave.Â
âHi, everybody,â Michael said, his soft voice cutting through the stunned silence.
For a second, nobody moved. Then, Uncle Nathan slowly lowered his card to the table, stood up from his chair, and stared across the yard.
âWell, Iâll be damned,â your uncle muttered, a slow, disbelief-filled grin spreading across his face. âMan, forget the cards. Michael, son! Tell me you know how to play Spades!â
Michael looked over at you, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and amusement, before looking back at your uncle.
âI⊠well, I know the rules, sir,â Michael offered, his soft voice barely carrying over the yard. âBut my brothers usually say Iâm too nice to win.â
âOh, ainât no being nice at this table, Mike!â Uncle Greg shouted back, throwing his head back with a loud laugh. âCome on over here, let me see if you can talk trash as good as you sing!â
Within ten seconds, the stunned silence evaporated, replaced by absolute pandemonium. Your little cousins abandoned their game of tag and swarmed the porch, their eyes practically popping out of their heads.
âAre you really Michael Jackson?â one of the little girl cousins asked, tugging gently on the hem of his button-up shirt. âCan you do the dance?â
âHey, leave him alone!â your mom scolded, walking past to put the peach cobbler up. âGive the boy some breathing room! He just got here!â
Michael just laughed, kneeling down to be at eye level with the kids. He didn't look like a global superstar right then. He just looked like a sweet, patient guy who loved children. âHi there,â he said softly, shaking her little hand. âI can do a little dance, but maybe after I eat some of your uncleâs burgers, okay?â
The kids cheered, and Michael stood back up, looking at you with a bright, triumphant smile. The initial panic in his eyes was totally gone, replaced by the warmth of being accepted.
Your dad walked over, handing Michael a cold cup of lemonade. âDonât let them overwhelm you, son. Come on over to the grill, get away from these vultures.â
You walked alongside them, your hand slipping naturally into Michaelâs back pocket as you cut across the grass. Every single aunt you passed gave you the lookâthe wide-eyed, raised-eyebrow nod of pure approval. Your auntie Brenda even mouthed, âGirl, you won,â making you bite your lip to hide your laugh.
When you got to the grill, your other uncle Terry was wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He looked Michael up and down, completely unfazed by the celebrity status.
âSo, youâre the one taking my niece out, huh?â your uncle Terry asked, poking a spatula toward Michaelâs chest. âYou look a little skinny, Mike. We gotta put some meat on those bones. You eat pork?â
âOh, no, sir. I mostly stick to chicken and fish,â Michael said politely, holding his lemonade tight.
âHmph. Well, I got some chicken on the back here thatâll make you want to slap your mamaâuh, no offense to Miss Katherine,â Uncle Terry corrected himself quickly, making Michael burst into that high-pitched, clapping laugh of his.
âNone taken, sir. It smells incredible.â
For the next hour, you watched the most famous man on earth completely dissolve into your family. He sat on a lawn chair, eating chicken and a massive slice of potato salad, listening intensely as your dad and uncles argued about whether Stevie Wonder or Marvin Gaye had the better catalog. Michael was in his element, talking about music with people who just loved the soul of it, not the business.
âAinât nobody touching Marvin Gaye, and I stand that,â Your Uncle Greg said, slamming his cup on the table. âThe man made Whatâs Going On. Thatâs more than an album, thatâs an out of body experience!â
âNigga what?! Stevie Wonder blinder than a motherfucker and can cook up some good good music better than a man with full vision! Have you lost your mind? Songs in the Key of Life? That man played damn near every instrument on the track!â
âMarvin got the vocals, though,â Uncle Terry chimed in, leaning back and picking his teeth with a toothpick. âMarvin make a woman want to throw her whole life away. Stevie make you want to go to church and roller-skate at the same time.â
The whole porch laughed, and your dad immediately turned his attention to the superstar sitting quietly between them. âHold on, hold on. We got an expert right here. Mike! Settle this. Youâre a Motown boy. Whoâs taking the crown, Stevie or Marvin?â
Michael almost choked on his potato salad, his eyes widening as all the older men leaned in, waiting for his verdict. He swallowed quickly, wiping his mouth with a napkin, that high-pitched, nervous chuckle slipping out.
