meet me in paradise

Taking you against the bathroom door, hand clasped over your mouth to conceal your whines of pleasure. Or over the kitchen counter after his fiancée left for work. Or even in the same bed his wife to be slept in after you left, legs wobbling and a familiar throb between your thighs.

He knew it was wrong — especially since you were his brother’s friend. Someone who had been in his life since he was in his early 20’s — a constant reminder of something he could’ve had if he didn’t get into another relationship.

He had loved you from the second he set eyes on you. When Jermajesty introduced you both on a casual day, his heart ignited in desire. A want, no a need, for you so strong he physically felt a visceral reaction to you every time he saw you. Alas, he was harshly reminded you were meant to be friends, his brother’s friend, someone in close knit with the family — not someone to be romantically involved with. He moved on — physically, never emotionally.

He and Maddie, his future bride, weren’t the most thrilling of couples. They were simple, basic, easy — their marriage something to just say they’d done. Often lacking chemistry and connection, and that feeling deep in your soul where you know the person you’re with is the one.

Something he’d always felt for you.

The way he felt when you’d look at him, your pretty doe eyes peering up at him like he hung the stars, he could physically feel his heart thumping in his heart every time.

The affair started on Jermajesty’s birthday.

You got drunk — way too wasted, way too quick. The liquor hitting you harder than you expected as you stumbled through the Jackson home, bumping into walls, clutching onto door frame’s as you attempted to make it to the bathroom, before colliding straight into Jaafar, fairly tipsy himself.

He had been with Maddie a little over 3 years — bought their first home, talking of children and marriage, finally settling down.

Until he decided bending you over the sink and fucking you senseless sounded like a better idea.

And from there it blossomed.

Fucking you anywhere and everywhere — no matter the time. And every excuse was made.

Late home? He was on set. Or was he fucking you in his car in an empty parking lot?

Didn’t answer his phone? He was just busy! Busy stuffing your mouth full of his cock, more like.

He hated the way he felt no remorse, no guilt, no nothing. Just the sheer thrill of it — the excitement that filled his chest at thought of when he’d next be burying himself deep inside you.

He’d tell you, as he thought himself, ‘It’s harmless sex’. Something you’d laugh at — despite the cruel reality of it.

And the sex only got better when he and Maddie started fighting. Every day it was a new argument, brutal disputes that would only bring him back into your arms every time — love for her dying, and desire for you blooming.

The thought clouded his mind on set.

Standing under the bright lights, eyes burning from the sheer intensity as well as the fatigue that plagued him — not only from his demanding career, but visions of you keeping him awake, too.

When the director called for a short break, he let out a sigh of relief, shrugging a heavily bedazzled jacket from his tired shoulders, handing it to a nearby costume designer. Raking a hand through his tussled curls, he moved sluggishly to the sidelines of the set, grabbing a bottle of water, taking a slow, much needed, chug.

“Hey, you.”

He hated the way his brain automatically associated the sound of clicking shoes against the hard floor with you — his excitement dying slowly in his chest as he turned to meet his fiancée’s frame.

“Oh, hey.” He spoke, voice flat and uniform.

Maddie hesitated before speaking, eyebrows furrowed neatly into her forehead, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” He brushed off, shaking his head, taking a firm seat in a chair with ‘J.Jackson’ neatly embroidered into the back, with a sigh, “What you doing here anyways?”

“Glad to see you too.” She huffed sarcastically, “Thought I’d bring you lunch.”

She handed over a brown paper bag, heavy in his hand as he took it from her. Jaafar peeled it open, stomach rumbling as the sudden reminder to eat filled his now conscious brain.

“Oh.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Jaafar peered up at her apprehensively, “I just—nothing it’s fine. Thank you.”

Maddie’s expression fell, “No. What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “I just don’t like turkey.”

“What?” She hissed, snatching the bag quickly, staring down at the bleak sandwich sat sadly inside, “You do.”

“I definitely don’t.” He breathed out a laugh, “You have it. I’ll grab something from the vending machine later.”

“You loved turkey when we first started dating.” She fired back, attempting to win back her pride.

“Yeah, 8 years ago.”

Maddie scoffed, “Fine. I’ll eat it. Go eat your shit vending machine food, and not the meal your fiancée worked so hard to make for you.”

Jaafar laughed in disbelief, “Maddie, it’s a sandwich. No offence, but I sincerely doubt you worked that hard.”

“What the hell, Jaafar? Honestly, I can’t with you sometimes, I just feel—“ “Jaafarrrr.”

Maddie noticed the way he perked up at the sound of your voice.

She rolled her eyes at the sight of you — a tiny, black mini skirt and a white blouse clad to your frame, kitten heels clicking against the floor as you sauntered in. You looked good without needing to try — something Jaafar always admired about you.

“Hey!” He beamed, rising from his chair, heading straight for you without a second thought, that dangerously beautiful smile adorning his face, “What are you doing here?”

The tone difference in the same question he’d asked to you and to Maddie was clear — something hard to miss.

He met you halfway across set, pulling you into a tight embrace, large arms wrapping around your frame, as you laced your arms around his neck. When you pulled away, Jaafar’s heart raced as you looked up at him — there were those pretty eyes.

“I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you some lunch.” You admitted, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you handed him a gorgeously packaged box.

The smell hit him before he opened it — perfectly cooked steak, with freshly steamed greens and a side of mac n’ cheese. He groaned in delight.

“Your favourite.” You added.

If it wasn’t for the Jaafar blocking your view — you would’ve been met with the coldest, most seething gaze Maddie could muster.

She had been jealous of you from the start — she hated how much Jaafar loved being around you, how you got on like a house on fire, and proven just in that moment, how well you knew him.

“Oh, my God, this smells incredible.” Jaafar admitted, eyes flickering from your own to the food, “Thank you, princess.” He whispered, his voice low enough for you only to hear, “I wanna kiss you so badly right now.”

“Contain yourself, handsome.” You returned the hushed tone, “Later.”

Jaafar’s eyes darkened at the thrilling idea of getting to kiss you in secret later — visions of ravishing you filling his mind. A different kind of hunger fuelling in his heart.

“I already made him lunch.”

You heard her before you saw her — Maddie’s stern voice from behind Jaafar, gaze still sharp.

