Jaafar Jackson x Plus size reader

Author's Note: I actually started writing this two or three weeks after the LA premiere, but writer's block was a bitch and didn't want me to be great lol. But luckily the ideas flowed in here and there, and I finally managed to finish it. I loved writing this story, and I think it might be my favourite one that I've written so far. Btw the Marina character belongs to me.

Warning(s)-None, although some of it might not make sense.

Credits: Collage done by me, but the photos are from Pinterest and Instagram. Dividers by @cafekitsune

Summary: You're feeling nervous during the premiere.

MJ meme

[ unprotected sex , pet names , daddy kink (playfully) , black fem reader , kinda public , brief mentions of fingering ]

.ᐟ. .ᐟ. .ᐟ. .ᐟ.

EVERYTHING gentlemanly about tito jackson drowned in the water the moment your dark skin soaked in the sun rays, radiating the beam back onto the pool with shimmery skin. whatever concoction of lotions you had mixed that day had you dewy and glazed, hints of gold glitter adorning your skin.

tito’s eyes never let up. he watched you like a beast stalking its prey, eyes low and full of warning. his shoulders squared, then rolled, head cocking to the side as he slapped michael upside the head at the way he gawked at you.

“don’t even play like that.” he warned.

tito’s whole demeanor changed. the serious game of water polo became about how many heads he had to slap for even looking at your general direction for too long. jermaine got it the worst, by the third round his ear was ringing, a dull ache forming at the base of his skull.

“awe daddy, stop hittin’ em. you know i love you,” you scolded, listening to the round of ‘ooo’s at you calling tito daddy. they quickly died down though when the whites of his eyes became barely visible. even you felt a shiver run down your spine when his eyes cut to you, your lips balled up, head dropping down to resume the part in your book. a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of your lips, pretending to be very interested in whatever this chapter pre-tailed.

a few beats had passed. the intense energy dying down. remembering something about the sunrays being extremely high today, you reached into your pool bag to grab sunscreen. you squirted a nice amount into your palms, rubbing them together before applying the thick solution to your shiny skin. you rubbed innocently at your arms, circling the skin of your shoulders before sliding your straps down. up and down you rubbed before your hand glided between your breasts, massaging down onto your sides, squeezing every part of you that tito wished he could.

since maine’s ringing ear took him out of the game entirely, you seen this as a great opportunity. “since you’re out of the game, can you apply my sunscreen on my back?”

it was really a genuine question, one that you didn’t think would rile tito up as bad as it did. jermaine took it from your hands without hesitation, squirting the liquid in his massive palms to apply it evenly to your darker skin. you heard jermaine yelp, a huge splash, then a round of laughter following before you could even fully register what was truly unfolding behind your back.

tito had fully hurled jermaine into the water, the war path to you was surprising but not unexpected. the grip on your forearm as he jerked you up was relentless, the group of brothers hurried to check on jermaine, the giggles that left your mouth as you hurriedly apologized.

the patio door rattled on its hinges with the sheer force tito applied with opening it. he shut it behind him, listening for the clasp of the lock before he took you up in a rough, handsy kiss that had you feigning for more. his fingers calloused by the strings of a guitar felt rough in contrast against the softness of your cheeks, guiding you around by your throat as your bodies damn near hit everything in passing. pictures frames busted as they hit the floor, small end tables shifted from previous resting places.

tito’s lips worked moans from your mouth, both breaking away for gasps of air before going back at it with more vigor. he found an empty space against the nearest wall and placed you their, pinning your warmed hips to the cool plaster. in one swift motion both your hands were above your head, his warm lips nipping and kissing at the sensitive area on your throat.

“t-tito~” you whined, rolling your hips to meet the material of his swim shorts as he slotted his knee between your legs. “fuck, t-tito please~”

“nah, don’t be beggin’ me now. you knew what you was doing,” he was brutal when pushed to his limit. everybody knew jermaine was a dog. any chance he had to touch a woman he was doing it. even in the haze of trying to find serenity he knew he couldn’t just fully blame you. but the way you had squeezed your body before that had tito mad all over again. “fuck no , you ain’t gettin off easy.”

he rubbed you through your swimsuit bottoms, barely applying any pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves. no matter how you cried, what you bargained, he was still stubborn. his lips found purchase around an exposed nipple, the roughness of his manhandling freeing your tits for him. he bit lightly, feeling the gush of your arousal underneath his fingers. he sucked the mound into his mouth, working his jaws with precision.

finally, just finally, he slowly dragged your bottoms to the side with his pinky. he barely gave you time to adjust before he was two knuckles deep in your sex, thrusting in and out at a pace that you weren’t able to register until you were empty again. this continued until you were overstimulated, both of you watching as his fingers plunged in deep, delivering upward strokes to the rough patch between your gummy walls. “you want jermaine’s hands on ya so bad, but whose fingers fuck you open like this? hm?” tito’s voice was breathy as he pressed his nose into the warmness of your throat. “fuckin’ answer me baby.”

“y-yours tito! dammit, yours!” you shamelessly mewled, clawing at his bare arms. your hips bounced along his palm, gushing around his digits. “please, please, please, please~”

his fingers disappearing from the tightness of your hole had your chest tight, brows furrowed together as you mean mugged him. your curls were damp and sticky, forcing them back from your face. “you not coming on my fingers ma, stop lookin’ at me like that.” tito really had the audacity to laugh in your face. the current state of your mental unraveling before him as your arousal seeped right through your swim bottoms. “fix yo’ face before i fix it for you.”

you were bare before him in a swift motion, hips flush against his as he angled his heavy cock towards your entrance, teasing with his tip. he prodded at your entrance, watching your face contort with ecstasy as he edged in detrimentally slow.



if you didn’t want a domestic charge you could’ve pushed tito down the stairs with all the teasing.

when he finally broke the barrier, even tito couldn’t keep a straight face. he groaned, something deep and smooth as he pinned your hips at an angle. “oh, fuck, this pussy~” he praised, “glad it’s only mine.”

tito captured your jaw between his fingers, kissing your lips reverently as he fucked you at a pace that gave you nothing but butterflies in the deepest pits of your stomach. “keep them pretty ass eyes on me mama, i’m up here.” your walls fluttered around him, a high pitch whine following suit as you rocked against him. but you listened, keeping your eyes on his dark chocolate ones as he bottomed out, time and time again. the slow rut of his hips into yours causing your toes to curl in your sandals. he split you open something delicious, his fat cock stroking every crevice at just the right angle to make your eyes roll back.

his palm lightly dusted your cheek, a sharp slap to keep you with him, a gentle reminder of where he wanted your mind as you came undone. tito picked up the pace, releasing your face to pin both hands behind your hips as he finally fucked you like you wanted. your bodies bounced along the wall, picture frames rattling away as you moaned something that could be heard from neighborhoods away. your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling his chest flush to yours as your manicured fingers marked his brown skin.

“o-oh s-shit, right there!” you cried, “please don’t stop!”

tito lost his composure. your walls fluttering around him, each drag of his cock creating sounds that weren’t able to be missed. he took a tight hold of your thick brown thighs, absolutely pummeling your shit with a broken moan. you came undone with a sing-song moan, his skin broken by the dig of your nails as you chanted his name like a mantra. he wasn’t too far behind, the cull of his own orgasm making him pant and shiver as he emptied everything into your cunt.

tito used what little energy he had left to carry you both to his room, barely even accessing the damage he had done to katherine’s lavish setup down the hallway. sweaty and fucked out, he sunk to the floor with you on top of him, both of you giggly as the recollection of moments prior popped into your head.

“poor maine,” tito had full on burst into laughter now. “i threw that fucker hard.”