âOh, man, you guys are trying to get me in trouble,â Michael laughed, covering his face for a second before looking up with a brilliant smile. âSee, Marvin... Marvin is pure emotion. The way he structures his harmonies, itâs genius. But Stevie...â Michaelâs eyes lit up, his hands gesturing as he spoke about the craft he loved. âStevie is a musical architect. The things he does with chord progressions on the clavinet? Nobody else is doing that. He writes chords that shouldn't work on paper, but they sound like heaven.â
Your dad pointed a finger at Uncle Greg triumphantly. âSee! What did I tell you? The boy knows! An architect!â
âMan, whatever,â Uncle Greg grumbled, though he was grinning from ear to ear, clearly loving every second of it. âMike just biased because Stevie let him play harmonica on a track once or something.â
âI wish!â Michael clapped his hands together, his laugh echoing across the yard, completely stripped of his superstar armor and just enjoying being one of the guys.
Eventually, the Spades table called his name again. âAlright, Mike! Foodâs gone, no more excuses,â Uncle Nathan called out, slamming a fresh deck of cards onto the plastic table. âWe need a fourth. Your girl says she don't play, so you gotta represent for her.â
Michael looked back at you, a playful glint in his eye. âShould I do it, mama?â
âGo ahead,â you laughed, nudging him forward. âJust watch out for Uncle Greg. He likes to slide cards under his thigh when heâs losing.â
âHey! I heard that!â Uncle Greg yelled.
Michael chuckled, tossing his paper plate in the trash and walking over to the table. He pulled up a folding chair, smoothing down his pants as he sat across from your uncle. The aunts and older cousins gathered around in a tight circle, eager to see how the the global superstar handled a classic backyard battle.
Your uncle dealt the cards with lightning speed, flipping them across the table. Michael picked his up one by one, sorting through them. He kept his face completely blank, a perfect poker face, though you could see the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips.
âAlright, Mike,â your uncle said, leaning over the table, his eyes narrowed playfully. âWhatâs the bid? Donât over-book yourself now.â
Michael looked at his hand, then looked up, his large brown eyes locking onto your uncle with sudden, unexpected confidence.
âIâm bidding six, Uncle Greg,â Michael said, his voice dropping into a smooth, calm register. He leaned back in his folding chair, tossing a card right into the center of the table. âAnd you might want to watch your shirt. Iâm watching you.â
The entire yard erupted into shouts and laughter. Your dad clapped his hands together, yelling, âOh, heâs ready! Heâs ready!â
Standing by the edge of the porch, watching Michael laugh and trade jokes with the people who raised you, you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer heat. He was exactly where he belonged.
Michael turned out to be a silent assassin. Every time Uncle Greg tried to pull a slick move or talking smack, Michael would just offer that quiet, polite smile, wait for his turn, and slam down a winning book with a triumphant chuckle.
âMan, look at this nigga right here!â Uncle Greg groaned, throwing his hands up as Michael collected another hand. âYou out here dancing on the table, Mike! Who taught you how to cut cards like this?â
âLa Toya and Janet,â Michael admitted, laughing as he neatly stacked the cards. âTheyâre even more ruthless than me and my brothers, Uncle Greg. If they were here, you wouldn't have any money left in your pockets.â
âOh, so the whole family is dangerous!â your dad shouted from the grill, cracking up as he flipped the last batch of burgers.
By the time the sun started dipping below the tree line, painting the sky in warm shades of orange and purple, the chaotic energy of the afternoon softened into something sweet and mellow. The kids had finally worn themselves out, sitting on the grass or in the laps of various aunties, sticky-faced from the punch and the peach cobbler, which had been completely cleaned out.
Michael eventually excused himself from the table, walking over to the porch steps where you were sitting. His Afro was a little musced from one of your younger cousins trying to touch it earlier, his sleeves were rolled up, and he looked happier than you had seen him in months.
âYou survived,â you teased, leaning back on your elbows as he sat down on the step right below you.
