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⤷ ೃ ◛* (18+) just got my first wax ever and of course, my horrid mind got an idea. sooo sub top dangerous era!michael who becomes insatiable after you get your first brazilian wax.
After sitting your boyfriend down on the bed to show him a “surprise”, you unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down along with underwear to show him the heart you had your wax technician leave with your pubic hair.
“Like it?” You questioned innocently, as if your bare pussy wasn’t being flaunted in his face. He was shocked, but pleasantly. You had to stop him from trying to devour you right then and there, telling him that you were told to wait at least three days before any intercourse.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen Michael more needy in your life in the days that followed, with him being extra clingy, doing silly things like standing behind you while you brushed your teeth in only your panties, watching intently while you undressed for your showers, and giving you puppy dog eyes while trying to convince you to let him just touch you, saying things like “only your clit”, to which you denied countless times. He resorted to just staring you down as you walked the house, only thinking about stuffing his face, hands, or better yet, his dick in between your bare cunt.
His last straw came when he awoke from his slumber and saw you cooking breakfast in his favorite nightgown that you owned. He stood to the side of you, hand wrapped around your waist as he peered onto the pan of sausage you were cooking.
“Smells good,” He mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eye. “What is today?”
“Monday..? Why’d you ask?” You looked at him with a chuckle and raised eyebrows, confused at the odd question. Before you could prod him further, he now stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while laying his head on your shoulder.
“Mmm,” He groaned sleepily, hand traveling up your body to grip your breast over your clothes. “That’s wonderful.” you could hear the cheeky smile in his voice.
“Michael. Hands off. Wait until tonight,” You swatted his hand away before picking up the spatula to flip the food, holding the handle of the pan with the other. You were surely horny and ovulating, but you still didn’t want to risk anything.
“Baby please,” He muttered, and with a quick movement of his hand, the back of your nightgown was pulled up to reveal your bare ass. “And you’re not wearing anything under here. You want me to go crazy.” He whined, and you let out a loud sigh before quickly reaching back to hit his hand again.
“Michael. You don’t listen. I told you, just wait until tonight. I’m gonna burn this damn meat if you don’t leave me alone right now.”
“Let me just look, please..I won’t do anything.” He asked again, but he didn’t need to as he took matters into his own hands and lifted up your gown again, pulling up the fabric to bunch it up at your abdomen as he stared at the fat of your ass—and best of all— the cute little heart that sat on your pubis.
You ignored him at this point, letting him take the piss, rolling your eyes to yourself as you went back to cooking, lifting the pan up to shake the goodness, making your ass jiggle a bit in the process. Michael audibly groaned at this, gripping your ass in his hands and shaking it again for his entertainment.
“Cut it out. You’re getting worked up,” You strained, lowering the heat now as your sear on the meat was almost perfect. “Go sit on the couch and wait for the food. I’ll give you a little attention then.”
There was silence, and you thought he was thinking it over like a rational person, until you felt something hard pressing at your folds. You let out a gasp, ready to completely go off on him, but within seconds his cock was already slid deep inside of you. Completely taking you from behind, he let out a drawn out moan at the feeling he had been craving, his big hands coming around to grip your upper thighs for leverage. Your jaw dropped open at the sheer audacity, as well as the pleasure that was now surging through your body.
“God,” He cursed under his breath as he got used to your warmth, gyrating his hips in a circular motion that had your brain going dumb. “I’m so sorry,” He half apologized, beginning to slowly pull himself in and out of you, coating himself in your essence. “Woke up thinking about you, about this..”
“You’re beyond full of shit..” You choked out, breathlessly, wobbly hands going to turn the fire off under the food you knew wasn’t getting finished anytime soon.
“I know, I know,” He whined sleepily. He pulled your back flush to him, leaving little to no room between the two of you, moving his hands from your thighs to grip both of your clothed tits as he sped up his thrusts. “But I just can’t help it. You’re so wet.”
Broken moans began to fall out of your mouth as he was practically using you for his pleasure, leaving you helpless in his grip.
“I love you baby, mean it,” You could hear his mouth fall open, panting heavily as you could feel his breath against your head. The wet noises coming from him fucking you were obscene. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Forgive me.” He whimpered and panted heavily in between his thrusts, moving one of his hands down to cup your pussy, thumb running over the patch of hair.
“M’ gonna cum, inside of you, right now,” He babbled aimlessly in your ear, far too gone from the pleasure, letting out all kinds of desperate noises whilst he thrusted his hips into you similarly to a horny dog in heat.
With one last shaky thrust of his hips, he spilled inside of you, coming completely undone as his body convulsed and cock twitched harshly inside of you.
“Oh, baby, shit,” He moaned almost too loud in your ear, rocking his hips a few more times before coming to a stop and cockwarming you. “I’m sorry.” He placed a kiss to your cheek, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
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Truncated text of tweet from MrPitBull, Mar 11, 2026:
She kept finding women in laboratory photographs from the 1800s. Then she read the published papers—and every single woman had vanished. Someone had erased them from history.
