mjarchived

summary — in which you attend the World Music Awards with your boyfriend Michael Jackson, where Diana Ross suddenly sits on his lap right in front of you, causing you to feel jealous and hurt…

18+ mdni ✦ angst, the mention of d*ana ross, jealousy, avoidant asl, unprotected sex, p in v, usage of the word ‘mommy,’ michael is a pro yearner, reader kinda easy

authors note: personal shoutout to @invinciscream for giving me my motivation back

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Sitting in the crowded auditorium that held more talented artists than you could count, you tapped your fingers on your thigh, anticipating Michael’s name to be called, marking his third win of the night.

A soft smile settled on your face, excitement for your partner budding in the pit of your stomach.

“And the award goes to—" For a second, it is so quiet that it feels as if the entire room stilled. “Michael Jackson!”   The entire room erupted into applause, including you as you watched your beautiful husband travel to the stage, a smile on his face that could only display his gratefulness.

The music was loud and the applause was deafening as Michael swept his third award of the night, his acceptance speech full of gratitude, but not only the appreciation for his fans but also his appreciation for you.

As he padded back to the seat that held its spot next to you, his focus was no longer on the award but on you. He shifted closer, angling his head down toward your shoulder to whisper a sweet joke that eased the tension within your shoulders. The quiet moment that once overtook them both is interrupted by the opening notes of ‘Ain’t no mountain high enough,' and within seconds, Diana Ross is commanding the floor.

She glided onto the stage, her bleach blonde hair & the red suit she chose to wear bringing everyone’s attention to her. The smile you held dropped immediately, a look of disgust falling on your face.

You acknowledged that Michael and Diana once had a past—a past that you were incredibly disturbed by. As he was clearly taken advantage of by this grown woman—she stayed the love of his life for many years.

Well—until you came along.

Diana’s eyes locked onto our row, her eyes calculating– a look that revealed all too well her low down dirty intentions.

She glided off stage, her body moving gracefully as she stopped right in front of your seats, a smile resting on her face. Diana playfully sat right onto Michael’s lap; his arm went around her waist to steady her, his face now a deep crimson that almost resembled the outfit Diana wore.

He ducked his head, covering his mouth as he let out his signature giggle. He glanced sideways at you, eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure embarrassment.

You too were shocked and embarrassed as you watched as she stepped off his lap, gliding her ass somewhere else. The anger that you felt seemed to be literally incomprehensible.

The sudden suffocating weight of the crowd's whispers rings violently in your ears, making you ready to bolt for the exit at any second

‘Did Diana really just do that right in front of her?’

‘Why isn’t she doing anything?’

The night blew by in painful ripples. You spent the next few hours forcing a fake, agonizing smile, pretending to be happy as he swept a total of five awards.

But the cold sting of betrayal refuses to leave your chest; every time you closed your eyes, you saw the way he reacted to Diana. The blush on his face, his hands wrapped around her waist; the fire in your chest burned hotter.

The ceremony ends with a celebration, which you take as a sign to leave. Anger is blooming stronger within your heart. You grab the purse that once sat in your chair, slipping it around your arms as you allow your feet to carry you to the limo that awaits your presence outside.

Stepping outside into the humid air only did so much to relax the tension in your chest.

You hear footsteps trailing after you, familiar ones, and before you could turn around you hear a soft voice.

“Baby, where are you going? They’re celebrating in there.” Michael says his presence rested uncomfortably behind your back. You responded with silence, crossing your arms.

“Baby?” He says once more, trying to get the attention that you craved all night, yet his focus was more so on his weird ass ex. “You can’t call me that. Not right now." The attitude in your voice, something he’d rarely heard, especially to him, takes him aback; he flinches in response.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?” The confusion written all over his face insinuates the idea that he did nothing wrong. But yet, the feeling of a crushed heart still rested between them.

“How could you let that woman... the woman that has hurt you many times, led you on, and said countless rude shit about me sit on your lap like that? In front of everyone?” The anger in your tone never fades; the words spill out like rapid fire, and you still hold your back to him, the inability to even look at him highlighting your anger.

"Sweetheart—I'm sorry. I was in the heat of the moment, and I… I didn’t know how to resp—" Your voice cuts him off. “By pushing her off!” You shake your head, finally making the decision to turn to face him. Bad decision.

“It was embarrassing, Michael. If you cannot… If you will not leave what you had with her in the past, I will not make you choose. Nor will I let you embarrass me like that in front of everyone.”   Your voice is now shaking, shaking in the pain of having to let him go, shaking in the pain of having to walk away.

He stood there. Frozen, the words that should’ve left him stuck in his throat. The only words he could mutter were the words 'I'm sorry,' but that didn’t count right now.

You began walking to the car. The security guard opens it with gentle care as if respecting your surroundings before giving Michael a reassuring look. One that you were just not able to give him at the moment.