âI did,â he said, looking up at you with soft, brilliant eyes. He reached up, taking your hand and resting it on his knee. âTheyâre amazing, mama. Really. They remind me of back home before⊠well, just like Gary. It feels nice to just be Michael for a few hours.â
âThey love you,â you whispered, running your thumb over the back of his hand. âEven Uncle Greg, and he hates everybody.â
âHe told me I have a standing invitation to the Sunday dinner rotation,â Michael chuckled, leaning his head back against your shin. âBut only if I bring more cobbler and don't try to go blind on my bids next time.â
Before you could answer, your mom stepped out onto the porch, holding two leftover foil plates tightly wrapped up.
âNow, Michael, I packed you some chicken, some mac and cheese, and a little bit of potato salad for the road,â she said, handing them over with a warm smile. âDonât let those brothers of yours eat it all either. This is for you.â
Michael stood up, carefully taking the plates like they were made of gold. âThank you, Miss Sandra. Truly. For everything.â
âYouâre family now, baby. You donât have to thank me,â she said, giving him another tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. She gave you a knowing wink over his shoulder before heading back inside to start washing dishes.
As the rest of the family started packing up lawn chairs and rounding up sleepy kids, your dad walked over to the edge of the driveway where Michaelâs car was parked. He didn't have his tough-guy face on anymore, he just looked like a proud father.
âYou take care of my girl out there in that industry, Michael,â your dad said, extending his hand one last time. âItâs a lot of sharks out there. But you look like a good kid. Keep your head on straight.â
âI will, sir,â Michael said, his voice ringing with absolute sincerity as he shook your father's hand. âSheâs incredibly special to me. I'll make sure she's always safe.â
Your dad nodded, satisfied, and gave you one last forehead kiss before walking back toward the house.
Standing by the car in the cooling evening air, Michael tucked the leftovers into the passengerâs seat and turned to face you. He wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The faint scent of hickory smoke and sweet cologne clung to his shirt.
âThank you for inviting me,â he murmured, pressing his lips gently against yours in a slow, lingering kiss that made your toes curl inside your sneakers.
âThank you for coming,â you smiled against his lips, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. âNext time, weâre bringing the rest of the Jacksons. I want to see Marlon try to play Spades with Uncle Greg.â
Michael threw his head back, his high-pitched laugh echoing in the quiet street. âOh, that would be a disaster. I can't wait.â
He unlocked the driverâs side door of his car but didnât climb in just yet. Instead, he lingered in the open space between the door and the frame, his fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against the warm metal.
âYouâre coming back out to Encino tomorrow, right?â he asked, leaning his forearm on the top of the door so he could look down at you. The porch light caught the soft curve of his jaw and the relaxed, easy crinkles around his eyes.
âTomorrow afternoon,â you promised, stepping closer until your sneakers touched the toes of his shoes. âI just want to spend the morning helping my mom clean up the yard and freeze the rest of the meat. Then I'm all yours.â
âGood,â Michael murmured, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of your fluffy blowout behind your ear. His fingers lingered on your cheek for a split second, warm and reassuring. âBecause Iâm going to miss you tonight. Even if I do have a mountain of your mom's macaroni and cheese to keep me company.â
You giggled, leaning into his touch. âDon't eat it all in the car.â
âI make no promises, mama,â he joked, giving you one last, quick kiss on the lipsâa sweet, lingering punctuation mark to the best day youâd had in months.
You watched him slip into the passengerâs seat next to Bill, the engine humming to life with a quiet, smooth purr. He rolled the window down all the way, resting his elbow on the ledge as Bill backed down the driveway. From the porch, your dad walked out with a trash bag in hand, catching sight of Michael leaving. Your dad raised a hand, waving a silent, respectful goodbye, and Bill tapped the horn twice in returnâa polite little beep-beep that echoed down the street.
You stood under the amber glow of the driveway light until the taillights of his car disappeared around the corner.
Turning back toward the house, you walked up the porch steps and through the screen door. The kitchen was still a bustling hub of activity, the sink overflowing with soapy water while your mother scrubbed down the massive potato salad bowl. Your dad was right beside her, drying off the plates with a dish towel, humming along to the music.
