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This is a little reminder to those who keep on making them posts bitching about how people write or make their fics. Don’t like? SCROLL or BLOCK. Don’t want to scroll or block? Then go make respectful requests. Not bothered to? Then STFU and stop bitching read it or leave it ✌️✌️✌️
Normalize browsing through the tags and leaving the page when it does not cater to your preferences. Not everyone is interested in reading a Mature!Michael Fic where his partner is of the same age range as his + having been a fact that most of the users in here are in their 20’s 🤕
No need to make a big drama out of everything. We’ve got problems so much more in demand. So why focus on the ones that don’t make a significant difference? A little variance between what you like and what others like is something that shouldn’t be held up for debate—try the acts of respecting and scrolling rather than making a fuss out of it, really.
++ for as long as it’s consensual and doesn’t contain any sort of malicious content, y’all should be on your back and chilling.
Michael coming home to reader in living room blasting his songs dancing and singing and she doesn't notice him and then gets soo embarrassed caught screaming his songs xoxox
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ caught red handed • Michael x reader
⤷ ゛Synopsis ˎˊ˗ in which you're caught red handed having your own private concert featuring Michael's songs
𑣲⋆ Contains : fluff, fluff, fluff, Michael wanting to make u his apprentice, caught in the act
A/n: this was such a cute idea I had to start it immediately >⩊<.ᐟ
Sunday always meant cleaning day. You'd open up the blinds, pushing open all the curtains, broom in hand as you swept all throughout the kitchen, somehow breaking out a sweat from doing the simple task as you wiped the beads of sweat from your forehead as the music blasted through the speakers.
Usually, Michael would be home, but this Sunday he headed off to the studio bright and early, babbling something about a new song coming to him that you barely heard in your half-sleep state, your limbs tangled up in the warmth of the sheets as you hummed lightly at the feeling of his lips against your temple. You knew that he wouldn't be back for another few hours; hell, he might not be back until after the sun went down and the stars made themselves known in the sky, or so you thought.
It had only been a few hours since Michael left, and the kitchen and dining room were now so spotless you could almost see a sparkle on the surfaces. Next on your to-do list was the living room.
The music played throughout the house, your broom in your hand as you hummed absentmindedly to the song that played previously, before it faded off, leaving the house in a short moment of silence until the familiar opening of "The Way You Make Me Feel" started playing, the punchy sound of drums and bass echoing out into the space. Your body instinctively moved on its own as you twirled around the coffee table, completely immersed in the song, maybe too immersed that you didn’t hear the sound of the front door clicking shut, or the sound of his loafers clicking against the marble floors.
You were already shouting at the top of your lungs, using the broom as your own personal microphone, pointing at your invisible audience as you sang.
“The way you make me feellll”
Was the only thing Michael heard as he made his way through the halls into the living room, stopping in his tracks as he peered through the opening. The sight of the sun leaking through the windows completely lighting up the space as you pranced around, somehow ending up on the cushions of the couch, bouncing around and unbeknownst to you. Your fake audience had now become a live one, an amused smile playing out on Michael's face as he bobbed his head along to the beat, just waiting for the moment when you'd turn around and see him standing there.
Well, it seemed he didn't have to wait long as you turned around, posing, your eyes closed before you opened them, the realization setting in as you glanced at your position on the couch then to the smile that danced on Michael's face.
“Oh…OH!” You squealed, hopping off the couch, immediately cutting the music that filled the embarrassing moment.
“Just how much of that did you see…” you covered your face, your words muffled by your hands that were pressed to your face.
“Oh, I saw enough, maybe I should make you my apprentice,” he let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back.
“Oh gosh, Michael, stop.”
"C'mon, do the pose again," he laughed as you buried your face in his chest, shaking it from the pure embarrassment of the moment.
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Paring: MATURE Michael Jackson x Wife Pregnant reader
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Oneshots- Fluff/SFW
Summary: When your water breaks unexpectedly while Michael is away at a meeting, you’re rushed to the hospital without him by your side. After a frantic race across the city, he arrives just in time to support you through the birth of your daughter, Aliana.
Context: established relationship, husband michael, wife reader, age gap relationship, pregnancy, labor and delivery, childbirth, emotional reunion, first time parents, baby girl, original child (Aliana), domestic fluff, family life, protective michael, soft michael, comfort, hurt/comfort, postpartum recovery, newborn care, emotional intimacy, wholesome romance, married couple, slice of life, found family vibes
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The morning starts like any other.
Well, as "normal" as mornings can be when you're nine months pregnant and feel like you're carrying a watermelon under your ribs. You wake to find Michael's side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch, and for a moment disappointment flickers through you before you remember, he has that meeting today. The one with the producers and choreographers that's been scheduled for weeks, the one he tried to cancel three times already but couldn't get out of.
"I'll be back before lunch," he'd promised last night, his hand resting on your stomach as you lay in bed together. "Two hours, maximum. And I'll have my phone on the entire time."
"Michael, it's fine," you'd assured him, even as he looked at you with those worried eyes. "The baby's not due for another week and a half. I'll be okay for a few hours."