Yale University, 1969.
Margaret Rossiter was a graduate student studying the history of science. She was one of very few women in her program.
Every Friday afternoon, students and faculty gathered for beers and informal conversation. One week, Margaret asked a simple question: "Were there ever any women scientists?"
The faculty answered firmly: No.
Someone mentioned Marie Curie. The group dismissed it—her husband Pierre really deserved the credit.
Margaret didn't argue. But she also didn't believe them.
So she started looking.
She found a reference book called "American Men of Science"—essentially a Who's Who of scientific achievement. Despite the title, she was shocked to discover it contained entries about women. Botanists trained at Wellesley. Geologists from Vermont.
There were names. There were credentials. There were careers.
The professors had been wrong.
But Margaret's discovery was just the beginning. Because as she dug deeper into archives across the country, she found something far more disturbing.
Photograph after photograph showed women standing at laboratory benches, working with equipment, listed on research teams.
But when she read the published papers, the award citations, the official histories—those same women had disappeared. Their names were missing. Their contributions erased.
It wasn't random. It was systematic.
Women who designed experiments watched male colleagues publish results without giving them credit. Women whose discoveries were assigned to supervisors. Women listed in acknowledgments instead of as authors. Women passed over for awards that went to male collaborators who contributed far less.
Margaret realized she was witnessing a pattern that stretched across centuries.
Women had always been present in science. The record had simply pushed them aside.
She needed a name for what she was documenting.
In the early 1990s, she found it in the work of Matilda Joslyn Gage—a 19th-century suffragist who had written about this exact phenomenon in 1870.
In 1993, Margaret published a paper formally naming it: The Matilda Effect.
The term captured something that had been hidden in plain sight for generations. Once you knew the term, you saw it everywhere.
Her dissertation became a lifelong mission.
For more than 30 years, Margaret researched and wrote her landmark three-volume series: Women Scientists in America. She examined letters, institutional policies, individual careers. She gathered undeniable evidence that women in science had been consistently under-credited and structurally excluded.
Her work faced resistance. Many dismissed women's history as political rather than academic. Others insisted she was exaggerating.
Margaret didn't argue emotionally. She presented data. Documented cases. Patterns repeated across decades and institutions.
Eventually, the evidence became undeniable.
Her research helped restore recognition to scientists who had been erased:
Rosalind Franklin, whose X-ray work revealed DNA's structure—credit went to Watson and Crick.
Lise Meitner, who explained nuclear fission—omitted from the Nobel Prize.
Nettie Stevens, who discovered sex chromosomes—received little credit.
Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, who discovered stars are made of hydrogen—initially dismissed.
And countless others whose names had nearly vanished.
Margaret changed the narrative. Science was no longer just the story of solitary male geniuses. It became a story of collaboration that included women who had been written out.
The Matilda Effect became standard terminology. Scholars used it to examine how credit is assigned, how authors are listed, who receives awards, who gets left out.
Usually he’s tucked into your side, inhaling you with each breath, his parted lips ticking hot air onto your neck. On nights when you’re still awake, staring up at the ceiling with an arm around Michael and the other behind your head, you’d catch him mumbling in his sleep.
It has become one of your favorite past times honestly, making out his dreams solely based on his incoherent babbles or sudden twitches in his body.
“M’Mickey…” you caught him mumbling into your skin one night. Uh oh, another Disney coded dream. You honestly back to bite the side of your cheek to restrain your laughter. “That’s my lady, ain’t she pretty…”
On another night, you even caught him talking to your “kids”, which made you heat up yourself. You imagined that Michael was dreaming of the two of you in your own, Tudor styled home, with a three floors and a big yard. You couldn’t make out the names of your kids, but boy there was a lot.
Michael became whiny when got up, complaining about how cold he is and how much he needs you. Tempting.
Even if when you’d shift, maybe to make a little bit of space between you or just simply adjusting your position, he pulls you closer. It’s like he has this sensor that goes off whenever you aren’t skin to skin.
But you both have work to do today, and you unfortunately can’t spend it cuddling with the best boyfriend in the world. Pulling back the sheets was like lifting a rock from a bug. He curls into your side of your bed, desperate for your warmth as he whined into the seam of your pillows, escaping the sunlight from the drawn curtains.
“Torture!” he croaks, rolling onto his back with a pillow pushed to his face. His shirt rode up at his torso, revealing that brown, toned stomach. If he knew how much you wanted to lay back down right now.
After spending ten minutes getting him out of bed, washing his face, and guiding him to the barstool seats at kitchen island, he still dozed off. You snorted as you moved around some bacon in the pan when you looked over your shoulder. Luckily the smell of breakfast woke him up a bit.
When you serve yourself and sat next to him, he lazily picked at his food, chin planted in his palm as he blinked slowly.