âWell,â your mom said, not even looking up from the sink, a massive grin tugging at her lips. âHe certainly knows how to make an impression.â
âI told you he was sweet, Mom,â you said, leaning against the counter and picking up a stray dish towel to help out.
âSweet? Girl, that boy is a gentleman,â she corrected, shaking her head in disbelief. âAnd he didnât complain once about the heat, or the kids, or your uncleâs loud mouth. Your father was worried heâd be too Hollywood for us, but look at him.â
Your dad chuckled, folding his dish towel neatly over his shoulder. âHey, I admit when Iâm wrong. The boy can hold his own at the Spades table, and he respects his elders. Thatâs all I need to know.â He walked over, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders and squeezing you tight. âYou picked a good one, babygirl. Just make sure you keep him well-fed. Heâs a little light on his feet.â
âI will, Dad,â you laughed, resting your head against his chest.
For the rest of the night, the house was filled with the cozy, exhausted warmth that only comes after a successful family gathering.
Later that evening, you finally climbed into your childhood bed, the faint scent of hickory smoke still clinging to your skin.
As you reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, your eyes caught a tiny piece of paper sitting on your nightstand. It was folded up into a neat, tight square, tucked right beside your jewelry dish.
Your heart did a little flutter. You picked it up, unfolding it carefully. Michael must have slipped it into your bedroom when he went to use the restroom earlier in the afternoon.
Written in his distinct, neat handwriting was a quick note, complete with a tiny hand-drawn smiley face at the bottom:
Iâm writing this while your uncles are shouting about cards downstairs! Thank you so much for today, mama. Your family made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere just as Michael, not the singer. I love you. See you tomorrow afternoon.
You stared at the ink on the paper, a massive, helpless smile taking over your face. You hugged the note tightly to your chest, rolling over onto your back. You were just two young people in love, and he had passed the family test with flying colors.
hey so i saw a rumour (or a fact), that michael liked doing it in risky places? so đ
âËâĄââż Michael LOVES fucking you in risky places donât even get me started. No matter where he is, whoâs around, he struggles to resist the temptation of pushing you against a wall while hiking one of your legs up, in dire need to show you how hard you make him when youâre barely doing anything besides sitting looking pretty as his girl.
It could be the night of the Grammy Awards, People from all different celeb tiers who seek for Michaelâs attention to either congratulate him on being a nominee when itâs no shocker to anybody, or to discuss potential collabs to boost their music career path.
Little do they know that heâs currently thrusting himself into you in an unoccupied space of the venue, yet still close enough to the event where distant chatters falls upon both your ears. How you decide to wear a dress he picked out for you months ago, not having a chance to wear it out until now. It drove him completely insane with how well it didnât miss a single curve of yours to hug.
âOh fuck, Michael, please..!â You donât know what exactly youâre begging for, too cock-drunk to be coherent. He didnât care, as his cock throbs in preparation to spill into you, drugged on the way your cunt clenches with each drag.
âThe second weâre doneâshitâ youâre gonna go out there and greet all those people, with your cunt leaking full of me. Nobody will know but me, how youâre squeezing me so tight like you donât ever want me to leave.â
God, it was too much. The high adrenaline coursing through your veins at the possibility of getting caught, it heightens both of your guysâ pleasure. On top of that, the way heâs speaking to you so filthy in contrast to his soft velvet voice, youâre certain itâs the wine talking. Youâll make sure to keep him sipping on that throughout the rest of the night.
The fat head of his cock starts to hit inside you perfectly with the way he angles your leg up a little higher, now deeper than ever before. A loud cry rips out your throat before you could even think to hold it back, his large palm quickly coming up to cover your mouth.
âShit girl, you want everyone to know how good Iâm fucking you, huh? You donât care if people see you going dumb over my cock?â
No, no you donât, and he knows that, too. So he picks up his pace, skins slapping harsher together, muffled noises being spewed into his warm hand.
The media will be seeing you wear the same dress for the next couple of events for reasons you will not say.
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