“Oh, man.” Your voice a teasing disappointment, “Sorry, J, I didn’t know. What a waste.” Your faux frown hit his face, heart twisting at the idea of your upset.

“No, no. It’s fine. Maddie’s gonna have the other one, right?”

“No, I sai—“

“Aw, thanks, Maddie!” You grinned, excitable voice hitting both of their ears once again, smiling so innocently that your intentions seemed so pure, “At least you can have your favourite now.”

Jaafar smiled down at you, grabbing the plastic fork laid neatly next to his glorious meal, before digging in, “Oh, wow, this is amazing.”

“Made it myself.” You admitted, “Worked very hard for you, Jaaf.”

“You’re so good to me.” Jaafar couldn’t contain the way he smiled as you giggled proudly, walking alongside, mouth full of the food you kindly prepared for him, back to where he once sat, “Whatcha’ got planned for today then?”

“Figured I’d sit around all day and watch you sweat.”

Maddie clenched her jaw at the way you both laughed loudly — a real, genuine laugh falling from Jaafar’s lips.

“Sounds like a riveting day.” He teased, resuming back in his seat.

You grinned, “Oh, definitely. A real thriller.”

“Nice play on word—“ “Jaafar, can we talk?”

Maddie’s harsh voice cut your laughter short — a sudden intense atmosphere blossoming. Jaafar’s smile fell quickly, eyes meeting hers for the first time since you arrived as if her presence wasn’t recognisable.

“What?”

“Alone.”

You bit back a grin — every argument they had brought Jaafar closer to you. Sick, but you loved it.

“I’ll go wait in your dressing room, J.”

To Maddie, she was silently thankful for your departure, however, completely missing your sensual undertone — alluding to the very man, she was subconsciously pushing further away from her and more towards you, that you’d be waiting for him in a quiet, secluded place where he could take you like he always did.

You parted from the tension quickly — sauntering away, hips swinging involuntarily, your back facing the upcoming argument you knew would arise.

Maddie didn’t miss the way Jaafar watched you walk away.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Her voice forced a foul expression onto Jaafar’s face, “What now?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Jaafar.” Maddie snapped, finger pointing accusingly at him, “What is her problem?”

Jaafar feigned innocence quickly, “What do you mean? She just brought me lunch.”

“So did I, but you turned that down real fast. But, when she does it, it’s like she’s moved fucking mountains for you?” Maddie’s voice got icier with each sentence — and louder, forcing passing members of staff to side-eye the growing dispute.

“Lower your voice.” He hissed, eyes darting around, “You brought me something I didn’t like. Sorry if that offends you.”

“It’s not about that, Jaafar, it’s about how fucking weird you are around each other.” She snapped, voice refusing to lower, “Is there something I don’t know?”

Jaafar hid the way adrenaline thumped through his veins at the idea of her possibly finding out well. The thought of filling you to the brim with his thick cock suddenly polluting his brain — blood rushing between the very manhood he wanted to stuff you full of.

“Hello?” Maddie sassed, face an unyielding frosty expression.

“No, of course not. Stop asking me this.” Jaafar lied straight his teeth, a lie told so many times it felt natural now, “You always paint her out to be a horrible person, but she’s always so good to me. I don’t know why you can’t just be nice to her.”

“Because she’s all up on my fiancé every five seconds.”

“We’re just close.” Jaafar spoke, a statement not entirely untrue, “Just leave her alone for once.”

“Maybe tell her that.” Maddie spat, “Tell her to leave you alone.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“And there we go. Always at her defence.” She laughed in aggravation, “I’m your fiancé, y’know? It’s me you’re marrying.”

I wish it wasn’t.

The sentence hit his brain faster than he expected — a subconscious response to the argument and his secretive infatuation with you.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Jaafar shot back, rising to his feet quickly, “Just go home, I’ll talk to you later.” He wasted no time walking down the hallway to his dressing room, following in your footsteps

“Jaafar, what? No.”

“Do not follow me.”

His voice, a usual calm and collected tone, was now snarled and bitter — a declaration of his frustration. He meant every word he said.

Jaafar stormed through the hall — feet stomping against the ground harder with each step. His anger bubbling over the edge as his chest heaved.

He slammed open the dressing room door — agitation oozing from him like no other. His eyes immediately landed on your relaxed frame, longing on the sofa that was pressed against the back of the room. You met his furious gaze.

“You okay, baby?”

Your sweet, calming voice flooded his frenzied brain — the nickname hitting him straight between the legs. He strode towards you quickly, hands immediately cradling your face as he smashed your lips together in a frantic kiss. You squeaked in surprise at the sudden connection — hands grasping at his tensed arms, before melting into his mouth.

“Need you. Now.” He mumbled against your lips, “Need to feel you.”

“Jaaf.” You whined, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over your mouth had a familiar tingle radiating up your spine at the anticipation.

His lips worked magic against yours once more — moving with calculated precision as he pulled you to your feet. Tongues and teeth clashing as the passion intensified in your lip-locking — spit and swollen lips the only thing evident on your mouth as he moved his kisses down your neck. His hand, once pressed against the warm of your cheek, splayed across the nape of your neck, as he worked his way down your exposed chest.

“This gotta come off.” He muttered, flicking the buttons of your top open with ease, pulling it off your body and throwing it to the floor, your plump breasts filling his gaze.

His name fell from your mouth in a desperate plea as his lips attached to your bare tits — an erect nipple swirled around his tongue as he sucked. Your head thrust back — whines now filling the room as your back pressed into the makeup counter.

Jaafar pulled away from your breasts, lips colliding with your own once more as his eager hand travelled down your body — fingers nestling right where you needed him. His fingers slipped under your skirt, finding comfort in the dip of your slit, collecting your essence on his fingers from where you drooled through your panties.

“Jaafar, please.” You whimpered, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

“Tell me how much you want it, pretty.” Jaafar whispered against you, face now flush against your own, “Tell me all about it, baby.”

His fingers rubbed tight, precise circles over your clothed clit, slick with your arousal, eliciting the sweetest noises from your pretty mouth — ones that hand Jaafar twitching in his slacks.

“Mm—Need you—Aah! so bad, J,” You cried, hands clutching at the thick of his bicep, “M’Wanna feel you so bad.”

“That’s it, sweetie, talk to me.” He coaxed, mouth suckling at the exposure of your neck, marking up your skin with the graze of his teeth.