You laugh in amusement and adoration, “Don’t tell me I have to feed you as well.”
He tilts his head and with a raised a brow, like he’s considering your gracious offer, “that could happen.”
Michael was a greedy man. He craves your attention, your warmth, your presence. This whole “sleepy act”— whether it was real— was between him and the man upstairs. If that meant staying up late a night so he’ll be tired as hell in the morning… worth it. In the meantime… more of you time for him.
You let out a quiet giggle as your brought up the forked scrambled eggs to his lips, and he leaned in, planting his big hand on your knee to “stabilize” himself before he took the bite. He swallowed before yawning, “always cook so good, mama.”
Biting back a shit eating grin, you hold up his chin, your thumb rubbing his warm skin. Michael immediately leaned into your palm, even closing his eyes, relishing your sweet loving. “Thank you, sleepyhead.”
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tags: camgirl reader, secret identity, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, emotional intimacy, identity reveal, first meeting, first kiss, fluff and smut, romance, angst with a happy ending, explicit sexual content, praise kink, dirty talk, phone sex, female masturbation, oral fixation, emotional vulnerability, wc: 2k
a/n: @mjjjjswife thank you for the idea! <3 and sorry that i took so long!!!
your room is an insane mess. the pink sheets from your bed are lying on the floor. your camgirl setup is not organized yet. and you're extremely late to start your stream. well, it's not totally your fault. yesterday, you went to a party with your friend—you ended up drinking too much. that's the reason you slept more than usual and the reason you're late for your job.
you feel a headache when you blink your eyes. fuck you shouldn't have drunk that much vodka. you have a hangover, and it feels like someone gave you a punch in your stomach.
oh, you don't want to turn on the webcam today.
but he will be waiting for you. he won't miss you if you don't appear one day, will he?
before thinking you get up from your comfortable mattress—you brush your teeth. and wear your favorite lingerie. the one with purple lace and cute ribbons.
maybe you should wear some makeup? but your head hurts every time you look at the white lighting of your vanity table.
your reflection in the mirror doesn't look so bad.
just a bit.
shit.
you turn off the lighting of the vanity table. you glide a transparent shine gloss on your well-shaped lips. a bit of powder. a corrective in the dark circles under your eyes.
you are not hot.
you're decent. presentable.
your webcam is arranged at your favorite angle, the website ‘the best camgirls' is open on your screen. log in.
oh boy.
he’s already online and waiting for you.
4 invitations for a private chat from @mrthepimp58.
accept the invitation.
here we go.
you clear your throat and turn your webcam on.
@mrthepimp58: You're late.
“i wasn't sure if i was going to be on today…. i was feeling kind of sick. actually i think it's a hangover…i drank so much yesterday—i’m sorry, this is definitely not what you are interested in” your voice faded. because why are you venting to him? the sudden realization hit you hard.
he's just a client. you tell yourself every time that you are here talking with him. but it's impossible to not think about what his voice is like—what is his smell like? is it a woody perfume?
you're not in love or anything like that.
it's just curiosity.
about this man who never said a single word about himself to you, but always treated you so well.
you don't look at the camera. you're embarrassed. your job isn't to chat with your clients. your job is to give them pleasure—it’s a professional line that you can't cross. he's not your boyfriend nor your friend.
he's your client.
a good client. that you can't afford to lose.
you take a deep breath. you're tapping your toes on the cold carpet. you force an apologetic smile—that’s all you have. and you say again—”i’m sorry. i really shouldn't have—”
“it’s okay” his voice is nothing like you expect. it's low and soft. it feels like velvet. a shiver goes down your spine—you drop the gloss you were holding in your left hand. you shift your eyes to the screen. and then you see it.
@mrthepimp58's microphone is on.
this is really his voice.
you are astonished.
you never expected to hear his voice. a distinct feeling arises inside you. you're not sure what it is. it's a pretty voice. and suddenly you feel your throat dry.
“do you recognize my voice? you seem so surprised…” a hesitant tone that confuses you emerges from him.
“no! i’m sorry! i'm sure i've never heard you…well, you have a nice voice”
nice voice? this is ridiculous. who says you have a nice voice? certainly you. he gives a chuckle, and you swear you can't stop replaying the sound in your mind.
“i like your gloss, it's different from the one you usually use. did you get bored with the pink one?”
“no…this was the first one that i saw at the table so…what do you want to do?” for a moment you forgot that he still could see you. you change your posture, and bring your arms together. fuck—you want to throw up all the drinks you had.
“i wanna talk to you.”
“talk?”
“yes. is that very weird?”
“yes. it is”
you're dumb. that's the word that describes you. you shouldn't have opened this damn laptop today. you can blame all of it on the hangover.
“i’m really s—” your apologetic sentence is cut by his words.
“you don't need to say that. i appreciate your honesty. people usually aren't honest with me. they are always trying to find a way of flattering me.”