.ᐟ. .ᐟ. .ᐟ. .ᐟ.

a/n: thanks again to @missharper33 for the recommendation!!!

Also, idk why yall constantly feel the need to be so hateful towards black people?, I truly think THOSE people tend to forget we are the blueprints always have been forever will be. I don't even wanna cuss his loser ass out because he know he deadass wrong and that's why his bitch ass went anon on every request. So go block that racist bitch I cannot stand THOSE people sometimes, and no offense to the people that don't attack the black community but please get yall people in check. It's beyond sickening and disgusting, and pathetic and I'm so tired of it. Now please REPORT that page. I truly think THOSE people forget that michael Joseph jackson was a white man, so why wouldn't black people write about a black man?, yall don't want a toxic community but YALL make it toxic. Then wonder why the community is dying because we have people like @writing5ever attacking black authors with his pathetic stank oatmeal pie smellin ass, bitch so miserable and mad. But yall wanna talk about mj being a "predator" what about ELVIS presely?, oh okay cracka.

Have yall a wonderful blessed day, make sure yall report this WHITE MAN attacking my beautiful black authors, with our beautiful brown glorious sexy glamorous ethereal skin, with our beautiful asses😇. @writing5ever

Please reblog & spread awareness!

͟͟͞͞꒰➳ pairing: Michael jackson x chubbyfem!reader

͟͟͞͞꒰➳ warning: smut, rough Mikey

͟͟͞͞꒰➳ a/n: did this for my plus size queenssss

The roar of the crowd was a distant hum, a wave of sound that crashed against the walls of the Shrine Auditorium and then receded, leaving behind only the electric buzz of anticipation.

The air was thick with perfume and hairspray, the glitter of sequins and diamonds catching the stage lights from every corner of the room.

Through it all, you sat beside the man who had been yours since before either of you understood what forever meant.

Michael Jackson. His sequined jacket caught the light like scattered stars, his dark curls falling artfully across his forehead, one glove catching the gleam of the overhead chandeliers.

But his eyes, those dark, soulful eyes, were fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Why do you keep staring," you murmured, your lips curving into a smile as you leaned closer to him, your voice barely audible over the applause for the presenter on stage.

"I can't help it," he replied, his voice that soft, breathy tenor that still made your heart flutter after all these years.

His hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with your own, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. "You're the most beautiful woman in this whole room. In the whole world."

You squeezed his hand, a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the heat of the crowded auditorium.

Your body was soft, curvaceous, a fact that the media had been both cruel and kind about since your relationship had gone public.

Michael had never once made you feel anything less than adored. His love was a constant, a steady flame that had burned since you were children playing in the streets of Gary, Indiana, long before the world knew his name.

"You're biased," you teased, your free hand smoothing down the front of your F/C gown.

"I'm honest," he corrected, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin. "There's a difference."

The ceremony wore on, a blur of performances and speeches and awards that you tried to follow but found yourself distracted by the warmth of his body beside you, the way his thigh pressed against yours, the occasional brush of his gloved hand against your bare arm.

He was restless, you could tell. His leg bounced slightly, his eyes darting to you more often than the stage.

When they called his name, Michael Jackson, Album of the Year for Thriller, he didn't move.

He was too busy watching you, a soft, dreamy smile on his face, his fingers tracing patterns on the back of your hand.

"Michael," you whispered, nudging him with your elbow. "That's you. Go."

His eyes widened, a flush creeping up his cheeks as he realized the entire auditorium was waiting for him.

He stood, but instead of walking to the stage, he turned to you, his hand extended.

"Come with me."

"Michael, I—"

"Please," he said, his eyes earnest, his voice soft. "I don't want to do this without you."

The audience cooed, cameras flashing, and you felt your cheeks warm as you took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet.

He kept your hand in his as you walked up the steps together, his palm warm and slightly damp with nervous energy.

His speech was heartfelt, his voice trembling with emotion as he thanked God, Quincy, his family, his fans. And then he turned to you, his eyes glistening under the stage lights.

"And to my beautiful fiancée," he said, his voice dropping to something softer, more intimate, as if the two of you were alone in the room. "My best friend. You've seen me at my worst and loved me at my best. You make every song sweeter, every night warmer, every dream worth chasing. I love you."

The crowd erupted, and you felt tears prick at your eyes as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, soft and sweet and full of promise.

Backstage was a whirlwind of congratulations, handlers, and flashing cameras.

Bill Bray, Michael's head of security, approached with his usual stoic demeanor, his voice low and professional.

"After party's at the Beverly Hills Hotel. You want me to have the car ready?"

Michael shook his head, his hand resting on the small of your back, a possessive, gentle pressure. "No. We're going home."

Bill raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply nodding and moving to clear a path through the chaos.

You looked up at Michael, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "You don't want to go celebrate? Mingle with the other winners?"

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a register that sent a shiver down your spine. "The only thing I want to mingle tonight is you. And I don't want to share you with anyone."

The limousine was a cocoon of leather and tinted glass, the sounds of the city muffled and distant. The moment the door closed, Michael was on you.

His mouth found yours with a hunger that surprised you, his gloved hands cupping your face, tilting your head back as he deepened the kiss.

He tasted like champagne and something sweeter, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that was both familiar and urgent.

You gasped against his lips, your hands finding his shoulders, gripping the sequined fabric of his jacket. "Michael—"

"I've been waiting all night," he murmured against your mouth, his lips trailing down to your jaw, your throat. "Every time you smiled at me, every time you touched my hand, I wanted to take you right there in that auditorium."

"People would have noticed," you breathed, your head falling back against the leather seat as his mouth found the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"Let them," he said, and there was a roughness in his voice that made your thighs clench. "I don't care anymore. I don't want to be gentle tonight."

Your heart stuttered. Michael was always gentle. He treated you like spun glass, like something precious and breakable.

The thought of him shedding that restraint, of letting go completely, sent a thrill of anticipation and nervous excitement through you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and intense, his breath coming in soft, rapid pants. "I mean I want to fuck you but also make love to you. I want to be rough. I want to hear you scream. I want to lose myself in you completely."

You swallowed, your mouth dry. "Okay."

His eyes searched yours, looking for hesitation, for doubt. Finding none, he smiled, that transformed his boyish face into something darker, more dangerous.

"Good."

———-

The master bathroom was a sanctuary of marble and gold, lit by dozens of candles that Michael had somehow found time to arrange before they'd even gotten inside.

The bathtub was filled with steaming water and mountains of bubbles that smelled like vanilla and sandalwood.

The candles flickered off every surface, turning the room into something warm and intimate, a cocoon away from the flashing lights and screaming crowds.

His hands found the zipper of your gown. The slow, grating sound of it descending was the only noise.

The heavy beaded fabric loosened its grip on your curves and whispered as it pooled to the floor.

His eyes swept over you, clad now in a strapless lace bra and matching high-cut briefs, and a visible tremor ran through him.

"Your turn," you whispered, reaching for the sequined military-style jacket he wore.

You peeled it off, then worked on the buttons of his shirt, your knuckles brushing the smooth, taut plane of his chest.

He was slender, but corded with a dancer's dense muscle. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders. He untied your bra, you unbuckled his belt.

Piece by piece, the armor of the evening fell away until there was nothing but warm, bare skin, the scent of gardenias and arousal, and the thick, unspoken promise of what was to come.

He stepped into the tub first, holding your hand as you followed. The water was perfect, almost too hot, making you hiss as you sank down, your back to his chest, nestled between his legs.

He immediately began to lather a soapy sponge, tracing patterns over your arms, your shoulders, the full curve of your stomach.

"You're thinking," he said, his voice rumbling against your back.

You tilted your head back onto his shoulder. "Just wondering where my gentle Michael went."