Jaafar continued to work his fingers onto you — nimble digits rubbing the painful ache between your legs away as he relaxed you, arousing you ready for his length. His supple lips pressed soft, delicate kisses to any piece of your skin he was unveiled to — only adding to the gorgeous whines of pleasure that flooded his ears.

You leant over to press a sweet kiss to the sensitive skin beneath his ear, “Please, Jaaf, need to feel you.”

Jaafar didn’t give you time to change your mind.

He ripped his body from yours in a hurry — trembling hands from adrenaline and anger unbuckling his slacks, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers. He hissed as the cold air hit the warmth of his cock, large hands instantaneously coming to wrap around the sheer length of him, pumping himself in relief.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately — swiftly pressing your stomach to the counter, poking your half-exposed ass to him. He pushed your skirt further up your backside, now bunching at your hips.

“I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby.” He revealed, looking up at you from the mirror before both of you, revelling in the way you gasped as the fat of his cockend slid between the wetness of your folds, “Too fucking angry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Your sweet, deliciously soft voice calmed his fury ever so slightly, the eyes that had him weak in the knees meeting his own in the reflection, “Use me. Take me. Just fuck me, please.”

The erotic admission had him pushing into you faster than he ever does — a loud cry falling past your lips as your vision blurred, hand slamming against the glass in a fist as he stretched you. Jaafar usually would take his time with you — work you open with his fingers, make you cum a few times before entering you. But not now. The flaming anger than burst inside of him had him selfish — not wanting to waste a single second before filling you to the brim.

And that he did. Your cunt throbbed around the size of him — girth and length forcing your slick little cunt open for him so briskly it had you biting on your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“That’s my good girl.” Jaafar growled out, a large hand stroking the plush of your hips that he gripped with the pad of his thumb, “Look so fuckin’ beautiful full of me.”

“Jaafar, please.” You mewled, tears brimming in your twinkling eyes.

“I know, I know, baby.” He reassured, dragging his cock out of you slowly, “Just feel me.”

He set a brutal pace — one that rendered you speechless from the first thrust. Only blabbering moans of undeniable pleasure releasing from your mouth as his tip kissed the smooth of your cervix, his cock rammed so deep you forget how to speak.

Jaafar grunted wildly behind you — his usual gentle love-making a distant memory as he fucked you as if you were a cock hungry slut. Something he could use for his own personal pleasure.

Right now, you were absolutely that and more.

“Fucking hate her.” He seethed behind you, grip tightening around your hips, before sliding up your back and taking your hair in a tight grasp, pulling you flush against his heaving chest, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

The nefarious admission had your cunt clenching around him — knowing he was fucking you brainless whilst badmouthing his fiancée, who you also despised, had arousal coursing through your veins more so than before.

Jaafar noticed, “Oh, you naughty girl.” He breathed, breath hot against your ear, “You love fucking a taken man, huh?”

“Only you, Jaafar.”

Jaafar couldn’t suppress the whimper that fell from his lips, head falling into the crook of your neck, mumbling a curse under his breath at your huffed submission to him — cock throbbing inside you. Every drag of his dick had you whining underneath him — eyes rolling back as he repeatedly abused the sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh, princess?” He coaxed, “Look at me.” His large hand gripped your cheeks in a harsh grasp, before pushing two fingers into your agape mouth, “Suck.”

You willingly did as he pleased — suckling at the thick of his digits, the tang of your essence still lingering on his fingers flooding your tastebuds, whining at the taste of yourself. Your tongue swirled around him, eager to please, earning a hum of approval from the heaving man behind you, his pace never faltering.

“Jaafar.” Your voice muffled, mouth still stuffed full of him, a desperate, needy tone in your words, “Harder, p’wease.”

“Y’sound so fuckin’ sexy with your mouth full.” Jaafar groaned, eyes locked on the way tears slipped from your wide eyes, cascading down your face, a collecting of wetness of your tears and spit pooling at your chin.

Jaafar pulled out of you swiftly, ignoring the way you whined at the loss of fullness, before briskly shifting you to face him, pulling your body on top of the counter. He entered you once more, a blissful moan falling past your lips. His hands splayed against the fat of your hips against, pulling you down onto the hardness of his cock — bottom lip pulled between his teeth as you marched every thrust with an erotic whinge.

“‘Gonna cum, Jaaf.” You revealed, eyes glued to the milky white essence that pooled at the base of Jaafar’s cock as it disappeared repeatedly into your sex.

“Give it to me, princess.” He coaxed, fingers flying to your swollen clit, rubbing tight, fast circles around the aching nub, “Cum with me, baby.”

Your orgasm crept down your spine, settling in the low of your abdomen, the relief of a much needed climax arriving, a loud, demanding moan leaving your mouth as you chased your high at full speed. Jaafar wasn’t far behind you — pace now quickening as he too chased his orgasm, wanting nothing more right now to fill you to the brim with his fertile seed.

Slam!

“What the fuck?”

The door to the dressing room swung open — an aggressive bang that had both of your heads spinning towards the noise.

Now you were truly fucked.

Maddie stood in the door way, utterly mortified and shocked to her core at the sight of you — pussy stuffed full of her fiancée’s cock — sweat glistening off of both your bodies, chests heaving.

In a blacked-out state of intense arousal, your wicked mouth betrayed

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Jaafar.”

And he listened.

In his own personal lust, the sound of his distraught fiancée’s shouting, catching him in a comprising act fell on deaf ears, his hips, that had once stilled, resumed once more.

Your head fell back once more as his pace picked up — your orgasm climbing back up quicker now, pure thrill and adrenaline coursing through you like an addict snorting a fresh line.

Your nails dug into the plush of his bare ass, moans hitting an all time high as you clenched around him, completely unaffected by the furious woman in the doorway — climax washing over you harder than it ever had.

“Oh, Jaafar!” His name rang out through the room, alongside the squelch of your juices with each harsh thrust Jaafar fucked into you, a subconscious twist of the knife to the disbelieving Maddie watching in shock.

Jaafar groaned into your rising chest, cumming with a cry, his own orgasm hitting him as he doubled over, folding into you as he stuffed you full. The sensation of his spurting load filling you to the brim had your toes curling around his waist, a whine hitting his ringing ears. He didn’t stop — fucking his hot cum deeper into you, hips stuttering in overstimulation, the intense feeling of his electric orgasm still flooding through him.