He'd kissed you then, long and slow, before moving down to press his lips to your stomach. "You stay put, little one," he'd whispered to your belly. "Don't even think about making an appearance until Daddy gets home."
Now, as you slowly maneuver yourself out of beda process that's become increasingly complicated as your due date approaches, you smile at the memory. Michael has been impossibly attentive these past few weeks, barely letting you out of his sight. He's rearranged his entire schedule, turned down interviews, postponed recording sessions. The nursery is complete, painted in soft cream and pale yellow with hand-painted musical notes dancing across one wall. A beautiful white crib sits in the corner, already filled with stuffed animals and soft blankets. Everything is ready.
You're ready
You make your way downstairs, one hand on the railing, the other supporting your lower back. The house is quiet but not empty, you can hear Maria, the housekeeper, moving around in the kitchen, and the faint sound of the gardener working outside drifts through the open windows. Michael made sure you wouldn't be alone today, even if he couldn't be here himself.
"Good morning, Mrs. Jackson," Maria greets you warmly as you enter the kitchen. She's already preparing breakfast, scrambled eggs, toast, fresh fruit. "How are you feeling today?"
"Like I swallowed a basketball," you joke, easing yourself into a chair at the kitchen table. "But otherwise good."
Maria smiles, setting a plate in front of you. "Mr. Jackson called already this morning. Twice, he wanted to make sure you were okay."
You can't help but laugh "Of course he did."
"He said to tell you he'll be home by noon at the latest, and that you should call him if you need anything at all."
"I know," you say softly, warmth spreading through your chest. "He told me the same thing before he left."
You eat slowly, enjoying the quiet morning. After breakfast, you move to the living room, settling onto the couch with a book you've been trying to finish for weeks. But concentration is difficult when you're this pregnant. Your back aches, your feet are swollen, and Aliana, because you've both been calling her that since the morning Michael chose the name, seems determined to use your ribs as a personal jungle gym.
Around ten-thirty, you decide to get up and move around. Sitting too long makes everything worse. You're standing in the hallway, one hand pressed to your lower back, when you feel it.
A strange sensation, like something shifting deep inside you. Then a sudden release, and warmth spreading down your legs.
You look down
There's water pooling on the hardwood floor beneath you, soaking through your dress, and for a moment your brain simply refuses to process what's happening. This can't be happening. It's too early. Michael isn't here. This isn't how it's supposed to—
Another sensation, this one unmistakable. A tightening across your entire stomach, a pressure that builds and builds until you have to brace yourself against the wall, breathing through it.
A contraction
"Oh God," you whisper. "Oh God, no, not now—"
"Mrs. Jackson?" Maria's voice, suddenly sharp with concern. She must have heard something, or maybe she just has that sixth sense that comes from years of taking care of people. She appears in the hallway, takes one look at you and the puddle on the floor, and her eyes go wide. "Your water, did your water just break?"
You nod, unable to speak as another contraction begins building. They're not supposed to come this fast, are they? You're supposed to have time, hours of early labor at home before things get serious. But this, this feels serious already.
"Okay, okay, it's okay," Maria says, but you can hear the slight panic in her voice even as she tries to stay calm. "Let me help you to the couch. Carlos!" she calls out loudly. "Carlos, I need you inside, now!"
The next few minutes are a blur. Carlos, the groundskeeper, appears and immediately pulls out his phone to call 911. Maria helps you to the couch, bringing towels, talking to you in soothing tones even though her hands are shaking slightly. You try to focus on breathing, on staying calm, but all you can think is that Michael isn't here.
"I need to call Michael," you gasp between contractions. "I need—where's my phone?"
"I'll get it," Maria promises, rushing off.
She returns with your phone, and with trembling fingers you pull up Michael's contact. It rings. And rings. And rings. Then goes to voicemail.
"No," you whisper. "No, no, no—"
You try again. Same result. He's in the meeting. His phone is probably on silent. He has no idea what's happening.
"The ambulance is on its way," Carlos says, kneeling beside the couch. "They said ten minutes, maybe less."
Ten minutes. You can do ten minutes. You have to do ten minutes.
But the contractions are coming faster now, harder, each one stealing your breath and making you grip the couch cushions until your knuckles turn white. This isn't how first labors are supposed to go. Everyone said you'd have hours, that first babies take their time. But Aliana, it seems, has other plans.
"Try calling the meeting location," you manage to say to Maria between contractions. "The studio, the number should be in Michael's office—"
Maria nods and rushes off again. You hear her on the phone in the other room, her voice urgent, and then the sound of sirens in the distance, getting closer.
The paramedics arrive in a flurry of professional efficiency. They assess you quickly, ask questions you barely register, and before you know it you're being loaded onto a stretcher. The movement jostles you and another contraction hits, this one so intense you cry out.
"It's okay, Mrs. Jackson," one of the paramedics a kind faced woman with gentle hands says soothingly. "We're going to take good care of you. How far apart are the contractions?"
"I don't—I don't know," you gasp. "Close. They're close."