He chuckled, a low, dark sound. His free hand came up to cup your breast under the water, his thumb brushing a slow, maddeningly light circle around your nipple. "He's still here. He's just... letting someone else drive for a while."

Before you could respond, the sponge disappeared. His hands found your hips, strong and insistent.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he lifted and turned you. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, soaking a pile of plush towels.

Now you were straddling him, knees on the smooth porcelain on either side of his slim hips, looking down at him. The bubbles clung to your skin, to the delicate curve of his collarbone.

"I want you to ride me," he said, his voice no longer a rumble but a command. He wasn't asking.

His cock was hard between you, the length of him pressing insistently against your inner thigh.

Your body, acting on pure instinct, responded before your mind could. Reaching down, you wrapped your hand around him, guiding him.

He was hot silk over steel. You positioned him at your entrance, already slick, aching and empty.

You sank down.

The sensation stole the air from your lungs. A slow, stretching fullness that bordered on overwhelming. Your head fell forward, a low moan tearing from your throat as he filled you completely.

His hands on your hips weren't guiding this time; they were gripping, his fingers digging into the plush softness of your flesh with a possessive strength that was entirely new.

"Look at me," he breathed.

You lifted your head. His eyes were a storm, fixed on the point where your bodies joined, then flicking up to your face. He didn't give you time to adjust.

He bucked his hips up, a sharp, unforgiving thrust that sent a shockwave through your core. A gasp, half-pain, half-pleasure, escaped your lips.

"Again," you demanded, the word a broken plea.

This time, you moved with him. You began to roll your hips, finding a rhythm that was deep, grinding, the base of him pressing against your clit with every downward motion.

The water rippled in wild, sloshing waves around you, a chaotic counterpoint to the slick, wet sounds of your joining. He thrust up as you ground down, a perfect, brutal synchronicity.

The pressure built, not a gentle climb but a tightening screw.

His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue flicking hard against the pebbled peak before he grazed it with his teeth.

The sharp sensation shot directly to your core. Your muscles clenched around him involuntarily.

"Michael—I—don't stop, please don't stop." The words were a chant, fractured and desperate.

His response was a growl against your skin. One hand left your hip and tangled in your wet hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his mouth.

His other hand snaked down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down with a merciless, steady pressure that splintered your vision into a thousand points of white light.

Your climax wasn't a wave; it was a detonation. A violent, shuddering spasm that ripped a silent scream from your open mouth, every muscle in your body contracting in a blinding, rhythmic pulse around his unrelenting cock.

He followed you a heartbeat later, a guttural groan torn from his chest as he drove up into you one last, deep, shuddering time.

You felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside you, so deep it felt like he was marking you, claiming you, from the inside out.

You collapsed against him, the two of you a tangle of trembling limbs and heaving breath.

The water had stilled. You lay there for a long time, his fingers tracing lazy, apologetic patterns on your spine.

Eventually, he helped you out, wrapped you in a warm, fluffy robe, and led you to the bed.

"I think I need to lie down for a year," you murmured, your body deliciously heavy and lax.

He turned off the bathroom light. In the sudden, dark quiet of the bedroom, he loomed over you, a silhouette against the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. You saw the flash of his smile.

"We're not done," he said, the promise of it licking down your spine like a flame. "I seem to remember you wanted to know where the gentle Michael went. I'm going to show you what the rough one is really capable of."

————

The bedroom was dark except for a single lamp on the nightstand, its glow casting long shadows across the king-sized bed.

The sheets were white and impossibly soft, expensive Egyptian cotton that smelled faintly of lavender.

You were lying on your back, freshly dried and still slightly damp, your hair loose around your shoulders, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your first orgasm.

Michael stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at you with an expression that made your stomach flip.

He was still naked. Still half-hard. And the look in his eyes was anything but done.

"Michael, I thought—"

"I told you." He crawled onto the bed, moving over you with a predator's grace. "I'm not gonna be gentle tonight. Did you think I was joking?"

"I thought— oh."

He'd flipped you onto your stomach before you could finish the sentence, his hands on your hips, pulling your ass up into the air.

Your face pressed into the pillows, the lavender scent filling your nostrils, and you felt him position himself behind you.

"Hands on the headboard," he commanded. "Grip it. Don't let go."

You obeyed. Your fingers wrapped around the wooden slats of the headboard, your knuckles already whitening.

"Good girl." His hand came down on your ass, not hard, but firm, a sharp smack that made you gasp.

"I'm gonna fuck you now. And I'm not gonna stop until you've cum so many times you can't remember your own name. Understood?" His voice was so soft that it sounded weird coming from him.

"Y-yes, Michael."

He thrust into you in one brutal stroke.

"Oh my gosh Michael!" The scream was muffled by the pillow, but it echoed through the room anyway.

He was so deep, deeper than before, the angle sending his cock against a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"Too much?" He didn't sound concerned. He sounded hungry.

"No— don't stop— please don't stop."

"Wasn't planning to."

He set a pace that was nothing like the gentle lover you were used to.

This was rough. Punishing. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your breathless moans and Michael's guttural groans.

The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust. Your fingers were cramping from how hard you were gripping it.

"You feel so— nnngh— so good." Michael's voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. "So tight and wet and— my goodness — made for me. You were made for me."

"Yesss— yesss— I'm yours—"

"Say it again."

"I'm yours, Michael— I'm yours—"

He reached around you, his fingers finding your clit, and the combination of his cock pounding into you and his fingers on that sensitive bundle of nerves sent you over the edge again.

Your second orgasm ripped through you, even stronger than the first, your cunt clamping down on him so hard that he groaned.

"That's two," he growled against your ear. "Can you give me one more?"

"I— I don't know—"

"Yes, you do. You can. You will." He flipped you onto your back without pulling out, somehow managing the maneuver without losing his rhythm.

Now he was on top of you, your legs over his shoulders, his cock driving into you at an angle that made your vision blur. "Look at me. Look at me when you cum."

Your eyes met his. His face was flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, his curls plastered to his temples. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

"Cum with me," you begged. "Please, Michael. Cum with me."

"Together," he breathed. "One, two, three.”

The world went white.

Your third orgasm hit like a lightning strike, your whole body arching off the mattress, a scream that was his name and every swear word you knew tearing from your throat.

Michael came at the same time, his cock pulsing inside you, his release hot and thick and seemingly endless, his face buried in the curve of your neck as he groaned your name like a prayer.

"Gooosh— baby— I love you, I love you, I love you—"

They came down together, tangled in the sheets, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat.

Michael's weight was heavy on top of you, but you didn't want him to move. You didn't ever want him to move.

After a long moment, he stirred. "Stay here. Don't move."

He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a warm, damp washcloth.

The aftercare was as tender as the sex had been rough gentle strokes cleaning the mess from your thighs, soft kisses pressed to your hip, your belly, the curve of your shoulder.

He brought you a glass of water and watched you drink it. He pulled the covers up over both of you and wrapped himself around you like a second blanket.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain now, the vulnerability creeping back in. "Was that... was that too much? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, baby." You turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It was perfect. You were perfect."

"You're not just saying that?"

"I'm not just saying that."

"Okay." He relaxed against you, his head finding its familiar spot in the curve of your neck. "Okay. Good." A pause. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"Impossible."

"I've got eight Grammys that say otherwise."

He laughed, that bright, bubbling laugh that made him sound like a little kid and pulled you closer.

"You're my greatest award," he murmured, already half-asleep. "My only award that matters. My girl. My beautiful girl."

You lay there in the dark, listening to his breathing even out, feeling his heartbeat slow against your chest. Outside, somewhere in Los Angeles, the after-parties were still raging.