In your mutual state of blind pleasure, you hadn’t noticed the absence of Maddie — the room deafening silent as you caught your breaths.

Jaafar softened inside you, face still pressed into the crook of your neck, eyes fluttered shut.

“Still harmless?”

y/n sprung the idea onto jaafar as soon as he stepped foot into the house, his coat still on and shoes not even untied.

“we’re baking a cake,” she declared, her voice soft with poorly hidden excitement as she wrapped her arms round him, letting him pull her into a delicate kiss.

“a cake?” he lifted a brow, setting her back down as he slid out of her coat, hanging it up on the peg beside her one, “do i get a vote?”

“nope,” y/n smiled, clapping her hands together as she tugged on his hand, half-dragging him to the kitchen.

“my mom used to bake vanilla cakes all the time when i was a kid,” she said, busying herself with grabbing the flour as jaafar peaked over at the recipe on her phone. it looked easy enough.

“so we’ve got ourselves a little expert, then, hm angel?” he looked up from the recipe, a small smile on his lips.

y/n just grinned over triumphantly, looking through all the different kinds of sugars.

“what first?” jaafar looked down at the empty bowl, all the ingredients laid out neatly around it. y/n adored her working spaces to be clean and organised.

“first,” she said, her voice light, “i’m doing all the stirring. i’m in charge, remember?” she tugged on his shirt, moving him to the side as he rolled his eyes. y/n had always been bossy.

“whatever you say, angel,” he hummed, watching as she measured and added the ingredients into the bowl.

“here,” she handed him an egg, the warm light reflecting off the top of its shell.

“how generous of you,” he cracked the egg against the side of the bowl, watching as the yolk pooled into the mixture, emptying from the shells.

somewhere behind them, the little speaker played a quiet version of ‘human nature’, the sound only broken by y/n’s occasional humming and the bin opening as jaafar dumped the empty shells into it.

“should i stir, angel?” he looked at the gloopy mixture, ready to be whisked into a perfect, delicious cake.

“i’m in charge,” y/n huffed, taking the whisk and stirring the mixture round the bowl.

jaafar didn’t mind.

he liked watching her work, she was in her element. baking had been one of the first things they’d done when they started dating.

sure, the cookies were a crumbly mess but they tasted…acceptable if you ignored the charred chocolate chips inside.

it was like old times.

“actually,” y/n scrunched her nose, “you can stir,” she stepped back, shaking her arm slightly, avoiding his gaze.

“and why’s that?” jaafar couldn’t keep the teasing out of his voice as she rolled her eyes, mumbling something about her arm hurting.

“if you insist,” he sent a wink her way, graciously stirring the mixture.

“you’re good at this,”

“only because i have the best teacher,”

“you’re impossible,” y/n laughed, pushing against his shoulder as she dusted her hands, taking over to pour the mixture into the cake tin.

“there we go,” she said, clapping her hands together. maybe this time, one of their creations would go right.

they both watched as y/n shut the oven door, the mixture settling into the hot oven.

“how long does the recipe say to leave it in for?” y/n fiddled with the little time on the side, before it was gently taken from her hands.

“doesn’t matter, we’ll know when it’s done, angel,” jaafar smiled. before she could protest, his hands were on her waist, fingers splayed across the cotton of her t-shirt.

his lips met hers in the kind of kiss that made the room feel ten times warmer than it was, heat creeping up her face.

the small of her back hit the counter gently, his lips still on hers before they both pulled back to catch their breath, foreheads resting against each others.

“i could get used to this,” he mumbled, his lips closing the distance once more.

y/n tilted her head back slightly, letting him guide her into another kiss, slower this time, lingering. the kitchen around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them and the scent of vanilla still warm in the air.

neither of them were quite sure when they’d made it to the living room, their lips still against each others.

y/n was sat on his lap, his hands holding her by the waist, grounding her almost, as their lips moved against each others in a soft, rhythmic pattern.

jaafar’s lashes fluttered against his cheek every time she moved against him.

his tongue moved gently against hers, his teeth tugging on her bottom lip as she held onto him, her hands moving over his body, down his chest, squeezing his shoulders.

y/n broke away for breath, his lips dropping down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone - almost reverent.

that was when it hit her.

“jaafar,” y/n said, her hands on his shoulder, his lips still dragging down the side of her neck.

“hmm?” he mumbled, half listening, half not, engrossed in the event of her sweet perfume filling his nose.

“the cake,” she jumped up off his lap, both of them rushing to the oven.

she grabbed the oven globe, yanking the door open as smoke poured out, jaafar’s hands on her shoulders to move her away as she coughed.

“it’s not too bad, angel,” he peered at the top of the cake - it wasn’t burnt, maybe a little…over-cooked.

y/n peered at the cake, her face contorted in a grimace as he took it out with the other glove, setting it down on the counter.

“maybe we need to stay away from the kitchen,” they both stared at their creation for a few seconds. sure, it was edible but…did they want to eat it?

“frosting, maybe?” y/n suggested weakly, her eyes lighting up again, “oh! we can add ribbons and that cute icing thing i saw-,”

“maybe,” jaafar cut her off, “we should just stick to leaving the cake how it is, angel,” a little smile eased onto his featured as he sunk a knife into the spongy cake.

“bon appetit?” jaafar offered weakly, the slightly solid slice of cake separating from the crumbly mess of their cake. not even cute little ribbons could save this one.

“i think we should just finish what we were doing instead,” y/n said, her lashes fluttering against her cheek as he set the knife down.

gladly.

❀❀❀❀

michael could see the stress in your body, even after all this week, he spent most of his time trying to find different ways to make you feel better. he took you out shopping more, brought you to your favorite restaurants, and sent you extra money for whatever. yet, still nothing. as you finished up your message and sent it, michael tells you to come sit beside him, the silence between you getting stronger. once you get over to him, one of his hands glides down your leg to your ankle, picking up your foot, he takes off your shoe and places your foot on his thigh, raising his hand immediately to stop you from complaining. still quiet, michael begins to massage your foot, both hands working diligently as he watches you closely. still so tense.