"Okay. We're going to get you to the hospital. Is there someone we should call?"
"My husband," you say desperately. "Michael, he's in a meeting, he doesn't know—"
"We'll make sure he's contacted," she promises.
The ambulance ride is a nightmare of pain and fear and overwhelming worry. You keep trying Michael's phone, but it goes straight to voicemail every time. Where is he? Why isn't he answering? He promised he'd keep his phone on. He promised.
By the time you reach the hospital, the contractions are coming every few minutes, each one more intense than the last. You're rushed through the emergency entrance, through hallways that blur together, into a labor and delivery room where nurses swarm around you, hooking you up to monitors, checking your vitals, asking more questions.
"How far along are you?"
"Thirty-eight weeks and four days."
"Is this your first baby?"
"Yes."
"When did your water break?"
"I don't know—maybe forty five minutes ago? An hour?"
A doctor appears, Dr. Matthews, thank God, your actual doctor, and she gives you a reassuring smile even as she snaps on gloves to examine you.
"Let's see where we are," she says calmly. The examination is uncomfortable, and you grip the bed rails, trying to breathe through it. When Dr. Matthews looks up, her expression is surprised.
"You're at seven centimeters already," she says. "This baby is coming fast."
Seven centimeters. You're at seven centimeters, and Michael still isn't here.
"My husband," you say, and you hate how your voice breaks. "I need my husband. Please, someone needs to call him—"
"We have his contact information," a nurse, her name tag says Elena, assures you. "We're calling right now."
But will he answer? Will he get the message in time?
Another contraction hits, and this time you can't hold back the cry of pain. It feels like your entire body is being squeezed in a vice, pressure building and building with nowhere to go. Elena is beside you immediately, taking your hand.
"Breathe with me," she instructs. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it. You're doing great."
But you don't feel like you're doing great. You feel like you're falling apart, like everything is happening too fast, like the one person you need most in the world isn't here and might not make it in time.
"Please," you whisper when the contraction finally eases. "Please find my husband."
-——————————————-
Michael's phone buzzes in his pocket for the third time in ten minutes, but he ignores it.
He's trying to pay attention to the choreographer demonstrating a new routine, trying to focus on the counts and the movements, but his mind keeps drifting. Back home. To you. He shouldn't have come to this meeting. He should have canceled it, should have stayed home where he could keep an eye on you, make sure you were okay.
The baby's not due for another week and a half, he reminds himself…..you’re fine….everything’s fine, but the uneasy feeling in his gut won't go away.
"Michael? What do you think?"
He blinks, realizing everyone in the room is looking at him expectantly. "Sorry, what?"
"The transition in the second verse," the choreographer repeats patiently. "Do you want to keep it sharp or smooth it out?"
"Uh—sharp," Michael says, though he honestly has no idea what they're talking about. "Keep it sharp."
His phone buzzes again. And again.
"I'm sorry," he says, pulling it out of his pocket. "I need to check this—"
He has seven missed calls. Three from home, two from a number he doesn't recognize, and two from the hospital.
The hospital…..
His blood turns to ice
"I have to go," he says, already standing, already moving toward the door. "I'm sorry, I have to—"
The phone rings in his hand. The hospital number. He answers before the first ring finishes.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Jackson?" A professional female voice. "This is Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Your wife was brought in about thirty minutes ago. She's in labor—"
The rest of the words fade into white noise. Labor. You're in labor and your at the hospital…..and he's not there.
"I'm on my way," he interrupts, his voice coming out strangled. "I'm coming right now. Is she okay? Is the baby—"
"Both mother and baby are doing well, but labor is progressing quickly. You should get here as soon as possible."
"I'm coming," he repeats, and he's already running.
He doesn't remember saying goodbye to anyone in the meeting. Doesn't remember getting to his car or starting the engine. All he knows is that he's driving, faster than he should, weaving through traffic with his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat.
You're in labor. You're having the baby. And he wasn't there when your water broke, wasn't there to hold your hand or drive you to the hospital or tell you everything would be okay.
He promised he'd be there for everything.
His hands grip the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. The drive to the hospital normally takes twenty five minutes. He makes it in fourteen, pulling into the parking lot with tires squealing and abandoning his car in the first spot he sees. The automatic doors seem to move in slow motion as he runs through them. The receptionist at the front desk looks up, startled, as he skids to a stop in front of her.
"My wife," he gasps out. "She's in labor, she was brought in, her name is—"
"Mr. Jackson?" The receptionist's eyes widen in recognition. "Yes, she's in Labor and Delivery, third floor. The elevators are—"
But he's already running again, heading for the stairs because he can't wait for an elevator. He takes them two at a time, his breath coming in harsh pants, and bursts through the door on the third floor. A nurse at the station looks up, and he must look completely wild because she stands immediately.
"My wife," he says again. "Please, I need to—"
"Room 312," she says, pointing down the hall. "But you'll need to—"
He's already moving. Room 312. He finds it, pushes through the door, and the sight that greets him makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.