Here in this room, wrapped up in the man who had everything and still chose you, the world was perfectly, blissfully still.

Mean & Spoiled

It was no secret that you were spoiled as all hell. You grew up not wanting for nothing so why wouldn't you act the same way in your dating life? You have been through the whole, 'women only use me for money' and the 'get it yourself' type of relationships. You could get it yourself obviously but your go to was 'what am I dating you for if I can do it myself?' It was funny to see what someone would say they can bring to the table.

It was your way or the highway, always. You wanted to go shopping? You would go. You wanted a spa day? You would go. You wanted your hair and nails done? You would do that. If they can't keep up why would they get with you?

𑣲𝄞 description: seven years after he walked out, michael traps you in a luxury coat room—determined to prove you’re still his, no matter who's outside.

content: 18+, smut, complicated exes, toxic, infidelity, michael loves being a side nga, lots of angst, exes to… we don’t have a clue, taken!reader. (WHOLE HOUSE MESSY)

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

ᝰ.ᐟ the heavy bass from the exclusive grammy after-party at the chateau marmont was a low, suffocating thrum that vibrated straight through the floorboards of the private VIP lounge. the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, spilled cristal champagne, and heavy designer perfumes.

the room was packed with industry executives, hollywood elite, and pop royalty, all laughing too loudly, trying to secure their next deal under the dim, low-hanging crystal chandeliers.

it had been seven long, agonizing years.

seven years since the quiet, timid boy with the soft afro, gentle eyes, and sequined bowties had walked out of your life during the fading days of his off the wall era. back then, the breakup hadn't just been a clean break—it had been an absolute storm.

an avalanche of exploding solo fame, endless late nights tucked away in westlake studios, sharp accusations hurled in angry tear-filled arguments, and a bitter, lingering silence that had left your heart completely shredded. time had smoothed over the sharpest edges of the resentment, but the phantom ache of him—the way he laughed, the way he held your waist, the way he loved you—had never truly left your chest.

and then, across the crowded, smoke-filled ballroom, your eyes met his.

the world seemed to drop out from under your feet in an instant.

michael was standing near the grand piano, surrounded by a tight cluster of handlers, managers, and security guards, looking entirely transformed. he was clad in a tailored, double-breasted black silk suit that fit his lean frame to absolute perfection.

a crisp white dress shirt was unbuttoned slightly at the collar, revealing the warm bronze skin of his chest, and his signature dark, glossy curls tumbled effortlessly around his sharp, striking jawline. he wasn't that shy boy from 1979 anymore—he was the undisputed king of pop, radiating an untouchable, magnetic power that held the entire room hostage.

for several endless seconds, neither of you moved. the ambient noise of the party faded into complete static.

his dark, piercing eyes locked onto yours, and you saw the exact moment recognition hit him. a flash of pure shock crossed his face, softening into a raw, heavy longing that made your stomach turn completely upside down.

you froze, your hand trembling so hard around your champagne flute that the liquid sloshed against the glass. michael subtly shifted his weight, taking a slow, deliberate step in your direction. his eyes never left yours for a single second, explicitly acknowledging your existence after nearly a decade of brutal radio silence.

and then, tyrell walked up.

tyrell—your boyfriend of six months, a stable, kind, handsome executive—slid a heavy, possessive arm casually around your waist from behind. he leaned down, whispering something funny into your ear, before pressing a slow, comfortable kiss to your cheek and handing you a fresh drink.

across the floor, michael froze dead in his tracks.

you watched his face change in real-time, and it was terrifying. the subtle, hopeful softening in his eyes shattered into a million pieces, instantly replaced by a flash of dark, volatile fury. his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek.

watching another man's hand rest casually on the exact curve of your hip—the waist he used to hold in the dark, the skin he used to claim as his—sent a wave of possessive, jealous heat surging straight through his veins.

tyrell turned on his heel to head toward the crowded bar, leaving you standing alone for just a second. but michael didn't just wait in the shadows. he cut straight through the lingering crowd, walking past you so close that the fine black silk of his suit jacket brushed flush against your exposed shoulder.

he paused for a fraction of a second—just long enough for the familiar, intoxicating scent of his cologne to hit your senses, his long fingers ghosting deliberately over the small of your back to send a fierce shiver straight down your spine.

“excuse me, beauty,” he whispered raspy under his breath, loud enough only for you to hear, before melting into the dim shadows toward the quiet back hallway. your knees nearly buckled right then and there on the ballroom floor.

before you could even catch your breath, a slender, firm hand clamped like a vise around your wrist.

you were yanked sharply around a dark corridor, dragged down a quiet, carpeted hallway, and shoved straight into a dim, plush coat room. the heavy oak door slammed shut behind you, the brass latch clicking into place with a sickeningly final sound, sealing the two of you inside a stifling, suffocating silence.

“what the hell is wrong with you?!” you shouted, spinning around, your chest heaving wildly as adrenaline flooded your system.

there he stood. michael’s back was pressed against the closed door, his long hands jammed deep into his silk suit trousers. his dark eyes were burning, wide and wild, tracking every frantic breath you took.

“what is wrong with me?” michael sneered, his voice raspy, sharp, and dripping with an edge you had never heard from him before. “what the hell is wrong with you? you walk into an after-party looking like that, knowing damn well i’m in the same city, letting some random guy put his hands all over you?!”

“some random guy?!” you snapped back, taking an aggressive step toward him, pointing a shaking, angry finger right at his chest. “that is tyrell! he is my boyfriend, michael! my boyfriend!”

“i don’t give a damn what his name is!” michael yelled back, his voice cracking with sheer, unbridled emotion as he stepped out from the door, closing the distance between you until he was towering over you. “he has his hands on my girl! he was kissing on your cheek right in front of my face! you think i was just gonna stand there and watch that?!”

“you got everything you ever wanted!” you cried out, your hands coming up to push against his hard chest, though he didn't budge an inch. “you got the world screaming your name! you got the awards, the suit, the empire, everyone bowing down to you! so why do you care about some small piece of your past that you threw away?!”

“because none of it means a damn thing if i have to stand in a crowded room and watch another man touch you!” michael yelled back, his raspy voice booming off the small walls, dropping all of his usual quiet polish.

his hands flew out, gripping your wrists with desperate strength before pinning them against the door beside your head. his breathing was heavy, wild, and completely unraveled. “i’d give every single bit of it back right now if it meant you looked at me the way you used to. don't you dare talk about my life like it was worth losing you.”

your breath caught hard in your throat. “oh, please, michael! i can’t with you right now…” you screamed softly, tears of pure frustration and old heartbreak pricking the corners of your eyes. “you left! you walked out of my apartment, you changed your number, you became this colossal superstar, and you abandoned me! you don't get to come back nearly a decade later and dictate who i love or who touches me!”

“i didn't abandon you!” michael barked, his hands coming out, hovering in the air as his chest heaved heavily under his suit jacket. “it was crazy back then and you know it! everything was spinning out of control! but i thought about you every single day, mama! every damn song i wrote, every time i went to sleep in some cold, empty hotel room on the road, i was thinking about you! i was looking for you in every crowd!”

“you don’t get to look at me like i’m the one who broke something here!” you snapped, your voice trembling as years of silent grief rushed straight to your throat. “you built a whole world where nobody can touch you, michael. you became untouchable. and now you’re mad because i actually learned how to survive without you?!”

michael flinched as if you’d struck him across the face, his jaw clenching tight as his dark eyes shimmered with a sudden, devastating mix of rage and hurt.

“i didn’t want you to survive without me, mama,” he rasped out, stepping so close his chest pressed hard against yours. “i wanted you to wait. i wanted you to be right where i left you, because every single night i was out there, i was coming back to you in my head.”