So that’s how it started.

The purposeful dismissing of his calls and ignoring the messages he’d send through the voices of others and God, this man was persistent.

The anger settled, but it was still there but in the form of hurt. The press had already twisted the situation into a worse narrative that insinuated the idea that Michael Jackson was cheating on you with his old love.

And although the pain was still lingering, you knew yourself better than to just accept it, so you’ve been throwing yourself into your job, investing your time and energy into something that was worth it—ignoring every sign of Michael that there possibly was and finding ways to exist without his presence.

Months pass, and eventually that did become easier for you. And slowly, but surely the calls slowed down.

The house was too quiet, save for the low hum of the television playing in the background as you leaned against the kitchen counter cradling a warm mug between your hands. The only moment of peace you had all day.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound cracked through the silence, sharp and deliberate, breaking the peaceful moment you were finally having. You froze, your fingers tightening around the mug; you wasn’t expecting anyone this late. Setting the mug down on the counter, you stepped into the hallway, your heart beating a little faster than before.

Your hand grasps the doorknob, slowly opening the door; it turns with a heavy click that surprised both you and Michael.

Michael Jackson stood right outside your home, flowers and the food he knew you enjoyed in tow. "Hi." His voice trembles as if nervous to be in your presence again after the situation.

The stoic reflection that settled on your facial features made his nervousness ever so worse. “Can I come in?” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You open the door the tiniest bit wider, and he immediately rushes in.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for months now.” He says settling into your home with an unusual feeling in his stomach. Your silence not only frightened him, but made him realize the severity of the situation.

“I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” His voice softens, setting the flowers and takeout bags on the kitchen counter. You instantly tore your eyes away from him, fixing your gaze on a suddenly fascinating spot on the ceiling as you fought to calm your racing pulse.

“You’re not even going to look at me?”

You finally look him in the eye, the anger that was once forgotten now flickering in your chest. “It’s hard to look at you, Michael. Especially when I don’t even know what this is anymore.” He flinches slightly, his eyes softening with genuine hurt. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” You cross your arms, your gaze sharp with disappointment. “You’re still chasing after what you and Diana had, and I won’t be the bridge in between that, Michael. I’m sorry." The pain in your own voice only infuriates you more, causing your gaze to falter.

Michael once again flinched as if you had physically struck him. The mention of Diana’s name hung in the air like a solid wall between you two.

For a second his lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of his breath.

He took a couple steps forward, his hand reaching out automatically, but you instinctively took a step backwards. “No, no. Please don’t say that." He whispered, his voice cracking slightly, his eyes searching yours wide and desperate.

“Diana is… that is the past. That’s a completely different part of my life, and I am not looking for a bridge, and I am never looking at you and seeing someone else. I am here for you because I want you.” You soften at that; you feel a pang in your heart. You soon realize that all the running that you’ve done could’ve been a simple conversation—you redirect your eyes to the floor in quiet embarrassment.

“I just felt so embarrassed, Mike. One moment you were whispering sweet nothings in my ear; the next you’re giggling, Diana Ross in your arms.” For you, being vulnerable was something you’d rarely done. You were used to being a cutthroat businesswoman who used your assertiveness for your benefit. But with Michael—that was all put to rest.

“I understand, baby. I understand." He slowly inches closer to you; before you could pull away further, he closed the remaining distance between them. He reached out, his hands wrapping firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt as if afraid you may let go. “I love you so much, my love. No woman, no feeling from the past can ever replace that.” He uses his free hand to caress her arm.

You both remain silent for awhile. As if drowning in the moment of silence and true peace.  

The warmth of his chest was comforting, but the urge to see his face took over. You slowly pushed back, your palms now resting against his shoulder.

Michael's eyes were still widened, full of worry. His brow furrowed as he looked down at you, taking in the raw beauty that you carried. Without giving yourself time to think or let the anger rush back in, you leaned up on your tiptoes, tilted your chin, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss started off soft and sweet and slow, painfully slow. You could feel Michael’s hesitation as his hands travel to the small of your back. The kiss began to deepen; what was once meant to be an innocent kiss quickly spiraled into something much deeper, fueled by the raw emotion of the situation. You readily take initiative, sucking on his tongue, which has him leaning into you, letting out an involuntary moan.

“I’ve missed these lips so much, sweet girl." His hand flies up to your cheek, his eyes searching for confirmation that this is truly what you want. The tension between you two settled into something much deeper and more intimate; you could feel the hardness of his groin against your leg, which only made you so much needier.

“Mike.” You let out a breathy moan, leaning into his chest.

“Use your words, my baby. What do you need?” The gentleness of his words sent a sharp shiver straight down your spine. Your breath hitched in your throat, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, and the warmth of his breath hit your skin.