“things your boyfriend should have a good eye on, is this.” he mumbles, your heart beats faster. “michael.” you start and he shakes his head. “i should’ve saw it myself too, i’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, sweet girl.” the way his voice gets deeper, a little breathier, you swear you could have moaned right there. your phone lights up, your boyfriend sends you another message, michael nudges his head to it, “answer it, don’t be rude.” he says, his hands moving up your ankle. eyes still locked on your face, you pick up your phone, and see your boyfriend asking you when you’re coming over to his place. forgetting that the two of you planned to go on a date after so long.

“need me to drop you home?” michael pulls your attention back to him, his hands not stopping, the look in his eyes, you could almost give him anything if he asked. you glance back at your boyfriend’s message nod, michael hums and sighs. “after this massage, then, i’ll get you back to your boyfriend, safely.” it was intentional, michael’s annoyed, he’s so annoyed by your boyfriend’s existence but michael really loves giving you stuff your boyfriend can’t. maybe next award show he’ll take you as his date and won’t correct the next person that assumes you’re his new girlfriend.

But then you saw his face, how he looked at the picture like it was something precious, something he wanted to remember forever, so instead of pleading with him to delete it, you kissed him on the cheek.

Since then, the candid pictures of you have been almost nonstop, and it doesn’t invoke that same embarrassed sort of feeling it once did. You went so long without having someone who cares about you as much as Jaafar, who wants to remember every single moment you spend together and for some reason, can never resist snapping a picture when he thinks you’re especially beautiful.

His camera roll is full to the brim with pictures of you. There are the candids he loves so much, but there are also more posed pictures of you, where the view or your outfit pop, and there are pictures of the two of you together, quick selfies and pictures taken by friends. At this point, it’s practically a shrine to you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even with so many to choose from, Jaafar still has his favorites. There’s the one taken by a friend of yours, the background dark and blurry and your outfits slightly out of focus, but he has his arms wrapped around your waist from behind and his head hooked over your shoulder, and even through the dim lighting it’s obvious that you’re leaning back against him. He doesn’t think there’s ever been a better photo, he can practically feel the adoration through the screen, so he makes the picture his background so he sees it every time he looks at his phone.

The one he set as your contact photo is a candid he’d taken on one of your first dates. Your laughing, head tilted back and your hand halfway reaching towards him, either to grab his hand or take the phone from him. Either way, it makes him grin whenever he sees it.

There are pictures of you in the kitchen, rumbled from sleep with a spatula in your hand, pancakes on the stove just out of frame. There’s one of you in a nice restaurant, the lighting all golden as you cross your arms on the table and lean forward, tilting your head with a soft smile. There are some taken from across the room, when he’d been watching from the corner of his eye as you chatted with friends and you looked so angelic he couldn’t resist.

You’d think, with all of those pictures of you weighing down his camera roll, that he’d expect some retaliation. 

The first time you did it, you were both spread out on towels on the beach, the sun drying you off. You’d picked up your phone to look at the time, but then you caught sight of Jaafar, hair damp and skin glistening with sea water, and he looked so relaxed and at peace you couldn’t resist. He didn’t notice, eyes closed against the force of the sun, and in that moment, you suddenly understood why he could never resist taking a picture of you.

For weeks afterwards, you kept looking back at the picture like it was something precious, something rare and priceless. You just love him so much, it’s like some otherworldly force compels you to commit every aspect of him to memory, every moment you share stored away somewhere when it can never be forgotten. And those little off guard pictures certainly help with that.

He catches on soon after, though, when you’re not nearly as sly as you were the first time. He’s grinning at something you said across the table, ice cream melting in between you, and before you can even really think about it, you’re lifting your phone to snap a picture.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, grin morphing into a confused sort of smile.

“Taking a picture,” you say simply, closing your phone and sliding it back in your bag, reaching for your spoon again.

“Why?” He can’t seem to wrap his head around it, can’t understand that you’re moved by the same forces that he is.

“Cause you look so pretty.” When you look up at him, he’s got his face buried in his hands as if you’ve revealed some embarrassing secret.

“You can’t just say things like that,” he mutters into his hands before dropping them onto his lap, “delete that.”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ sound, a grin coming across your own face, “I’m gonna print it out and frame it.”

“Don’t,” his protest is weak, shyness running through the word.

“Why not? You do it to me,” you’re teasing, mostly, just to watch Jaafar squirm under your attention. With how shy he gets, you’d think he’s never received a compliment before in his life. You could spend hours singing his praise, and every single time, you’d get the same bashful reaction.

“It’s not the same,” he grumbles, and he knows it’s a weak complaint. He raises his eyes back to you, and you’re still grinning, standing firm on your choice. Seeing you look so happy, so proud of yourself, he can’t even pretend to be upset anymore, even if the force of your attention makes his chest feel constricted. He relents with a smile, and you lean across the table to kiss him, soft and quick.

No matter how many times he catches you taking a picture of him, his reaction is always the same. You wonder if he knows how much it eggs you on.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Michael’s house was a maze.

Despite the large handful of times you had been there since the two of you started dating, you still got lost sometimes. Halls winding into a labyrinth of polished wood, decorative paintings, and each door started to look the same.

Your fingers landed on another handle. There was nothing special about it. Polished brass. Stained wood. Ordinary.

You tested the handle. Unlocked.

The door opened, silent on its hinges. Your footsteps were muted on the carpet and your eyes adjusted to the low lighting of the room, a warm glow flickering from an array of candles that were lit.

You blinked, standing in the doorway with your fingers still wrapped around the handle and perfectly still.

“What the fuck?”

You blinked again. Hoping that by some strange ripple in reality, that you had to be dreaming. Hallucinating. Lost your mind.

Pictures of Diana Ross were everywhere. Barely a millimeter of the wall could be seen between each frame.

And for fuck’s sake, the candles.

They covered tables and littered the floor, all lit with wax pooling over old and used sticks bent in charred shapes.

A laugh left you, short and sharp. Completely riddled speechless by what you were seeing because this just had to be a fucking joke.

You took a single step forward, still holding onto the door like it was a lifeline to your sanity.

There were letters strewn across some of the tables. Dates varying back a few years up to right before you two started dating.

Letters from her.

You were pretty sure you started to feel your heart rotting in your chest. The soiled artery beginning to infect the surrounding area, bleeding out and ruining everything and sinking right through you and to the floor.

Another blink as you read one of the signatures at the bottom of a letter.