“then why didn't you call?!” you demanded, your voice breaking completely. “why didn't you come back for me if you cared so much?!”

“because i was scared!” michael confessed, his loud, booming voice suddenly dropping into a raw, desperate whisper. he stepped right into your personal space, the scent of his expensive, intoxicating cologne mixed with the sudden, fiery heat of his skin completely overwhelming your senses.

“i was terrified that you hated me. i was scared that if i looked at you again, i’d fall right back into pieces. and then i see you tonight... looking so breathtaking, so matured... and some man has his arm around your waist?” he shook his head, his dark eyes brimming with heartbreak and pure jealousy. “it drove me insane. it’s driving me crazy right now just looking at you.”

“michael, please,” you whimpered, stepping back until the spine of your dress hit the cold, heavy wood of the door. “don’t do this. i’m with tyrell now. he treats me well. it’s too late for us.”

you turned your head, reaching behind your back for the brass door handle, desperate to escape the suffocating pull of his presence.

michael didn't let you touch it. in a blur of movement, he lunged forward. his long, slender fingers grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from the lock, and he slammed both of his hands flat against the door on either side of your head. his body pinned you flush against the wood, trapping you completely within his frame.

“you’re lying,” michael whispered raspy, hovering so close his lips brushed against your jawline with every word. “you looked at me across that room, baby. don't you dare try to pretend you didn't feel that. seven years doesn't erase what we are.”

“michael, stop—you’re a stranger to me now,” you whispered, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. “the boy i loved wouldn't have backed me into a corner like this. he wouldn't make me hurt like this.”

that broke him. the fierce anger in his eyes instantly melted into something terrifyingly raw and desperate. michael leaned his forehead flush against yours, his chest heaving as his thumb gently, almost painfully swept away the tear on your cheek.

“i’m still him, baby,” he whimpered softly against your lips, his voice shaking with pure heartbreak. “i’m still your boy. i just missed you so much it’s killing me... please, mama, just look at me... tell me you don't feel me right now. tell me you don't miss me.”

you were drowning. the sudden softness in his tone stripped away every single layer of armor you had spent years building against him. all the anger, the bitter arguments, and the noise from the party outside completely dissolved, leaving only the crushing weight of how desperately you had missed this exact voice, this exact touch.

your hands, which had been pressed against his chest to push him away, slowly softened.

your fingers curled tightly into the fine black silk of his suit jacket, clinging to him as a shuddering, tearful sigh escaped your lips. you leaned your weight into his frame, feeling the heavy, wild thudding of his heart beneath your palm—beating just as fast and frantic as yours.

“i hate you for this,” you whimpered weakly, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed agonizingly against yours.

“i know, baby,” michael whispered, a dark, breathless satisfaction lacing his voice. “look at me, mama. you think a tailored suit and millions of sold records mean i forgot who i am to you? you think because you put a title on that man outside, he knows how to touch you? he knows what makes you tick?”

your breath hitched. he nudged his hips firmly against yours, making your eyes flutter shut as a sharp, traitorous burst of heat flared up between your thighs.

“i know how to make you happy,” he whispered, his lips tracing a burning path down the sensitive skin of your neck. “and i know exactly how to make you cum, mama. better than tyrell ever could. better than anyone.”

a helpless, quiet gasp escaped your throat. “god... you’re awful...”

“i know, baby,” michael whispered, a dark smirk touching his lips before he sank down to his knees right in front of you.

your eyes flew open in complete shock. “michael, what are you—!”

without answering, michael grabbed the hem of your gown, sliding his hands up the bare skin of your thighs and bunching the expensive fabric up around your waist. he pushed your legs apart, positioning himself right between your knees as you stood pinned against the cold wood of the door. he pulled your lace underwear aside with his long fingers, exposing your slick, hot core to the cool air of the room.

looking down at michael jackson—the biggest star on the planet—kneeling at your feet in a tailored suit, looking up at you through his dark, glossy curls with pure, unfiltered desperation, made your breath hitch painfully in your throat.

he knew every single weakness of yours. he remembered the exact rhythm that had made you lose your mind years ago, and as his hot hands gripped the soft skin of your inner thighs, you realized with absolute terror that you were completely at his mercy.

“i used to dream about tasting you again,” michael whimpered against your wet skin, his breath fanning hot and heavy over your core. “every single night on tour, mama... thinking about how sweet you taste for me...”

before you could protest again, a loud, shattered gasp tore from your throat, your head thumping back hard against the wooden door.

michael didn't hold back. he went to work on you with an intoxicating, ruthless intensity.

his hands gripped the soft meat of your thighs, holding you wide open and steady against him while his tongue lapped at you in deep, heavy, rhythmic strokes. he swirled over your sweet spot, collecting your slick warmth, humming softly against your skin as he ate you out with a messy, desperate hunger that made your knees tremble violently.

“m-michael—oh god—” you whimpered, your fingers sinking tightly into his dark, curly hair, trying to anchor yourself as intense waves of pleasure crashed through your lower belly.

he sucked on you firmly, flattening his tongue and working you faster, driving you straight up a steep, agonizing cliff. you were whimpering, your hips bucking helplessly against his mouth as your entire body went straight, hovering right on the ragged edge of a violent orgasm.

“that’s it, mama... give it to me,” michael panted against your wet skin, his breath hot and ragged.

just as your core tightened and you were about to scream out his name in peak climax, michael abruptly pulled his mouth away.

“no!” you sobbed out, your eyes flying open, completely unraveled and breathless. “michael, please—!”

michael stood up in one fluid, graceful motion, his dark eyes wide, glazed with pure lust, and intensely dangerous.

he didn't give you a single second to recover. he hastily unbuckled his belt, unzipping his trousers and freeing his thick, throbbing length, already slick at the tip. he gripped your hips, lifting one of your legs up over his hip, aligning himself directly at your entrance.

“you’re mine,” michael growled raspy, his forehead pressing hard against yours. “say it, mama. say you’re mine.”

“i’m—michael, please!” you begged, weeping from the sheer sensory overload.

with a low, guttural groan, michael plunged himself fully inside you in one deep, ruthless, agonizingly perfect stroke.

every deep, deliberate roll of his hips drove him all the way to your core, making your head thump back helplessly against the heavy wood. michael buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath scalding hot against your skin as he panted out every confession he’d been too terrified to ever write down.

“i thought about you every single night, mama…” he rasped out, his voice broken and heavy with need as his hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt. “every girl they tried to throw at me on tour… every time i closed my eyes, baby, it was always your face. it was always you. no one ever felt like you…”

“michael—a-ah!” you whimpered, your fingers clutching his suit jacket.

“i was so scared, baby,” he whimpered right against your skin, his thrusts growing deeper, harder, and desperate. “i was so scared you moved on and forgot about me… but you’re still so wet for me, mama… you still take me so good…”

a shattered scream tore from your throat, instantly muffled as michael clamped his hand firmly over your mouth. the sheer size and blistering heat of him filled you to the absolute brim, stretching you out so intensely that your toes curled and tears of straight ecstasy leaked from your eyes.

he established a fast, relentless pace. every deep, heavy thrust rattled the heavy wood behind your back, his hips snapping forward with a desperate, angry power.

outside in the hallway, tyrell had been looking for you for the last ten minutes. he had already noticed the way your face had gone completely pale when michael stared at you from across the ballroom. when he had returned from the bar with your champagne flutes only to find you gone, an uneasy, sharp knot of suspicion had settled deep in his gut.

tracing your steps down the quiet VIP corridor, he stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the faint, lingering scent of your expensive perfume near the locked coat room door.

suddenly, three sharp, heavy knocks echoed on the exact piece of wood your back was pressed against.