“I need you, Mikey.” You whisper. The words hadn’t even begun to settle in the air. In one swift, commanding motion, his arms scooped you up against his chest. A breathless gasp escaped your lips as you became dumb with want.

Your thighs are wrapping instinctively around his hips. Michael tucks you right against his warmth—his stride purposeful as he carries you from the kitchen to your bedroom.

He softly lays you on the bed, settling above you. His lips found your neck; a sharp gasp left your lips as he nipped lightly with his teeth, followed by deliberate sucking. The intense heat of his mouth sent an intense jolt to your core as you arched into his warmth.

“Gonna mark my baby so everyone knows you’re mine.” He groans, taking in your scent that now dominated the room. He places soft kisses along your jawline before moving back up, his forehead resting against yours.

His large hand that once rested against your waist slid down. His hand hooked under the elastic waistband of the shorts that did nothing to conceal how wet you were. His finger immediately finds your aching clit, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips. “So wet for me." He groans, butting his clothed cock into your thigh.

Michael applied pressure to the bundle of nerves, using a slow circular motion that makes your hips instantly hitch off the mattress.

The only noises in the room were your instantaneous moans and the lewd sounds of your wetness.

His thumb kept up the heavy, torturous friction against your clit, driving you right to the edge until you were completely breathless… Then with a sudden shift in pace, his fingers traveled lower— “Gonna get you ready for me, baby." His finger presses against your slick entrance before sliding one long finger completely inside of you; the feeling was almost intoxicating as you were drowning in unbelievable pleasure.

Your pussy clamps down on his finger, earning a groan from his lips. “Missed Mommy's tight pussy, too.”

A ragged, broken gasp leaves your lips as you cross the edge. Your hips instinctively arch off the bed, an involuntary drawn-out whimper leaving your lips as your body dissolves into your climax. Michael drank the noises in—his fingers staying deep and steady inside of you. “Mikey, fuck…”

“You want me to—" He grimaces at the word before saying, “fuck you, baby? Want me to fill this tight pussy with my cum?” Facing the aftermath of your original orgasm, your weeping cunt still ached for more. You ground yourself into Michael's cock, awaiting being full of more than his fingers.

“Such a needy girl.” He slips back on the mattress, teasingly slipping off his pants, disregarding them on the floor, watching your reaction as you await the fullness you missed so much.

Before you could even breathe, his warmness was back over you, his bare thighs parting yours as his thick, hot length rubbed against your slit before settling at your entrance.

“Please, Michael. Stop teas— "He slid inside of you with a startling thrust that had you gasping for air.

He grips your hips as he pumps deeply into your tightness. The room is filled with the whimpers and groans and the lewd slapping of skin, “Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

He uses his grip on your waist to slide you down his cock, the way your tits moved up and down and the way his cock slid in and out of you only turning him on further. “Baby, you’re perfect," he whispered. “So, so perfect. Nobody can make me feel this good. Only you.

His thrusts began to falter, a key sign that his climax was near—and so was yours. “I’m going to cum for you, baby. Gonna make you mine forever.” He whimpers helplessly, his thrusts becoming sloppier; your pussy clenches so tightly against his member that he feels as if he is seeing stars—He abruptly spills his seed inside of you, pulling out shameless and completely shattered moans from the both of you.

He collapses on top of you, not bothering to pull out from your heat. His chest heaves heavily against yours as you both fight to catch your breath, the room completely silent.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his muscles completely relaxed as if he had found his home.

Eventually, Michael lets out a soft sigh, gently sliding out of you. Before you could miss his warmth, he shifts onto his side, carrying you with him. He tucks his chin over the top of your head, his hand tracing lazy circles across your stomach—humming a sweet song.

“I meant what I said earlier.” Michael whispers in the dim room, his voice raspy and stripped of the fire he had earlier. “You aren’t a bridge, my love. You are my life. I was wrong; I shouldn’t have let her get close to me—but that doesn’t negate the fact that I am yours and you are mine.” His voice was so gentle it cracked the tension in the room like an egg.

“I’m sorry, baby. But please don’t ignore like that again.” You could hear silent sniffles, as if he were crying, which only made your chest tighten. You shift your body so that you are looking directly into his eyes.

His dark hair was a mess against your pillow; the mullet he had been rocking now looked as disheveled as he did. His eyes glistened with unshed tears in the dim light of the room. Reaching up, you gently cupped his cheek, wiping a stray tear that fell.

“I’m sorry too, Michael.” You whispered, your voice catching, “I will not. I was just so hurt. And I didn’t know how to handle it. But I’m right here; I’m not going anywhere.”

The silence stretches, but it was a comfortable silence, a silence that they both needed.

In here they were safe, safe in the quiet sanctuary of your room. From the press, from the world, from Diana. In this moment you realized—

You were all each other needed to begin with.