Your dearest, Diana and the lipstick mark next to it.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you muttered.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

“Baby, just wait a second.” Michael threw a hand out, catching the car door before you could slam it shut.

“I don’t wanna talk to you or look at you right now.” You tugged on the door but it didn’t budge. Your eyes flicked up to his face but Christ, everything was blurry.

“It’s not what—“

“It’s not what it looks like? Really? Then what the fuck does it look like, Michael. Enlighten me.”

He winced at your tone even though you tried your best not to raise your voice.

“I…” he looked away from you, jaw rolling. “Listen, she’s been a dear friend of mine—“

“Oh my god.” You yanked on the door harder, not caring if you squashed his fingers in the process.

“I’ve been meaning to take all that down, I promise. I just haven’t had the time.” He rushed, fingers slipping from their hold and the door finally shut.

Your foot pressed on the gas, ignoring him as he yelled out your name.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

You were fucking seething.

The last few days had been hell. And Michael calling you every other hour made it just a bit worse. You wanted to pick up the phone and yell at him. Wanted to pick up and hear him out.

And then you’d shut your eyes and all of the sudden you were back in that God forsaken room.

Then the flowers started to show up on your doorstep and at work.

Your favorite kind in your favorite color with an apology scribbled on the note.

You crumbled up each one and threw it away.

The gifts piled in afterwards. Books you’d been wanting, all either first editions or signed. Designer bags. Heels. The Burberry coat you’d been eyeing every time you went shopping.

You weren’t stubborn enough to toss all of that away. Telling yourself it would’ve been a waste.

He had even sent Bill. Something that would’ve made you laugh but then you’d remind yourself Michael should be the one crawling to your doorstep, so you’d send Bill away with some strong words he likely wouldn’t repeat.

A tv show was playing and your eyes watched dully, not quite paying attention and the laugh track swirled into mindless white noise. Your thoughts all over the place and scattered into a million pieces.

Albeit, you and Michael hadn't been dating for long. Technically. Seeing each other on and off for a while before officially deciding to slap a label on it three months ago.

Three months for him to get rid of that fucking room.

Three months to at least say something.

Then an idea festered. Burying its claws deep into your prefrontal cortex. Shredding whatever character development you’d garnered over the years because it was incredibly fucking tempting.

You wanted to burn it. All of it. Every photo and letter because fuck her and fuck him for hiding it from you.

With a click of your tongue you stood up and grabbed your purse and car keys.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

The cashier looked between the many empty red gas canisters, a cheetah print lighter, and you.

Many times.

“I’d like to fill these up at pump seven,” you smiled at him. Polite as ever and feeling blissfully calm.

“And you also want the lighter?”

“Yup.” You popped the p.

Again, you really did feel wonderfully calm.

He shook his head, deciding to put any questions he had on the back burner. “Alright.”

“Can I also get a pack of reds, a twelve pack of Budweiser… oh and these trash bags”

“Sure.”

You smiled again and swiped Michael’s credit card.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Humming as the sound of wood ripped, you threw another frame into the trash bag. Not caring at all as the paint ripped on the wall, nails being bent into jagged shapes and oh how unfortunate, some shattered glass.

It was relatively late and you knew Michael’s schedule. One he didn’t often veer off of, even during a relationship crisis.

Or maybe it was just a crisis to you. And Michael didn’t think it was a big deal so he continued on, business as usual, away in his studio and working.

You ripped another frame off the wall.

You were in and out of there for around two hours. Not another soul to be seen as you dragged trash bags out into the back yard. Not satisfied until all that was left in that room was the scraping of old melted candle wax leaving a faint outline on the carpet.

Everything had been thrown into a pile. Broken wood, jagged glass, ripped photos, and the annoying amount of letters that you ripped as you tossed them around.

You didn’t see a single person as you carried the canisters of gas two at a time from your car. Not a concerned glance as you started to unscrew the caps and walk around the pile in mindless circles, dumping the gasoline until everything was absolutely soaked and your nose and eyes burned from the smell.

You then came to a stop, sighing as you stared at all of it. A deformed and wet slop of memorabilia of a woman you really couldn’t fucking stand.

Your dearest, Diana.

Pulling out the pack of reds, you placed one between your teeth and your thumb struck the sparkwheel of the lighter, a sharp sound meeting your ears and a warm glow gently touching your face as the tobacco started to burn and nicotine coated your mind.

Then you tossed the cheetah print lighter onto the pile and up up up the flames went.

The burst of light so bright it made you squint and the heat hit your face like a shockwave.

Watching in delight as that woman’s face got contorted and charred and the letters curled in on themselves and fell into glowing ash.

You weren't sure how much time had passed but your cigarette was almost to the butt when you started to hear footsteps and shouting muffled behind the crack of flames.

Someone had you by the shoulders, yanking you back all of the sudden and you blinked as Michael came into view. His expression panicked and confused as his eyes flicked over you to make sure you were alright.

How sweet of him.

His hand cupped your cheek, brows furrowed as his eyes then flicked down to all the canisters and you watched in amusement as each puzzle piece fell. You could practically see where they landed for him, all coming together in one dazzling picture of fire.

Then his eyes landed on the Budweiser.

“Since when do you drink beer?”

You laughed. Loudly and deep and yanked right from your diaphragm because of course that’s what he decided to ask you about.

Then you slapped him.

Once.

Sharp and precise, his head snapping to the side and his jaw rolling as his cheek twinged red.

“You’re lucky I didn’t burn your fucking house down.”

You tossed the butt of your cigarette to the ground, twisting it beneath the toe of your stilettos you decided to wear. His favorite pair, because fuck him.

“Let’s get dinner. Maybe have Bill call the fire department, though.”

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

He had been on his best behavior since then.

It’s not like Michael had to try. Despite that little hiccup, he was a wonderful boyfriend and lover. Always doting and attentive. Buying you whatever you wanted and never able to take his hands off of you.

Burying your face in his mattress as he made you come at least twice before he did.

You were at an after party, the hour late off the tail end of an award show. The taste of tequila still on your tongue as you walked back from the bathroom, fingers messing with your M necklace Michael had given you, matching the bracelet he wore that had your own initial on it.

His idea, of course.

He was trying, really he was. You could give him a little grace for that. He wanted you to know you were his and he was yours. Nothing else and nobody else mattered.