“babe? are you in there?”

it was tyrell’s voice from the other side of the door.

panic slammed into your chest like a bucket of ice water. your eyes flew wide open in absolute horror, and you clamped your inner muscles tight around michael, trying desperately to freeze and force him to stop.

michael didn't slow down for a single second. hearing the man you belonged to standing on the other side of the door only made his possessive drive turn completely wild. he gripped your waist tighter, driving himself into your sweet spot with ruthless, agonizing power that tore high, needy moans straight from your throat against his palm.

“hear him out there?” michael whispered dark and wicked into your ear, his voice trembling with a mix of triumph and bitter heartbreak as his hips rolled into yours. “he thinks he owns you, baby… but he doesn’t know you like i do. he doesn’t know that you’re still mine. tell me you’re mine, mama. say it so he hears you…”

“m-michael… please!” you sobbed out, helpless under him.

“i’m never letting you go again,” he growled softly, slamming into you deep enough to make your knees buckle. “i don’t care who stands outside that door.”

outside, the brass door handle jiggled violently. “hey! open up! who the hell is in there with her?!”

michael pulled his hand away from your mouth, raising his voice—loud, clear, and dripping with smug authority.

“she’s busy!” michael shouted out to the hallway, his raspy voice carrying effortlessly over your wet whimpers.

“what the hell?!” tyrell shouted from the hallway, sounding stunned, outraged, and furiously pounding his fists hard against the wood. “open this damn door right now!”

but you couldn't process tyrell or the hallway anymore. michael was driving you straight over the edge. he locked his dark eyes onto yours, his expression softening into pure, needy adoration even as his body worked you with ruthless speed.

“look at me, baby,” michael panted softly, his hands cradling your face, kissing away the hot tears on your cheek. “you’re coming for me, mama... give it to me right now...”

the sheer taboo, the relentless pace, and the overwhelming feeling of michael inside you completely shattered your remaining control. your core clamped violently around him, convulsing in an intense, toe-curling orgasm that made your throat raw from crying out his name.

feeling your tight walls pulse around him, michael lost his mind. with a few final, frantic thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and held you tight against the door, letting out a loud, shattered groan as he spilled hot and heavy deep inside you, his entire frame trembling against yours.

for a long, quiet minute, the only sound in the room was the heavy, ragged breathing of the two of you, chest to chest, completely spent.

michael slowly pulled out of you, gently easing your leg down to the floor. he helped you adjust your dress, his hands sweet, tender, and careful, before he straightened out his own clothes, fastening his belt and buttoning his double-breasted suit jacket back up.

he stepped in front of you, wrapping his long arms tightly around your waist, pulling your head flush against his chest. he rested his chin on top of your head, kissing your hair gently over and over.

“i love you so much, baby,” michael whispered, his voice trembling with genuine, deep emotion. “i’ve never stopped loving you. come home with me tonight. please, mama... let’s fix this. let's start over.”

you stood there in his arms, the heavy reality of what had just happened crashing down on you like an icy avalanche. tyrell was still shouting outside, footsteps of hotel security now rushing down the hallway. you had just cheated on your boyfriend. you had just let your ex completely destroy your life in fifteen minutes against a coat room door.

a sudden, violent surge of anger, betrayal, and deep humiliation boiled over inside your chest.

you yanked yourself violently out of his grip.

crack!

the loud sound of your palm slapping hard across michael’s cheek echoed like a gunshot through the private room.

michael’s head snapped to the side. he froze, his hand slowly coming up to touch his burning, red cheek, his dark eyes wide with utter shock and wounded confusion.

“what the hell was that?!” you sobbed out, fresh tears streaming down your face as you smoothed down your rumpled dress with shaking hands. “what is wrong with you, michael?!”

“baby—” michael started, his voice rising, sharp and defensive.

“don’t ‘baby’ me!” you yelled, choking back a sob. “i don’t even recognize you anymore! look at what you just did! you dragged me in here, you manipulated me, you embarrassed me, and you forced that onto me while tyrell was standing right outside the door!”

“you could’ve walked away!” michael argued back, his voice booming in the small room, a flash of stubborn anger settling into his jaw. “you kissed me back, mama! you begged me to put it in! you wanted this just as bad as i did, so don't you dare stand there and put all of this on me!”

“because you played on every old feeling i had!” you screamed back. “you knew exactly what you were doing!”

“i did it because i love you!” michael shouted, stepping toward you, his dark eyes pleading and desperate. “i did it because i was losing you again, and i couldn't stand watching him touch what’s mine!”

“i am not your property, michael!” you snapped, wiping your tears away furiously with the back of your hand. “you lost the right to call me yours seven years ago! and after tonight? i don't ever want to see your face again!”

michael’s breath hitched. the angry, aggressive posture instantly melted away, leaving him looking small, deeply hurt, and utterly devastated in his tailored suit. “mama, please... don't say that... please...”

you didn't give him another second. without looking back at him, you unlocked the heavy oak door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the chaotic, security-filled hallway.

the bright hallway lights blinded you for a split second. tyrell was standing right there, flanked by two chateau marmont security guards, his eyes wide in absolute shock as he took in your smudged lipstick, flushed cheeks, and rumpled dress.

michael jackson x motown doll black reader

prompt: Diana Ross hates the young main vocalist from a very new popular girl group which people keep saying that sounds so much like The Supremes. The reader, seemingly enjoying the older woman's hate, decides she wants the boy Diana favors.

for @johnskeating​! 

[ i can’t remember the blog that i learned it from, but if i can find it, i will link them here ]

in this tutorial, i’m going to teach you how to make gradient text like this in your tumblr posts. i work off of desktop, so i’m going to follow those controls. 

Content: Michael Jackson x Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, diana mentioned, p in v, meddling family

Wc: 1k

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☆ Pairing: bad!Michael x black!makeupartist!reader ☆ Summary: Michael's usual makeup artist calls in sick just when he has to grace the cover of one of the biggest magazines in the world. In a hurry, he gets his team to find a replacement--you--and realizes exactly why people refer to you as the best in the field. Bonus, he might develop a little crush on you. A/N: Inspired by this post by @michaelsbowtie ☆ Content/warnings: fluff, sfw, angst, mention of racist beauty standards, Michael's lupus implied ☆ Word Count: 5.2k

1986.

You were not one to rejoice in someone else's misfortune, but thank God Karen caught a cold. It led you to the biggest opportunity in your career.

You were an established name in Hollywood. A reference. Why? Because your client list was mostly made up of people of color. You worked most often with Whitney, regularly with Janet and LaToya Jackson, as well as, perhaps, the entire modeling industry.

Beauty standards excluded people of color. Black people, especially. As a result, women with melanin were forced to wear shades too light for their skin tone and colors that did not complement their undertone. Some makeup artists straight up refused to work with them simply because 'they did not know how to handle their skin color' or because 'they were not taught at school'.

Bullshit, obviously.

And that was where you came in like a breath of fresh air.

Timeline: Dangerous Era

Pairing: Michael x black wife reader

Preview: Voicemails exchanged between you and Michael while he's on tour.

Content: Fluff, comfort, spice

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: Another one based in the same world as Security Breach and Great Craving Getaway. I just might give these two a series cause I love them that much! Shoutout to my mutual bestie @bawdylanguageee for the inspiration behind this fic 😘 with this post here! As always, enjoy!

━━✨👑✨━━ 

July ‘92, Los Angeles, 2pm (PST):

Not even a full two months and you were already going through withdrawals.  Only 45 days had passed since Michael left for the start of his ‘Dangerous’ world tour. 

You missed the feel of his hands, the kisses he gave whenever you two were in the same room, the sound of his voice singing lullabies to your son. 