You're in the hospital bed, your face flushed and damp with sweat, your hair plastered to your forehead. You're in the middle of a contraction, your entire body tense, one hand gripping the bed rail so hard it's shaking. A nurse is beside you, coaching you through breathing, and Dr. Matthews is at the foot of the bed.
"Michael—" Your voice breaks on his name, and then you see him, and the relief that floods your face is so profound it nearly brings him to his knees.
"I'm here," he says, rushing to your side. "Baby, I'm here, I'm so sorry—"
"You're here," you gasp, reaching for him, and he takes your hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips.
"I'm here," he repeats. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."
The contraction peaks and you cry out, squeezing his hand with surprising strength. He leans close, pressing his forehead to your temple, murmuring words he's not even sure make sense.
"Breathe, baby. Just breathe. I've got you. You're doing so good. So good."
When the contraction finally eases, you collapse back against the pillows, panting. Your eyes find his, and they're filled with tears.
"I tried to call you," you whisper. "I tried so many times—"
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He cups your face with his free hand, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheek. "But I'm here now. I'm not leaving. I promise."
"Mr. Jackson," Dr. Matthews says from the foot of the bed, and he looks over to see her smiling. "Glad you could make it. Your wife is doing beautifully, but we're moving fast. She's at nine centimeters now. It won't be long before it's time to push."
Nine centimeters. The baby is coming. His daughter is coming. The reality of it hits him all at once, and suddenly he can't breathe. This is happening. This is really happening.
"Michael?" Your voice pulls him back, and he looks down at you. "Stay with me."
"Always," he promises, and he means it with every fiber of his being.
The next hour is the longest and shortest of his life. The contractions come relentlessly, each one making you grip his hand and cry out in pain, and every sound you make feels like a knife to his heart. He stays right beside you, never letting go, whispering encouragement and love and promises.
"You're so strong," he tells you. "So incredibly strong. I'm in awe of you, baby. Completely in awe."
"I can't," you gasp at one point, tears streaming down your face. "Michael, I can't do this—"
"Yes, you can," he says firmly, leaning close so you can see nothing but his eyes. "Yes, you can. You're already doing it. You're bringing our daughter into the world, and you're amazing."
"It hurts—"
"I know, baby. I know. But you're so close. So close. And I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
You nod, drawing strength from his presence, and when the next contraction comes you breathe through it with him, your eyes locked on his.
Finally, finally Dr. Matthews looks up from where she's been monitoring everything and smiles.
"Alright, Miss Jackson," she says. "It's time. On the next contraction, I want you to push."
Terror and determination flash across your face in equal measure. Michael leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead.
"You can do this," he whispers. "I believe in you. I love you so much."
"I love you too," you breathe, and then the contraction comes and you're pushing.
Michael has never felt more helpless or more amazed in his entire life. He holds your hand, supports your back, whispers encouragement, but there's nothing he can actually do except be there, be present and be your anchor.
"That's it," Dr. Matthews encourages. "Good push. Rest now, and we'll go again with the next one."
You collapse back, panting, and Michael wipes your forehead with a cool cloth the nurse hands him.
"You're doing so good," he tells you. "So, so good."
"I can't—I need—"
"What do you need, baby? Tell me what you need."
"Just you," you whisper. "Just you."
His heart clenches. "You have me. You'll always have me."
The next contraction comes, and you push again. And again. And again. Time loses all meaning. There's only this room, this moment, your hand in his and the sound of your breathing and the encouraging words from Dr. Matthews.
"I can see the head," Dr. Matthews says suddenly, and Michael's breath catches. "One more big push, mama. One more and you'll meet your baby."
You look at Michael, and despite the exhaustion and pain written all over your face, there's determination there too. He nods, squeezing your hand.
"One more," he echoes. "You can do this. One more, baby."
The next contraction builds, and you push with everything you have left. Michael watches your face, sees the effort, the strength, the absolute warrior that you are, and he's never loved you more than he does in this moment.
And then—
A cry…
A tiny, indignant, absolutely perfect cry fills the room, and Michael's entire world stops.
"There we go!" Dr. Matthews said
There's movement, quick and efficient, and then Dr. Matthews is lifting a tiny, squirming bundle, and Michael can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare.
His daughter……That's his daughter.
She's tiny and red and covered in vernix and absolutely the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his entire life. Her little face is scrunched up, her mouth open in another cry, and she has dark hair….so much dark hair, plastered to her head.
"Would you like to cut the cord, Mr Jackson?" Dr. Matthews asks, and Michael nods numbly.
His hands are shaking so badly he's not sure he can do it, but the nurse guides him, and then he's cutting the cord that connected his daughter to you for nine months, officially bringing her into the world as her own person.
"Here she is," Dr. Matthews says, and then she's placing the baby on your chest, and you're crying and laughing and looking down at your daughter with so much love it radiates from you. Michael can't move, he can't breathe, he can only stand there, tears streaming down his face, staring at the two people who mean more to him than anything else in the universe.
"Michael," you say softly, looking up at him with tears in your eyes. "Look at her. Look at our daughter."