“really? why would they do that?”
“i don't know…that's how things are”
“this actually sucks, i mean i would hate if my friends acted like i am perfect. because boy i would be fucked up”
he gives a loud laugh, one that makes your heart beat. and you can't believe you just made him laugh.
“you’re incredible!”
chatting with him became something usual in your life. his voice was no longer a curiosity to you. sometimes he would just chat silly things with you; saying things like how a chimp could be a great pet or how peter pan is the best disney character.
other times he wouldn't turn on his microphone. and you already knew what that meant—he would ask you to rub your pussy until you got out of breath.
talking with him about everything became a daily routine. but you always reminded yourself it was just business.
you felt like an imaginary line was holding you—you put yourself in your place as a worker. he was generous. he would give you an exorbitant amount of money—enough for you to pay one year of rent. then he asked you to quit the livestreams, and you said you needed a week to think about it. he didn't touch on the subject again; he waited for you to bring it back. you did. you were hesitant when you took his offer. and from now on livestreams would be only for him—he would be your only client.
you felt like a modern version of a pretty woman.
a real-life version—at least, that's what you told yourself. there was no romance, no love. there was only a rich guy—treating you well. you were his distraction. and that was the only thing you could ever be.
“you're quiet today, baby” his voice cuts deep into your deep thoughts.
“i was just thinking, what if i started college—”
“do you want to?”
“yes, i think—”
“where do you want to study, angel?”
“i know what you are doing, you really don't need to. i have enough money, i can take care of myself—i’m sorry. i didn't mean to sound rude like that, i really appreciate all of your help. but i want to do this for myself, just me and me. can you understand?” you thought this would be the ending. he didn't answer you for at least five minutes. it seemed like an eternity to you.
“you're special”
your heart almost fell out of your chest. what did he just say? he said you're special. “i really meant it, angel” he reaffirmed his last words, you closed your mouth. your webcam was always open. you didn't say anything—you absorbed his words into your soul. and then you stared at the lens and quietly said thank you.
he understood you. you chose to change the subject. you asked about….his sign.
“what is your sign? you sound like a cancer”
“virgo. august 29th”
“isn't that next week? i will give you a gift”
“i think you can give me a gift now.” his voice went lower—and it hit you down there. your pussy was already aching.
“yeah?”
“yes. let me see those pretty boobs, mama. fuck—yes like that”
“what do you want me to do, huh?”
“rub that pretty clit for me. are you already so wet? mmh. press one finger inside you. look at that. you're taking one finger so well. put another one baby. move them—but slowly. did you find that sweet spot of yours? i think you did. you're already creaming, huh? i can see you leaking…..nghhh—fuck. go faster baby, yes like that. cum for me, alright?
your heart is stuttering—you’re drowning in pleasure. hearing his voice just makes you squeeze even harder around your fingers. the wet noises merged with your moans are all that can be heard. when you feel the undulations above your belly—you cum hard, creaming your fingers with your juiciness.
fuck—you're definitely in trouble.
it was good. really good.
your friend called you on the same day. you were invited to go to another party with her—she didn't tell you anything more about it. just, that it would be the best party of your life. that's why today you're wearing a black dress that holds all your curves perfectly. your friend grabs your hand—while you both walk towards the ocean of people. you think you have never seen so many people together. her voice is already a bit dizzy:
“are you not going to ask me whose party is that?”
“from who it is?”
“michael jackson”
she can be a great clown when she wants to. because the way she makes you laugh—it’s unbelievable.
“i don't believe you”
“wait and watch”
“girl—i need you to explain this right. what do you mean like michael jackson?”
“this is his birthday party! i got an invite with some friends—and i decided to bring my beeeeeest friend!”
“you're insane, girl. insane”
you're not drunk yet. but your best friend is, she's dancing on the dance floor. you get out to take a breath. you're thinking about him again…you're thinking about mrthepimp58. how ironic you're supposed to be having fun—but you want to be with him.
it's his birthday today—he must be partying somewhere with his friends. he shares the same birthday as michael jackson. you laugh at the bizarre coincidence.
if you sneaked out of this party you would be an awful friend. you light a cigarette that is in your purse. and wait for the time to pass. you drag the smoke to your heart, inhaling the nicotine.
“it's not allowed to smoke here” a man's voice interrupts you.
he's not used to throwing birthday parties, the first time he celebrated it was with elizabeth. he's tired. there are so many people—at his age he feels suffocated. that's why he decides to go outside.
he wasn't expecting to see you. he doesn't see your face at first. all that he sees is a pretty woman from behind. who is smoking a cigarette.
he never expected the woman to be you.
“i'm sorry! wait—you’re michael jackson! happy birthday!” you don't recognize his voice. and he doesn't answer you. he stares at you. deeply. he analyzes every detail of your face. your eyes, your nose, your soft cheeks, your sensual mouth. he can't believe he's seeing you. he can't believe that the woman he has a burning desire for is in front of him.
he doesn't know what to say. he leans into you.