It was a random Tuesday afternoon and you'd just put Jaden down for a nap. Sure it was probably late in the evening on the other side of the world, but hell you needed to talk to your husband.

DESPERATELY!

Propped up against a couple of pillows on your bed, you grabbed the telephone from your night stand, picking up the receiver you dialed Michael’s room. 

RING. RING. RING. 

Patiently waiting for the other end to be answered, you knew it was a lost cause as you heard the 5th ring sound in your ear. Waiting for the voicemail to pick up, you sighed. 

‘The person you have reached is currently not available and can’t take your call right now. Please leave a message after the beep.’

BEEEEEP!

“Hey baby, I miss you and wanted to hear your voice. Please remember to eat, stay hydrated with water and not just orange juice. Rest when your body tells you to so you don’t get a flare up. I love you Bambi.” Your smooth, melodic tone chimed through the phone, leaving the brief message. 

Italy, 12am:

Exhausted wasn't even the word. Michael was in pain, his feet were throbbing and his hands were on fire. 

He knew he'd pushed himself too hard and now, sadly his body was paying for it big time. 

Throwing his hat and sunglasses on the dresser, Michael slowly laid back against the pillows on the bed. Reaching for the glass of water and pill box containing the mini cocktail of different meds, Michael tossed each one back with a gulp of water. 

Placing the glass back on the night stand, he gently rested his head against the headboard and released a long deep sigh. The tension he held in his back and shoulders easing just slightly. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed the blinking red light on the telephone. Although he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment, his mood brightened a fraction at the thought that you could’ve left him a message. 

Grabbing the telephone, he propped it against his side and picking up the receiver he pressed the buttons to retrieve the waiting voicemail.

‘You have one new message’ 

Closing his eyes, Michael felt his spirits instantly lift and hearing your voice brought a sense of home and comfort over him that he couldn’t describe. He missed you and Jaden so much that at times he was tempted to cut the tour short and rush back home. 

He listened to the message two more times, before ending the call. Not caring that the dial tone droned on in the background, Michael clutched the receiver to his chest and wasn’t ashamed to let the tears fall. 

October ‘92 Romania, 9am:

Fall was in the air and it now marked 5 months on the tour. Michael slept in, at least what he considered “sleeping in” and laid in bed beneath the covers for a moment. 

Running a hand over his rumpled curls and brushing a few haphazard strands out of his face, he rubbed his other hand over his t-shirt clad chest. 

The beginning stirrings of his morning wood alerted him of its presence and he softly groaned. 

Damn, I wish Tink was here. Michael thought dejectedly. 

Spreading his legs he weighed the thought of doing nothing and willing it away or literally taking matters into his own hands. 

Now, he was no stranger to having to take care of himself and stroking one or two out while on the road. However usually you'd be with him on a long stretch and happily assist him to satiate his healthy sexual appetite. 

Shifting his legs and feeling the heavy weight of his erection, a blatant reminder it was still there, Michael rolled his head to the night stand and glanced at the phone. 

“She's probably not even up yet.” He mused out loud. 

Dropping his hand, burrowing under the the sheet, Michael tugged on his turgid flesh twice before pulling the waistband of his briefs down.

Heavy and flushed a pretty mauve, the head of his dick slapped the air, standing fully at attention. 

Pearlescent drops leaked from the tip. Stroking a hand down the shaft, Michael drew the foreskin back revealing his long, thick and veiny erection. 

Using his pre-cum, he smeared the clear fluid along his dick in slow, tight strokes. After a few minutes, the decision was set and Michael was reaching his free hand to pick up the receiver. 

Dialing out, he waited for the call to connect.

RING. RING. RING. RING.

‘You've reached the Jacksons, we're not able to get to the phone, so leave a message and we'll return the call soon as we can.’

BEEP.

“Mornin’ baby. Ooooo I miss you and needed your hands and that pretty mouth of yours. Mmmm shit Tink I want to be buried in you so bad right now. U-ungh got me gripping my dick so tight girl and thinkin’ bout ya. Shiiit, I'm cumming baby! Oooo yesss TINK!” 

With a deep groan, Michael finished hard with his release spraying on his stomach, over his hand and on the sheet.

Hanging the phone up, Michael inhaled much needed air and flopped his head against the pillow. A slow grin took over his face as he thought of your reaction to his latest voicemail.

Los Angeles, 10am (PST):

A yawn escaped as you set up in the rocking chair next to your son's changing table and near his crib.

You'd already been up for a few hours, having to feed Jaden and then debating on starting breakfast early before you'd taken a cat nap. Now you were back in your son's room and getting ready for another feeding soon. 

October was here already and that meant Jaden's first birthday would be coming around the corner in no time. 

Damn, that was quick as hell! You thought in disbelief. Time really does fly and Michael was missing a lot. 

Peeking a glance into the wooden slats of the crib, a warm smile graced your face as you marveled at the beautiful little person you and Michael created. 

Figuring this was your chance to slip away for some quick mama time, you quietly stood up from the rocking chair and made your way to the door. 

Stepping out into the hallway, you left the door slightly ajar and walked to your bedroom. You pulled the red button down shirt tighter around your stomach and inhaled Michael's scent. 

Dropping onto your side of the bed, you pulled the covers up and settled on your side. Still drowsy, you blinked a few times and finally the red light on the answering machine caught your attention. 

Reaching a manicured finger out, you pressed the play button. 

Rustling sheets. Husky tone. Labored breathing.

Michael's voice fully came onto the phone and your lips slowly parted into a perfect O.  Closing your eyes, you imagined being there in bed with him, your lips wrapped around his length and licking along those thick veins. 

Feeling your core get heated and hands starting to roam, you closed your mouth, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Whew, girl you need to chill.” Huffing you tossed your head back on the pillow. 

Later that week, Los Angeles 7pm (PST):

A baby free night was rare and when your sister offered to watch her nephew, you jumped at the chance for some ‘me time.’ After gathering a few things in his diaper bag, you safely deposited Jaden at his TT’s house and took advantage of having the house to yourself. 

Food was ordered and since delivered. You were chowing down on a carton of chicken fried rice, broccoli and general tso’s chicken. Draped across your short frame, was a black silk night shirt and underneath you were rocking a pair of midnight blue bikini cut panties. Of course the shirt smelled like Michael and swallowed you up, but it was the closest thing you had to feeling as if his arms were wrapped around you. 

Your mind got to wanderin’ and the Chinese food became a distant memory as you sat your fork against your plate and pushed it to the side. Moving out of the kitchen, you grabbed the cordless phone and walked into the living room sinking into the plush comfort of the couch. 

Laying with your head propped against a pillow and knees bent, you reached inside the partially buttoned pj top and tweaked a nipple, rolling it between your fingers gently. Eyes fluttering, you pictured Michael hovering above you, the heat from his body wrapping around you and his strong, slightly callused hand testing the weight of your breast. 

Moaning, you raise the phone to eye level and peeked one brown orb open. Dialing the number for this week’s hotel, you waited expectantly for the message and the beep that followed.

BEEP!

“House quiet and baby free for the night and I got nobody to share all my time with mmmm. Papa I wish it was your hands rubbing down my body, pinching my nipples oooo and squeezing my thighs before you lick this pussy. Damn, I’m so wet baby and my fingers just don’t feel like yours. Ahhh I’m so close Mikey, ooooh shiiiit! Mmmm, tastes so good papa.” 

Fingers, two deep thrusting inside your velvet walls, thumb rubbing fast circles against your clit. You came with Michael’s name on your lips and breathless whimpers. Bringing the phone down from your ear, you heard the dial tone but paid it no mind as you came back down from your temporary high. 