He finally moves, leaning down to get a closer look. The baby, Aliana, has stopped crying, her little eyes trying to open, her tiny hand curling into a fist against your chest. She's perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"Hi, baby girl," he whispers, his voice breaking. "Hi, Aliana. I'm your daddy."
As if she recognizes his voice, Aliana turns her head slightly toward him, and Michael loses it completely. He buries his face against your shoulder, sobbing, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what just happened. You're crying too, one hand on Aliana, the other reaching up to run through Michael's hair.
"We did it," you whisper. "We have a daughter."
"We have a daughter," he repeats, lifting his head to look at both of you. "God, baby, you were incredible. You're incredible."
He kisses you then, soft and reverent, tasting salt from both your tears and his. When he pulls back, he looks down at Aliana again, and his hand, still trembling, reaches out to gently touch her tiny head.
"She has your hair," you say with a watery laugh.
And she does. Even wet and matted, Michael can see the curls already forming. His curls. On his daughter.
"She's perfect," he breathes. "You're both perfect."
The nurses bustle around, doing whatever medical things they need to do, but Michael barely notices. His entire world has narrowed to this bed, to you and Aliana, to this moment that he knows he'll remember for the rest of his life.
Eventually, they need to take Aliana to clean her up and do the newborn checks. Michael watches like a hawk as they weigh her and he takes notes seven pounds, three ounces, and her height nineteen inches, and wrap her in a soft pink blanket. The moment they're done, he's there, and when the nurse asks if he'd like to hold her, he nods eagerly.
She places Aliana in his arms, and Michael's breath catches all over again.
She's so small. So impossibly small. Her entire body fits in his arms, her head cradled in the crook of his elbow, and she's looking up at him with dark, unfocused eyes that will probably change color but right now look just like his.
"Hi, princess," he whispers, and his voice is thick with emotion. "Hi, my beautiful girl. I'm your daddy, and I love you so much already. So, so much."
Aliana makes a small sound, her little mouth moving, and Michael laughs through his tears.
"Yeah? You have something to say already?" He looks over at you, and you're watching them with such love and tenderness that it makes his heart ache. "She's perfect, baby. She's absolutely perfect."
"She is," you agree softly. "Bring her here?"
Michael carefully walks over to the bed, mindful of every step, and sits down beside you. Together, you both look down at your daughter, at this tiny person you created together, and the moment feels sacred.
"Aliana Grace Jackson," you say softly, testing out the full name you'd decided on weeks ago.
"Our little light," Michael adds, remembering the meaning of her name. He leans down and presses the softest kiss to Aliana's forehead. "Welcome to the world, baby girl. We've been waiting for you."
-——————————————-
~ Three Days Later ~
The house has never felt more like a home than it does right now.
Michael carries the car seat through the front door with the kind of careful precision usually reserved for handling priceless artifacts. You follow slowly, still sore and moving carefully, one hand pressed to your stomach. The past three days in the hospital were a blur of feeding schedules, diaper changes, nurses checking vitals, and very little sleep. But now you're home. Your family is home.
"Careful on the step," Michael says for the third time, even though you've lived in this house for years and know exactly where the step is.
"I've got it," you assure him, but you're smiling. His overprotectiveness, which ramped up considerably during pregnancy, has reached new heights since Aliana's birth.
He sets the car seat down in the living room with exaggerated gentleness, then immediately kneels beside it to check on Aliana. She's fast asleep, her tiny face peaceful, her little chest rising and falling with each breath. Michael just stares at her, that look of absolute wonder on his face that hasn't faded since the moment she was born.
"I can't believe she's really here," he murmurs, reaching in to adjust her blanket even though it doesn't need adjusting. "I can't believe she's ours."
"Believe it," you say, easing yourself onto the couch with a slight wince. Everything still hurts, but it's a good hurt. A reminder of what your body accomplished.
Michael notices the wince immediately and is at your side in an instant. "Are you okay? Do you need your pain medication? Should you be sitting? Maybe you should lie down—"
"Michael," you interrupt gently, taking his hand. "I'm okay. Just a little sore."
"You should be in bed," he insists. "You just had a baby three days ago. You should be resting."
"I've been in bed for three days," you point out. "I want to sit on my own couch in my own house."
He looks like he wants to argue, but then Aliana makes a small sound in her sleep and both of you immediately turn to look at her. She settles again without waking, and Michael lets out a breath.
"She's so small," he says, not for the first time. "How is she so small?"
"She's actually pretty average sized," you remind him with amusement. "Seven pounds is normal."
"She's tiny," he insists. "She's the tiniest thing I've ever seen."
You watch as he carefully unbuckles her from the car seat and lifts her out, cradling her against his chest with practiced ease. For someone who was terrified of holding her wrong in the hospital, he's taken to fatherhood with remarkable natural skill. He's changed diapers, done skin to skin contact, learned to swaddle, and mastered the art of the gentle bounce that seems to soothe her when she's fussy.
"I canceled everything for the next month," he announces, settling into the armchair with Aliana still sleeping peacefully against him.
You blink, "Everything?"