“are you feeling okay? you don't know me….i sneaked into your party. god i’m so embarrassed, i don't know what to say, you're michael jackson-”
“angel…”
he watches the realization across your face. it's immediate. you raise one eyebrow. blinking at him.
“mrthepimp58? that's unbelievable. what do you mean, it's you?”
“it's really you” you hear—that smooth tone of voice. that you spent hours hearing. it's somehow different. it awakens something inside you that you didn't know was possible. the man you spent hours with, doing more than just chatting, is michael jackson. god—you realize you don't know anything about this man. but you do know the little things about him—the way his breath gets heavier when he's touching himself. or how he groans when he makes you squirt.
he's thrilled with the thought of you being by his side. he doesn't wait for you to move. he's faster in holding your waist, and when he sees the urgent craving in your look—the one he knows very well. he presses his lips against yours. sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your tongue.
it isn't just a kiss.
it can't be.
when he holds you so tenderly—when he's not afraid of taking you in his arms like you always belonged there. your taste is addictive. he doesn't want to stop. but he's forced to stop when he's out of breath.
“that was intense” he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you even tighter “i can't let you go” his voice is muffled—your body is blazing, and you don't do anything to escape from his arms.
thinking about bad!michael having a lingerie kink, and also a kink of seeing you in his clothes. so you kill two birds with one stone! minors dni (fem reader)
michael was a gift giver at heart, he loved to give—in more ways than one when it came to you. it didn’t need to be something you even asked for, a passive compliment at a dress you saw could reward you the brands entire collection when it came to michael.
although his gift giving was typically pure in nature, it doesn’t mean he never had himself in mind. cause he sure does when purchasing your lingerie. he’s purchased so much of it overtime, he’s had to get bill to pick up his items now cause he’s since been photographed with shopping bags revealing his preferred establishment.
he’s so impatient, trying to figure out when you plan on wearing certain pieces, and you have to tell him to wait, to enjoy the element of surprise. overtime you’ve picked up a habit of sharing his wardrobe, sometimes it was much easier to take something of his than to plan an outfit from your closet yourself. lucky for you, it didn’t take long to notice the way his pupils dilated whenever he saw you in an item of his. something you snagged the most was his varsity jackets, he had a ton, and one faithful night you had a wonderful idea.
you can’t remember a time where michael wasn’t busy, constantly consumed with his demanding career that needed everything from him. interviews, paparazzi, studio sessions, tour planning, you name it, it’s on his to-do. as his lover it’s only right to be the one to help wind him down, be his sense of grounding. what better way to relax his nerves than having a intimate night with his girlfriend.
he was under the assumption that your time in the bathroom was you prepping for bedtime, so you can imagine his surprise when the sharp clack of a stiletto heel snaps through the silence the room previously held. attention fully on you.
if his pupils could cartoonishly shape into hearts—they would.
the sight of you instantaneously shifts the air in the room, eyelids already weighted with lust, and his mouth salivating with need. he’d never deny the way you have him wrapped around your manicured finger.
his red and white varsity jacket hangs low and loose against your frame, revealing just enough to tease the mind. what lies beneath is a lacy black two piece he purchased not too long ago. the front of the panties embroidered with a red kiss mark placed directly where your hip is, and a dark pair of red heels to match. the lingerie set hugged against your body deliciously, the perfect fit, and nothing turns michael on more than perfection.
your shoulders involuntarily jerk when you huff out a chuckle, more than amused at his expression. mouth agape, hands mindlessly rubbing against his pajama clad thighs; hands must be clammy. even after all this time you still make him nervous, he’s crazy about you.
his eyes trace over your body, the adoration in his gaze prominent. with each stride, the sound of your heels seem to get sharper until the gap between he two of you is closed. his hands instinctively come to trace delicate lines to the back of your thighs before circling themselves back to your hips, he thumbs at the fabric carefully. his eyes finally lock on yours, “what is this all about?”
he’s now thumbing at his jacket, and he can’t fight he way his tongue runs across his lips. he’s never been good at saving face, he’s really blatant in his attraction towards you.
you shrug, “getting ready for bed s’all” your tone oozes with faux aloofness and he can only grin in response.
“wearing a jacket to bed?” his brows quirk in amusement.
“you can take the jacket off if you’d like?”
he bites his lip at that, palms slowly coming up to the collar of the jacket to slowly peel it off your shoulders, and you writhe against the fabric. it tickles! your breathing is slow and rhythmic as well as his. he loves his hair behind your shoulders, extended fingers grazing against your collar bones, he loves to take you in.
but then he remembers he’s in a matching peter pan pajama set, and something about it sets him off in a fit of laughter. the sudden shriek in his giggle has you nearly jumping out of your skin, “michael!”
his head lulls forward, forehead pressed to your bare stomach, and you naturally scratch at the nape of his neck.