But then you heard voices. Two. Familiar and low and your heels came to a sharp stop after you rounded the corner.

There she was.

Diana Ross leaning in and talking with a lilt, “it’s been so long, Michael.”

You blinked as you watched her rest a manicured hand on his shoulder.

He laughed, though it was more of a strained exhale. “I got a girl now, I can’t—“

“Michael, honey it’s me.”

“I knew you were old, but I didn’t know it was starting to affect your hearing.”

They both froze. Michael’s eyes drifting past Diana and landing on you. Not looking shocked, per se. In fact, now this could be the alcohol talking, but he looked relieved at the interruption.

Diana turned around, brow raised and her eyes flicked up and down. Sizing you up and a breathless laugh left her. “Excuse me?”

“I know I didn’t mumble.” You stared at her, arms crossed and wishing the earth would open up beneath her.

“Young lady, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to—“

You didn’t mean to.

Or maybe you did. Who’s to say?

You’d grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back before slamming it against the wall.

“What part of I have a girl did you not understand? And this ‘young lady’ is the same age as that ‘young’ man, so why don’t you start sending letters to men your own age or maybe your own fucking husband.”

You faintly heard Michael say your name, but it was drowned out the moment Diana called you a bitch.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

You sat on the curb, cigarette held between cut up knuckles and you blew a strand of hair out of your face. Watching silently as Michael sat down next to you as you waited for Bill to pull the car around.

He tapped a rhythm into his thighs as you took an inhale of tobacco, the plumes of smoke taking up the silent space.

“You know,” he started, eyes still focused in front of him but he leaned towards you. “You got a mean left hook.”

You couldn’t help it as you smiled. “I had a good teacher.”

Michael’s eyes finally met yours, the skin crinkling around them as he grinned. A knowing glance being passed between you two like a treasure. “I’m sure you did.”

The night wasn’t wasted even though you’d been asked to leave early by security, something Michael found hilarious the more he thought about it. Laughing nearly all the way home.

It wasn’t wasted at all as he laid you down in his bed, pushing your dress up and around your waist, painting a picture only he could see with his head between your thighs and I love you on his lips.

a/n:

i tried and failed to write a fight scene but i’ll work on it for future reference sorry 😭 hopefully this turned out okay but i feel like it fell flat— the request where michael moans diana’s name will hopefully be out soon (gonna need to buy a bottle of wine to write that)

michael jackson masterlist

taglist: @solarrandom @mjssluttyfish @tojiswifeforlife @sometranslationnoteru @sunshineyrosie @swgarpeas @amoravelee @softchaosdiary04 @slugstarzz @unknown11 @redemptioninthe4ethers @saberlight1 @roseidol @iimsopretty @auroralwriting @thottiepebbles16 @wannabestartinsmth @delicate-ray-of-sunshine @devynrulesboisdrool @loverstar014 @mjjsangel @uconnwbbloversworld1 @ghzfj @18lkpeters @devilslittlehelper @cherubae111 @pr3tt1d0llx @ursamajor17 @sarcasmismyfirstlove @bbpanth3rr @justalocalloser @brainacidsstuff @fayleyy

You are focused on mixing in all the chocolate chips, even more than the recipe requires, but just as with the measuring of vanilla extract, the addition of them is measured from the heart, not by what's written in the book. You read over what else the recipe requires, not noticing your boyfriend come up behind you at first, only to ease as you take note of his familiar scent and feel the warmth of his body press against your back.

"Hey, baby," He murmurs, as he wraps a hand around your waist, looking over your shoulder. You glance down at his hand, the way it wraps around you, you bite down your lower lip for a moment, trying not to get too distracted by him.

"Hi, honey," You greet him in return, and press a kiss against his cheek, only to catch him pouting at you. You roll your eyes at him and then give him a proper kiss in greeting, his hold on you strengthening.

"What are you making this time?" He asks after you pull away, your attention back on the mixing bowl as you add a small spoonful of cinnamon.

"Cookies," you reply, trying to get out of his hold to go to the baking tray you prepared by the oven. But Michael simply follows you, his hand gently pressed against your lower back, those long fingers of his drawing small patterns across it.

"Can I have a taste, baby?" He purrs in your ear, his curls brushing against the side of your face, and you swallow, then you shake your head at him.

"Once it's ready, Mike." You assure him, and then you set the bowl down on the counter, reaching to pull the baking tray closer. Michael takes this opportunity to steal a small chunk from the dough and pop it in his mouth with a low hum that has you turn your head from buttering up the baking paper. You can't even make yourself chide him at his impatience as you find the sight of him sucking on his finger so captivating, the pure bliss in his dark eyes, the elegance of his hand as he reaches for another scoop.

"I think you had enough." You manage to utter out as you take away the bowl from his vicinity. He merely laughs at your attempt to be stern with him over this.

"You know I can never resist your sweets, baby." He teases, as he leans over you and presses his lips to your cheek. You giggle softly but don't let his sweetness distract you from swatting at his hand from stealing another chunk from the bowl. He lets out a hearty laugh, one that you only hear when he is at his most relaxed.

"You are so cruel to me." He murmurs, and while you cannot see it as you are busy with distributing equal amounts of the cookie dough on the tray, you swear that he is pouting as he says this.

"You did get a taste, and I am only making this for us, you will get more when it's ready." You reassure him, but like the stubborn man he is, he reaches to swipe up some more of the dough while you are busy with filling the tray. You turn your head to take some more, only to be presented by the view of him having to lick down his finger to catch the chocolate chip and the dough from escaping.

You feel your cheeks heat up as you watch his tongue sweep over his long finger, the way he catches you looking at him and meets your gaze, his lips curling up into a dazzling smile that makes you weak in the knees.

You tear your gaze away from him and try to get your focus back on administering the dough over the baking tray. Once you finish with the task you place the baking tray in the oven. And Michael takes this opportunity to finish off what little was left in the mixing bowl.

"Come on, baby. Try it with me." He teases, and while you want to protest, mention that you have already tasted it while making it, you cannot resist his offer as he lifts up two of his fingers in offering towards you and like the good girl you are for him you lick the dough away and swallow with a little hum.

"How much time do we have?" He asks with heat flashing in those beautiful dark eyes of his. You glance at the oven and then give a reply. As the last word leaves your mouth the mixing bowl clatters against the counter top and Michael cups your face between his hands to give you a deep kiss.