"Everything," he confirms. "All the meetings, the rehearsals, the studio sessions. I told them I'm not available."
"Michael, you can't just—"
"Yes, I can," he interrupts firmly. "And I did. My family is more important than any meeting or recording session. You need help, and I'm going to be here to help you. End of discussion."
There's no point arguing when he gets that stubborn set to his jaw. Besides, you'd be lying if you said you weren't relieved. The thought of him leaving, of being alone with a newborn when you're still recovering, was terrifying even if you hadn't wanted to admit it.
"Okay," you say softly. "Thank you."
His expression softens. "You don't need to thank me. This is exactly where I want to be."
And he means it. Over the next few days, Michael proves just how serious he was about being present. He barely leaves your side, anticipating your needs before you even voice them. When Aliana wakes crying in the middle of the night, he's up immediately, changing her diaper and bringing her to you for feeding before you've even fully woken up. He makes sure you're eating enough, drinking enough water, taking your medications on time. He does laundry, tidies the nursery, and somehow manages to make the house run smoothly while also being completely devoted to you and Aliana.
But it's more than just practical help. It's the way he looks at you.
You catch him staring sometimes, when he thinks you're not paying attention. There's something in his eyes that wasn't there before, a deeper appreciation, a profound respect, an attraction that seems to have intensified rather than diminished after watching you give birth.
"You're beautiful," he tells you one evening, and you actually laugh.
"Michael, I haven't showered in two days, I'm wearing a milk-stained shirt, and I'm pretty sure there's spit-up in my hair."
"You're beautiful," he repeats firmly. "You're the mother of my child. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
The way he says it, the way he looks at you, makes you believe him.
It's late one night, or early one morning, time has lost all meaning in the newborn haze, when you're sitting in the nursery's rocking chair, nursing Aliana. She's feeding contentedly, her little hand resting against your breast, her eyes closed in that blissful state babies get when they're eating.
You hear soft footsteps and look up to see Michael in the doorway. He's wearing pajama pants and nothing else, his hair mussed from sleep, and he's looking at you with such tenderness it makes your breath catch.
"Hey," you whisper. "Did we wake you?"
"No," he says quietly, moving into the room. "I just... I woke up and you weren't there, and I wanted to check on you."
He pulls the ottoman over and sits down in front of you, close enough that his knees bracket yours. For a moment, he just watches Aliana nurse, that look of wonder still on his face.
"I love watching you do this," he admits softly.
"Yeah?" You smile, running your fingers through Aliana's soft curls, just like his.
"Yeah." He reaches out, his hand settling on your thigh, thumb stroking back and forth in a soothing rhythm. "There's something about it. Seeing you feed her, knowing you're giving her everything she needs... I don't know. It does something to me."
There's nothing suggestive in his tone or his gaze. It's pure, this feeling was reverent. He's not looking at you with lust but with something deeper, admiration, love, a bone deep appreciation for what your body can do.
"Come here," you say softly, and he looks up questioningly. "Behind me."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he moves carefully, settling onto the rocking chair behind you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, his legs on either side of yours, his chest against your back. His arms come around you, one hand resting on your hip, the other gently covering yours where it supports Aliana.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your ear.
"Perfect," you breathe, leaning back against him.
And it is perfect. The three of you together in the quiet darkness, the only sound Aliana's soft suckling and the gentle creak of the rocking chair. Michael's warmth surrounds you, his chin resting on your shoulder so he can watch your daughter nurse.
"I never knew I could feel like this," he whispers. "This complete. Like everything I've ever done, everywhere I've ever been, was leading to this moment. To you…..to her and…..to us."
Tears prick your eyes. "Michael..."
"I mean it." His arms tighten around you slightly. "I've performed for millions of people. I've traveled the world. I've done things most people only dream about. But nothing, nothing, compares to this. To sitting here with you while you feed our daughter. This is everything."
You turn your head slightly, enough to press a kiss to his jaw. "I love you."
"I love you too," he says. "Both of you. So much it scares me sometimes."
Aliana finishes nursing and you carefully adjust your clothing before lifting her to your shoulder to burp her. Michael's hand immediately comes up to support her back, and together you gently pat and rub until she lets out a tiny burp that makes you both smile.
"Good girl," Michael coos softly. "That's our good girl."
He takes her from you, cradling her against his bare chest, and stands to walk her around the nursery. You watch as he sways gently, murmuring to her in that soft voice he reserves just for her, and your heart feels so full it might burst.
"You're a natural at this," you tell him.
He looks over, smiling. "You think so?"
"I know so. You're an amazing father, Michael."
His eyes get suspiciously shiny. "I'm trying. I want to be everything she needs. Everything you both need."
"You already are," you assure him.
He walks back over, and you stand carefully, your body still protesting the movement. Michael notices immediately, his free hand coming to steady you.
"You okay baby?" he asks.
"Yeah…this is okay, let’s go," you confirm.
Together, you walk back to the bedroom. Michael lays Aliana in the bassinet beside your bed, tucking her in with infinite care. She's already asleep again, her little face peaceful, and you both stand there for a moment just watching her breathe.