“m’sorry. i feel silly” late hands clasp across his mouth, but i does nothing to conceal his laughter, and you can’t help but laugh with him when you realize what he finds so funny.
you playfully swat at his back, “i’m trying to be sexy, stop.”
waking your boyfriend michael up after hearing a noise that startles you in the middle of the night😭
You were currently annoyed—it was 3am and something was tapping at the window and your beloved boyfriend was fast asleep completely unbothered by the sounds and that enraged you—how could he just sleep so peacefully?
You huff, getting up deciding to check for yourself. Feet lightly tapping as you tighten your pink silky robe around your waist. You hardly make it out of the room before the sounds start up again.
Chitter—Tap!
“Oh my god!” You yelp immediately running back towards the bed where Michael slowly stirs up. You jump into his arms immediately. “Michael! Michael, Michael wake up!” You shake him and he sits up, hand flying to your waist as you grip him for comfort. “Baby what time is it?” He questions, “it’s—that doesn’t matter I think someone is trying to break in!”
He sits up immediately, “no one is trying to break in I can promise you that.” he says, a bit annoyed you woke him up from his sleep and he turns around. “Michael.” You urge again, shaking him harder so he didn’t fall back asleep. “Baby.” He responds. “Please check?” He couldn’t resist your begging and what sounded like genuine fear so with a heavy sigh he stands up.
You follow close behind him as he tiptoes out the room and towards the front door, the first thing he does is look out the hole of the door before swinging it wide open, the cool air hitting the both of your faces. He steps outside and you follow, except you stay closer by the front door.
Hiss—Tap!
You see no Michael, you start playing with the hem of your robe, growing nervous by the second, once you notice how long he’s taking to return you bite your lip and clench your fist as you step out into the breezy night, following the sound.
“Boo!” He pops out and you let out a shrill. “Michael!” You shove his shoulder. “You ass.” Your lip trembles. “Did you see what it was?” He nods, “It was a raccoon, baby, can we go back to bed now?” He ushers grabbing your hand and leading you back to the bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief. A raccoon..you almost laugh at the fact.
He drapes the blanket over you both and switches the lamp off. “Wait.” You murmur, he softly hums waiting for you to continue. “I want to go to sleep first—don’t go to sleep until I’m sleep.” You say against his chest and he traces invisible shapes against your back.
“Your wish is my command, mama.” He placed a kiss on your forehead.
From time to time you call out his name to make sure he’s still awake and he always responds with a soft hum or a ‘still awake, baby’ along with a ‘mhm’ or a kiss on the forehead.
guys literally there’s a raccoon that’s terrorizing me rn EVERY NIGHT at exactly 4am im mad as hell!!!😭 also I’m thinking about making a tag list sooo let me know if you want to be tagged !!
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summary: you accidentally walk in on what seems to be your boyfriend calling you “clingy”, leading to you avoiding him for a week. michael basically falls apart
content: miscommunication/misunderstanding, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end guys!! i cant deal with sad michael :((
word count: around 2k
a/n: YES i got inspiration to make this from after all by jimmy osmond! i love that song lol ok anyways enjoy the fic bye
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.
The kind where everything moves slower and no ones in a rush to be anywhere.
You knew that michael had rehearsal earlier in the day and was probably eating lunch with his family given that you had spoken on the phone with him the night before.
Oh how you were so in love with him.
Even with Michael's busy schedule, he always found some way to make time for you. Whether it was hours spent on the phone after a long day or quiet afternoons together at home, you had become his comfort just as much as he had become yours.
The two of you were constantly on the phone which is why you knew he was finishing up some of his work right around this time.
Because of this, you decided to head down to Hayvenhurst. Maybe you could have lunch with him, steal a few hours of his afternoon, and have some much needed time with your oh so loving boyfriend.
When you finally reached his house, you let yourself in with the key Michael insisted you have.
“I want you to know you’re welcome here anytime, baby” “Come over whenever you want. Don’t even worry about knocking.”
“Are you sure, Michael? I wouldn't want to intrude-”
“Of course I’m sure,” “You could never intrude.”
A small smile had tugged at his lips as he squeezed your hand.
“I’m always gonna want you here with me.”
And he meant it.
Atleast you thought he did.
That was why you never hesitated now when you walked through those doors.
You could hear the laughs of some of the brothers in the kitchen so you made your way there assuming thats where you would find your boyfriend.
And as you were about to step into the kitchen you heard your name.
You stopped.
Not because you were trying to listen.
But Michael’s voice caught your attention before you even had the chance to announce yourself.
“She’s just…. really clingy sometimes.”
Your smile slowly faded.
Clingy.
The word sat heavy in your chest in a way you didn’t expect. You weren’t clingy, were you? I mean sure you did love spending all your free time with Michael and sure, you checked in on him throughout the day but you assumed he liked it too, right?