By the time he quietly lets himself through the front door, he exhales , exhausted from the trip. The house is dark, peaceful and he leaves his bags downstairs, straightens a few things absentmindedly as he moves through the house, smiling when he notices little reminders of you everywhere.

Your favourite blanket folded over the couch, a half finished book sitting on the coffee table, a cardigan draped over the back of a chair that he knows you’ll eventually come looking for tomorrow morning. The sight of those ordinary things gave a wave of comfort and warmth in him , they always do remind him that despite any harsh attention words him in life, he’s got a little flower waiting to take him in her arms at home.

After making his way upstairs, he showered and changing into something comfortable, he pushes open the bedroom door carefully, not wanting to wake you, and spots your sleeping form beneath the blankets. Micheal just stands there, watching you sleeping peacefully, chest moving up and down slowly , seeing you asleep in your shared bed after weeks apart pulls a tired smile onto his face almost instantly. GOD you look so beautiful…

He crosses the room, leans down & presses a kiss against your cheek and another against your forehead before moving around to his side of the bed. He slips beneath the blankets and carefully settles behind you, automatically seeking out your warmth the same way he always does after being away. His arm slides around your waist, his face disappearing briefly into your hair as he breathes in the scent he’s missed more than he’ll ever admit out loud. After weeks of concerts, rehearsals & interviews , he feels himself properly relax.

It’s only when his hand settles against your stomach that something catches his attention.

At first he doesn’t think much of it, the thought barely registers because he’s tired, half asleep already, and his mind is still somewhere between airports and time zones, But a few seconds later his eyes slowly open again. His hand remains where it is while his brain quietly tries to make sense of the feeling, after a moment he shifts slightly, brushing his hand across the same spot again, more consciously this time, he makes sure to keep the movement subtle & careful not to wake you.

His brow furrows immediately.

No way……..

For several seconds he simply lies there staring into the darkness, trying to understand why a strange feeling of familiarity has suddenly settled over him. Then, memories from the past several weeks begin resurfacing. Little things and details that seemed small. You becoming tired more easily, the sickness you’d brushed off repeatedly, the way you’d seemed distracted during some of your phone calls and that doctor’s appointment you’d mentioned briefly before changing the subject. He remembered the oversized clothes that had slowly become your preferred choice lately. Separately, none of those things had meant much but together, however, they begin forming a picture so obvious that Michael actually feels his breath catch in his throat.

He slowly pushes himself up onto one elbow and looks down at you.

You remain completely asleep still peaceful, his gaze lingers there for a moment before drifting downward again Micheal gently removes the covers untill your stomach was visible.

ROUND…….a small bump…..

He looked back to your face, then downward once more.

Your pregnant

Your PREGNANT

A few minutes pass and he doesn’t move, he just keeps staring , his mind racing while the rest of him remains perfectly still. Because the very wish he has ever wanted with you when you promised him you’d love to bare his children, to be the mother of his children and to give him as many as he wants is right infront of him.

A baby

His hand remains resting lightly against your stomach while he sits there staring in complete disbelief. Michael has spent his entire life standing in front of thousands of people. He’s accepted awards, performed for stadiums and lived through moments most people could never imagine, yet somehow none of those experiences prepared him for this. None of them prepared him for sitting in a dark bedroom in the middle of the night while you the women he loves deeply sleeps peacefully beside him while carrying his child and realizing that the future he’s been imagining for years may has quietly arrived while he was away.

A smile appears before he even realizes it, small at first, then larger. Until he finds himself covering part of his face with one hand because the emotion building inside him feels ridiculous and so intense. He thinks about all those phone calls, all those times he’d asked whether you were alright, all those moments where he’d felt like something was different but couldn’t understand why and it all makes sense. The more he thinks about it, the more emotional he becomes. Then frustration slides in because you’ve been carrying this secret alone for weeks.

Attending appointments, hearing news, experiencing all of these changes and he wasn’t there. The realization softens some of his excitement with guilt. Guilt from leaving you all by your self, and not standing beside you, his wife that’s carrying a life he’s always dreamed of. He wished he’d been sitting beside you in those waiting rooms. Whishes he’d been there to experience every part of it with you instead of finding out accidentally in the middle of the night. If only he’d come sooner, though he understood why you haven’t told him over the phone. He had a feeling that you didn’t inform him because of his work, you didn’t want him overwhelmed and panicking and you were right he would have been so overwhelmed with joy and panic over this news.

Still, none of that changes the overwhelming happiness slowly taking hold of him. His gaze keeps drifting back toward your sleeping face then towards your stomach on that beautiful bump that has that bundle of life growing inside you. With all the harsh and negative part of attention he gets , he can already feel himself becoming protective and possessive . Already imagining things and planning for you and his baby.

Wondering what the baby might look like, whether they’ll have your smile or inherit his curls. Whether they’ll be loud or quiet or maybe they’ll love music and laugh like you. His thoughts run so far ahead of him that he eventually has to stop himself. Yet every time he does, another smile threatens to appear and silent tears start to run down his face while he gazes longingly at you and your stomach his large warm hand still covering the bump with his thump caressing it gently. A small laugh escaping his mouth, still in disbelief.

Eventually the excitement settles into something quieter and the questions stop coming, the nervous laughter eases, even the tears begin drying, though every now and then a few tears shill shed. Carefully, he leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead & another against your cheek & another against your cheek. His hand comes up to brush a few loose strands of hair away from your face.

“Oh, baby…” he whispers softly. A quiet laugh escapes him before he can stop it.

Shaking his head to himself, Michael slips back beneath the blankets and gently gathers you closer without disturbing you. One arm slides beneath your pillow and settles comfortably beneath your head while the other wraps around your waist, his hand instinctively finding its way back to your stomach. His thumb brushes slowly across the fabric of your nightgown. Tender and Protective.

He buries his face into your hair, breathing in the familiar scent that had felt so far away only hours ago. A few soft kisses find your shoulder. Another against the back of your neck. Michael closes his eyes, his hand remains over your stomach breathing in and out slowly. After a long moment, he leans forward slightly and murmurs against your ear.

“God…”

A small breath of a laugh follows.

“Thank you, baby doll.”, His voice wavers slightly,

“Thank you so much.”

His arm tightens around you just a little.