"I can't stop looking at her," Michael admits. "Every time I think I've memorized every detail, I find something new. Like this little freckle on her ear, or the way her eyebrows furrow when she's dreaming."
"I know," you say softly. "I do the same thing."
He turns to you, cupping your face in his hands. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you for her. Thank you for making me a father. Thank you for everything."
You kiss him, slow and sweet, and when you pull back you're both smiling.
"Come on," you say. "Let's try to get a couple hours of sleep before she wakes up again."
You climb into bed carefully, and Michael immediately pulls you close, arranging you so your head is on his chest, his arm around you, his hand resting on your hip. It's how you've slept for years, but it feels different now it’s more precious and more meaningful.
"Michael?" you murmur, already half asleep.
"Hmm?"
"I'm really glad you're here."
His arm tightens around you. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
And as you drift off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of your husband and the soft sounds of your daughter breathing nearby, you think that this quiet, ordinary, extraordinary moment, is what happiness really means.
-——————————————-
The days blur together in the most beautiful way.
Michael keeps his promise about not leaving. He's there for every feeding, every diaper change, every moment of fussiness and every peaceful sleep. He learns Aliana's different cries, the hungry cry versus the tired cry versus the "I just want to be held" cry.
He discovers that she loves being sung to, that his voice soothes her better than anything else, and you frequently find him walking around the house with her in his arms, singing softly.
Sometimes it's lullabies, sometimes it's songs he's working on and sometimes it's just nonsense melodies he makes up on the spot. Aliana doesn't care, She just loves hearing her daddy's voice.
You're sitting on the couch one afternoon, finally feeling a bit more like yourself, when Michael comes downstairs with Aliana. She's awake and alert, her dark eyes, which are definitely staying dark, just like his, looking around with that unfocused curiosity of newborns.
"Someone wanted to see Mama," Michael says, settling beside you on the couch.
"Oh, did she?" You smile, reaching for her, but Michael shifts slightly.
"Actually, I was thinking..." He looks almost shy. "Could we just... sit like this for a bit? The three of us?"
"Of course."
He arranges you so you're tucked against his side, and he cradles Aliana so she's resting against both of you. His free arm comes around your shoulders, holding you close, and you rest your head on his shoulder.
"This is my favorite thing," he admits quietly. "Just holding both of you. Having you close."
"You're very clingy lately," you tease gently.
"Is it too much?" He sounds genuinely concerned. "I don't want to smother you, I just—"
"It's not too much," you interrupt, tilting your head to kiss his jaw. "I love it. I love having you here, having you close. Don't stop."
He relaxes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Good. Because I don't think I could stop even if I wanted to."
Aliana makes a small sound, and you both look down at her. She's looking up at Michael, and slowly, so slowly, her little mouth curves into what might be a smile. It's probably gas, you know that, but Michael gasps like he's just witnessed a miracle.
"Did you see that?" he whispers urgently. "She smiled at me. Baby, she smiled!"
"I saw," you say, even though you're pretty sure it was just a reflex. But the joy on Michael's face is too precious to diminish with facts about infant development.
"Hi, princess," he coos, his voice going soft and high in that way people's voices do around babies. "Are you smiling at daddy? Are you happy?"
Aliana makes another sound, and Michael looks at you with such pride and happiness that you can't help but laugh.
"She knows you," you tell him. "She knows her daddy's voice."
"Yeah?" He looks back down at Aliana, his finger gently stroking her cheek. "You know me, baby girl? you know daddy loves you more than anything in the whole world?"
Watching them together never gets old. The way Michael looks at Aliana, the gentleness in his touch, the absolute devotion in every interaction it's everything you dreamed of and more.
"I want more," Michael says suddenly, and you blink.
"More what?"
"More of this." He gestures vaguely at the three of you. "More babies, more moments like this. I know we should probably wait, and we haven't even discussed it, but I just... I want a big family with you. I want our house full of kids and laughter and chaos."
Your heart swells. "How many are we talking?"
"I don't know. Four? Five? However many you're willing to give me." He looks at you, and there's hope and love and a little bit of fear in his eyes. "Is that crazy?"
"A little," you admit, but you're smiling. "But I love it. I love the idea of more babies with you. Of giving Aliana siblings and….filling this house with our family."
"Yeah?" His face lights up.
"Yeah. But maybe let's get through the newborn stage first before we start planning the next one."
He laughs, pulling you closer. "Deal."
Aliana starts fussing, and you recognize the signs she's getting hungry again. Michael hands her over reluctantly, and you get situated to nurse her. He watches for a moment, that look on his face again, then stands.
"I'm going to make you a snack," he announces. "You need to keep your strength up."
"Michael, I'm fine—"
"Humor me," he says, already heading to the kitchen.
He returns a few minutes later with fruit, cheese, crackers, and a large glass of water. He sets it all on the coffee table within easy reach, then settles beside you again, his hand automatically coming to rest on your thigh.
"Thank you," you say softly.
"Always," he replies, and you know he means it.