Apparently not.
So you quietly turned around and drove home before you could even hear what he had to say next.
Normally, you would have called Michael as soon as you got home.
But your phone stayed untouched on your nightstand by your bed.
You set your things down, changed into something more comfortable, and sat on the edge of your bed for longer than you meant to.
It was silly.
You knew that.
But the word kept replaying in your mind.
Clingy.
A small tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized you were crying and you stayed like that for awhile.
It wasn’t until the next day that michael finally decided to call you.
You still answered, but you weren’t as eager to fill the silence afterward.
“Hello?”
“Baby!” He sounded so excited, why was he so excited?
His voice immediately softened something in you.
“Hi, Michael.” There was a small pause on the other end of the line, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could already imagine the way his brows furrow slightly when something was bothering him.
“You okay?” The question made your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
It came out too quickly.
“I’m just tired,” you added, trying to make it sound more believable. Another quiet moment passed. Normally, neither of you ever struggled to find something to say. There was always another reason to keep the conversation going.
“You’re quiet,” he finally said.
“I’m just tired.” you reemphasized.
Michael hummed, clearly not completely convinced, but he didn’t push.“You’re not coming over today?”
You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know. I figured you were probably tired.”
“I am tired,” Michael admitted, a small laugh slipping into his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”
“..”
“Baby…”
You could hear the concern in his voice, and that almost made it harder.
“I’m okay, Michael,” you said quickly. “Really. I think I’m just gonna rest today.”
Normally, Michael would have asked what was wrong and kept asking until you finally opened up. But something about the way you said it made him hesitate, leaving him unsure whether he should push or give you the space you seemed to be asking for.
“You sure you don’t want me to come by?” “I’m sure.”
A pause.
“Okay.” The disappointment in his voice was small, but you still noticed it.
“I’ll call you later, okay?” he said. “Okay.”
Another silence followed, one that felt too long for two people who were usually so comfortable with each other.
“Alright, baby. Get some rest.”
“Bye, Michael.” You hung up before he could say anything else and for a moment, you just stared at the phone in your hand.
The rest of your days during the week consisted of you and Michael basically playing cat and mouse.
He would call, like he always did, but you would let the phone ring a few extra times before finally answering. The conversations were never long anymore, your replies careful and excuses ready whenever there was a chance he might ask what had changed.
Michael noticed.
Eventually, he started coming by your house, sometimes with flowers or something small he thought you would like, hoping you would open the door and tell him what was wrong. But every time, you found yourself staying quiet, pretending you weren’t home until he finally left.
You knew you were avoiding him.
You also knew you didn’t really know how else to handle the hurt you were carrying.
Mike on the other hand, had spent the entire week trying to convince himself that he was overthinking it.
That maybe you really were just tired. Maybe you were busy. Maybe there was some simple explanation for why your voice sounded different every time he called and why you suddenly seemed like you were always finding a reason not to see him.
But the more days that passed, the harder it became to believe that.
By the end of the week, it had become impossible for Michael to convince himself that everything was fine.
He tried throwing himself into work the way he always did. Dance rehearsals, recording sessions, meetings. Normally, they were enough to keep his mind occupied.
This time, they weren't.
His thoughts always seemed to find their way back to you.
He replayed your conversations over and over, searching for something he might have missed. Had he forgotten something important? Had he said something carelessly? Was he working too much? He couldn't think of a single reason why the person who he revolved his days to be around suddenly couldn't bear to look at him.
His brothers noticed too.
"You alright?" Marlon asked one afternoon as the two of them sat around the kitchen island.
Michael looked up from the plate he had barely touched.
"Yeah."
Marlon raised an eyebrow.
"You don't sound too sure."
Michael sighed quietly, bringing his hands up to cover his face. "I think... I think something's wrong."
"What happened?"
"I don't know."
That was the part that bothered him most.
"I keep asking her if she's okay, and she says she is, but she barely answers my calls anymore. When she does, she's off the phone in five minutes." He looked down at the table, "I went by her apartment twice this week."
"And?"
"She didn't answer."
A silence filled the room.
"I don't think she's mad at me," Michael admitted after a moment. "If she was mad, she'd tell me. She always tells me… she’s just, distant."
Marlon frowned.
"So what are you gonna do?"
Michael didn't answer right away.
After a long moment, he looked up.
"I'm going back."
"And if she still doesn't answer?"
He stood from the table, ready to ask Bill to take him to what was naturally his second home.
"Then I'll keep trying til’ she does."
────୨ৎ────
The knock came just after lunch.
You didn't have to look through the window to know who it was. For a long moment you stared at the front door while the house remained completely silent around you.
Another knock.
Gentler this time.
You closed your eyes for a second before letting out a quiet breath and reaching for the doorknob. When the door opened, Michael was standing exactly where you expected him to be.
He looked tired.