Turkey, 12pm (TRT):

One more country and Michael was taking a break in the tour to go home and surprise his wife. He couldn’t wait to hold his son and catch up on all that he’d been missing. The pictures and letters you’d sent gave him a lifeline while out on the road and he cherished each one. 

It was a rare afternoon where he’d had a break in his schedule and decided to come back to the hotel room and get a nap because he was starting to feel that familiar ache in his bones. Lupus was a pain in the ass and the constant aches and pains were tiresome. 

Stopping in the small kitchen, Michael pulled out a pitcher of water from the fridge and poured himself a glass. Continuing to his bedroom, he picked up the pill box and shook out the day’s meds before ingesting a gulp of water and downing the pills. Setting the glass on the night stand, the glowing red light caught his attention. 

Picking up the receiver, Michael pressed the button for voicemail and sat down on the bed while waiting for the message to play. 

Toeing his loafers off, he listened to your silky, seductive voice as you told him you missed him and wished his hands were touching you and making you feel good. Michael felt his dick stir and started stiffening just from the sounds you were making. 

Palming his length through his slacks, he firmly applied pressure and groaned. 

I’m coming home soon Tink, real soon. Michael couldn’t wait to make that thought a reality as he replayed the message and imagined you spread open and his favorite meal ready and waiting just for him. 

Once he’d gotten his fill, he pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call. Only to dial the familiar number of home. 

RING. RING. RING.

“Hello?” Your low rasp filled the line as you tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear. 

“Hey baby.” Michael sighed happily, excited to finally hear your voice and not over voice mail. 

“Hiiii papa! OMG I miss you so much baby.” You exclaimed. 

Squeezing the phone tightly, Michael briefly closed his eyes for a beat and felt the knot in his chest start to loosen. 

“Oh I miss you like crazy girl! How you doing Tink? Why you still up mama?” 

Chuckling, you didn’t know which question to answer first. Of course your husband was a worry wart, but you loved him anyway. 

“I’m good baby, I promise. Picked up Jaden from my sister’s earlier today, so just cleaning up a little bit. Gonna pump in a few and then enjoy a nice glass of wine, it’s not even midnight here yet.” 

“Don’t do too much now Tink, you know I don’t want you overexerting ya’ self.” Michael stated. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled the arms free and tossed it on the other side of the bed. 

“Please, like your sisters and mama, let me lift a finger. They've been over every week and always helpin’ round the house, so I’m pretty much left to my own devices cause they refuse to let me do anything in my own damn house.” Chuckling at the thought, you went into the kitchen to gather what you needed to pump milk. 

“Good, I wouldn’t have it any other way. So um… does that mean you're alone and Jaden’s sleep? Cause I wanna have mama and papa time girl.” Michael worked his slacks off and laid back against the bed in just his black briefs. 

“Oooh is that so? Yes, your son is asleep and I’ve got nothing but time at least for the next few hours. My other baby needs me right now papa?” You cooed into the phone saucily. 

“Hell yeah! I been feenin’ for you girl and my mornings just don’t hit the same without you next to me. I can only pretend so much until I need the real thing.” Michael groaned into the phone stroking a hand against his bare chest. 

“Mmm, missing your wake up call hmm? I know I miss giving it to you baby,” Grinning you leaned against the kitchen island, a hand traveling to rest lightly against your throat. 

His roaming hand found its way to the waistband of his briefs and dipping a couple fingers beneath the band, Michael grazed the pubic hair resting there. Taking his time, he was gonna enjoy being able to hear your voice in real time. 

On the other end of the line, you could hear the change in Michael’s breathing. The slight huskiness, the thick layer of arousal coating his moans and the light sighs. 

Clenching your thighs, you could feel the beginning of your arousal flooding your kitty and the slight pressure could only assuage the ache for so long. 

“Damn, if you weren’t thousands of miles away I’d ride you til we both couldn’t take it anymore. Feel you cum inside and until I’m so full it just oozes out my pussy.” You whimpered, moving your free hand to rest on your lower stomach. 

“Yesss mama, I wanna fill you up so damn bad. Got me stroking this dick just thinking about how wet you get for me. Ooooo, touch yourself for me Tink.” Michael whispered into the phone, voice thick with desire. 

Gripping the base of his length, Michael continued stroking slowly. Building up the anticipation, keeping his release from erupting too soon. 

Slipping your hand past the waistband of your shorts, you widened your stance and plucked your clit with your index and middle fingers. Your slick made it easy for your fingers to glide and soon wet squelching sounds filled the kitchen. 

“Miiichael, ooo papa feels good but I need your fingers. It’s not enough.” You cried, only a little sexually frustrated. 

“Ooh I know baby, but be a good girl and listen to my voice. I’m here baby, just use me.” 

Leaning against the kitchen island wasn’t providing the room or position for the relief you needed. Moving into the sitting room, you laid on the couch after stepping out of your shorts. Bending a knee against the couch, you put the phone on speaker and placed it on your chest. 

Pushing your panties to the side, you inserted two fingers inside your warm, gushy walls and began thrusting back and forth. Tossing your head back, you let Michael’s voice wash over you. 

“That’s it my pretty baby, stroke that pussy for me and play with your nipples too. I know how you like when I suck those gum drops while I’m inside your tight walls.” 

Picking up speed, Michael began stroking faster and watching the pre-cum drip down his shaft. The tightening in his sac was stirring and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. 

“Papa, I’m so wet right now. Drippin’ and making a mess just from the sound of your voice. Adding another finger and rubbing my clit. Oooo it feels so gooood!” You whimpered in pleasure. 

“Mmmhmm, keep on rubbing baby. I’m so close and I want you to come with me Tink. When I get home I’m livin’ between your legs, my girl been missing me and I need to show her some love.” 

“Yesss papa, so bad, been needing you. Ugggh, I’m bout to… to cum baby.” 

Michael gave a few more sharp and fast tugs to the head of his dick and just as his release hit, he heard your moans filling the phone line. The symphony of your joined releases was just as sweet as any #1 song Michael has created in his lifetime. 

Silence filled the air as you both came down from shared ecstasy and heartbeats were returning to normal. 

Chuckling into the phone, once your voice returned, you exhaled. “Baby, I may need to hop on a flight and pop up for a visit cause that was sexy as hell. Damn papa.” 

Dick now soft and flaccid against his thigh, Michael clenched the sheets between his fingers. Letting out a deep breath, he grinned. 

“I needed that so bad Tink and don’t worry baby, we’ll be face to face soon enough.” 

Taking the phone off speaker, you placed it back to your ear. The dopamine hit was coming down and softened around the edges, allowing room for melancholy to latch on.

“I’m serious though baby, it’s nothing to hop on a flight especially when it comes to my husband. You taking care of yourself since that last flare up, right? We need you as healthy as possible Michael. I can't make all them babies you want by myself love.” You inquired and teased all in one go. 

Michael couldn’t help but cover his face and laugh in embarrassment about the well known fact of him wanting 18 children. 

“Girl you know I’m gone make sure I’m home to you and Jaden. Since you wanna play so much, be ready to start making them babies Tink. I’m so serious too, mama. You gone be in that bed for a week when I get home.” Michael lowly growled. 

Fanning yourself, you felt that knowing ache try to make a comeback. 

“I’ll be naked and waiting for you in our bed Mr. Jackson.” You remarked saucily. 

“Yeah, soon enough Tink, we’ll be together soon. I love you, wife.” Michael proclaimed softly. 

“I love you too, husband.” You replied with a dreamy look on your face and gentle smile. 

The conversation trailed off to updates about your son and what you’d been up to since the last letter and pictures you’d sent. Not even 15 minutes later and soft snores were heard from Michael’s side of the phone while your eyes had slipped closed, you two lovebirds, falling asleep while talking softly on the phone. 

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