Not the kind of tired that came from rehearsals or long nights in the studio, but the kind that settled behind someone's eyes after they had spent too many nights wondering what they had done wrong.
His expression softened the moment he saw you.
"...Hi sweetheart."
"Hi."
Neither of you moved.
"I, um..." Michael glanced down for a second before holding out the small bouquet he'd been carrying. "These are for you."
You hesitated before taking them.
"Thank you."
"Can I come in?"
You stepped aside without saying a word.
Now he stood awkwardly in the middle of your living room, unsure if he should sit down or keep standing.
You placed the flowers on the counter and folded your arms loosely across yourself.
Michael looked down for a moment, his fingers brushing over the edge of his sleeve before he finally looked back at you.
"I don't really know where to start.. I just know that something's different."
The words were softer than you expected.
"I've been trying to figure it out all week, and I keep thinking maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I said something, or maybe I haven't been making enough time for you, or maybe..." He paused, letting out a quiet breath as he shook his head. "I don't know. I keep going over everything, but I can't find anything."
You looked away.
Michael noticed.
He always noticed.
"I miss you," he admitted. "And I know that probably sounds so stupid because it's only been a week, but it feels like you've been pulling away from me for so much longer than that."
"I didn't want to bother you."
Michael's eyebrows pulled together.
"Bother me?"
You swallowed.
"I just thought maybe you needed some space."
The confusion on his face only grew.
"Space from you?"
You didn't answer.
The silence told him more than words did.
Michael took a small step closer, his hands coming up to cup your jawline.
"Baby, why would you think that?"
You looked at him, trying to find the right words.
"I heard you."
Michael went still.
"What?"
"At your house Michael."
The room suddenly felt much quieter.
"I wasn't trying to listen," you rushed to explain. "I was just coming over for lunch, and I heard you talking with your brothers."
Michael's expression shifted, confusion slowly replacing itself with realization. "What did you hear?" he says your name softly.
You hesitated.
"I heard you say I was clingy."
For a moment, Michael didn't say anything.
Then his face softened.
"Oh, mama."
The way he said it almost made it harder.
"I thought..." Your voice caught slightly. "I thought I was too much for you."
Michael immediately shook his head.
"No."
"No, no, that's not what I meant."
He pulled your head close to his, making sure you were looking at him, his expression filled with regret.
"Y/n, you didn't hear the rest of it."
You frowned slightly.
"The rest?"
Michael nodded.
"I was talking to my brothers because I was trying to explain how much I love having you around. I was telling them that you're always here, that you always want to spend time with me, and I was laughing because I realized I'm the exact same way."
A small, sad smile crossed his face. "I said you were clingy because I love that about you."
You stared at him. "I love that you call me after a long day. I love that you come over so we can watch movies together. I love that I get to know all the little things about your life because you want to tell me."
His voice softened.
"I didn't mean clingy like it was a bad thing."
You looked away, feeling the weight of the misunderstanding finally start to lift.
"I thought you were getting tired of me."
Michael's expression changed immediately. "Sweetheart, I spent this entire week thinking you were leaving me."
The honesty in his voice made you really look at him.
"I thought maybe you had finally realized that being with me is too much. I thought maybe I was asking too much from you, that with the album and my career.. It was getting too intense for you."
You stared at him for a moment, your heart aching at the thought that he had spent the entire week carrying that fear by himself.
“Michael,” you said softly.
His eyes lifted back to yours.
“I wasn’t leaving you.”
The words came out immediately, because you needed him to hear them.
“I wasn’t thinking about ending anything. I was just hurt and I thought I was giving you what you wanted. I just misunderstood you. I should’ve talked to you instead of disappearing, i’m sorry.”
Michael looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over yours.
“I missed you.”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
“I missed you too.”
“Really?”
You almost laughed.
“Mikey, I spent the whole week trying not to call you. Do you know how hard that was?”
That finally got a real smile out of him.
“I had a feeling.”
You rolled your eyes softly.
For the first time in days, you both looked completely at ease.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.” you repeated back again.
And finally, after a week of missed calls and avoiding each other, you closed the space between you.
The kiss was soft, like both of you were making sure this was real. But it didn’t take long for the relief of having each other back to settle in.
A week without him had felt much longer than it should have.
When you pulled away, Michael kept his arms around your waist, holding you close like he was making up for every moment he spent thinking he was losing you.
“I really missed this,” he murmured.
You smiled against him.
“I did too.”
“No more secretly disappearing because you think I need space.”
You laughed. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said, pulling you closer. “Because I was starting to think my girlfriend was trying to break up with me without telling me.”
“Michael,” you giggled harder this time.
“I’m just saying,” he teased. “Very rude way to find out.”
a/n: OKAY would yall believe me if I said I sat down for like 8 hours today trying to finish this bc i did! im like actually proud of myself lol like omg especially w my adhd too like wow im amazing but anyways lets just ignore any grammer mistakes here bc im too lazy to fix them rn
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