This is your life now. This beautiful, exhausting, overwhelming, perfect life. Late night feedings and early morning wake ups. Spit up on your clothes and the constant smell of baby lotion. Michael's arms around you and Aliana's soft weight in your arms. The three of you together, learning and growing and becoming a family.
And you wouldn't change a single thing
Later that night, after Aliana is asleep in her bassinet and you're both finally in bed, Michael pulls you close. His hand slides under your shirt, resting on the soft skin of your stomach, still rounded, still healing, marked now with the evidence of what your body accomplished.
"I love you," he whispers into the darkness. "I love you so much. Thank you for giving me everything."
❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ thrill her night.
⸝⸝ thriller era michael jackson x fem reader
│ summary: its halloween night, and your best friend janet has the perfect night planned. that is, unless you get caught sneaking out. unfortunately, fate does not seem to be on your side tonight!
│ byi: 18+ (smut - nsfw.)
│ a/n: im so sorry this fic came out way later than i wanted it to augh (don't work holiday weekends they're actual hell)
│ w/c: 6.0K (sorry got carried away with plot)
You and Janet both had your heels in your hands as you carefully crept down the stairs of the Hayvenhurst mansion. The house was fairly quiet except for the whole movie gathering in the den where everyone was watching scary movies. It was Halloween night, and you two had planned everything perfectly, just like last year.
Just freedom, music, and a wild Beverly Hills party on Janet's itinerary.
You reached the bottom step, exchanging triumphant whoops, when a familiar voice cut through the darkness.
"And just where do you two think you're going?"
Katherine Jackson stood at the hallway entrance in her robe, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Janet froze. You tried to hide your heels behind your back.
"Momma! Hey! We we're just..." Janet quickly shot you a look
"Going Trick or Treating?" you offered weakly, flashing your most innocent smile.
Katherine's eyebrow arched higher. "At this hour? In those costumes?" She shook her head, clearly unimpressed.
Katherine sighed, cuaght in her own trap, she figured the best thing to do was beg. "Momma, please, we'll be fine on our own. You know me."
Katherine gave her a long, knowing look. "That's right. I do know you. Which means you're going with one of your brothers."
Janet sighed dramatically, still pleading, "Mommaaa, pleaseee—"
Katherine shook her head and started to walk toward the den. "Marlon! Come here for a second sweetheart!"
"If they're going to that party I said I'm not taking them!" Marlon called back from the den, sounding thoroughly uninterested.
Katherine sighed again and turned. "Michael!"
Michael sighed, throwing his head back agaisnt the couch cushions, "Why's it always gotta be me..." he muttered, but he still dragged himself up.
He trudged into the hallway with a plain white tee, plaid pajama pants, and socked feet. "Yes?"
"Change your shirt and drive the girls to their party," Katherine said firmly. "They're not going alone."
Michael glanced at you and Janet in your costumes, heels in hand, and let out another soft sigh. "...Ma... I was watching—"
"No arguments," Katherine interrupted gently but decisively. "Go on. And don't wake the whole house up when you return."
Michael gave in with one last resigned look and headed upstairs to change. A few minutes later he came back down in his red and yellow jacket, a cap, and a pair of tinted sunglasses, ready to play reluctant chaperone.
"Oh yeah, real convincing Mike, use the exact same jacket you used for your music video." Janet rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "That's sure to totally not get us caught!"
Michael groaned, yanking the door open, "Can we just go?"
You and Janet excitedly walked down the long driveway to Bill's car, talking distinctively to each other, "Maybe we can just pretend he isn't there." Janet whispered to you.
"You know I can hear you, right?" Michael said dryly from a few steps behind, shoving his hands in his pockets with a sigh.
Janet giggled while you tried to hide your smile. "Come on, he's not that bad, right?" you said, turning around to look at him.
Michael locked eyes with you, and your heart almost came up out of your mouth. He was smiling so genuinely that it made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a second, he looked almost happy to be there.
You never saw Michael as anything more than Janet's older brother. And when he released those two albums, it shifted to your best friend's famous older brother you had absolutely had no chance with. But that didn't mean you weren't like every other girl who had a massive crush on him ever since he became just "Michael Jackson."
But right now, you realized how privileged you were to be as close to him as you were. In his house, going to a party with him, seeing him almost every day, holding conversations, smelling his cologne. You let those thoughts speak your next words for you.
"Yeah… he's not that bad," you added quietly, feeling a flutter in your chest.
Janet watched as you and Michael kept each other's eyes for too long, and interrupted, "Gross!"
You both snapped out of it with a laugh. Michael shook his head, the shy smile still lingering as he opened the car door for you two. "Get in before I change my mind."
"Is this is Janet?" Bill asked, peeking in through the rearview mirror. He had pulled in just by the corner of the driveway, where dozens of other cars piled together. The music coming from inside the house was loud enough to feel the bass in your chest even from the street.
Janet sat up and looked out the window, "Yup! This is it!" She quickly unbuckled her seat belt and tugged on your hand, "Come on girl, we're missing it!"
Michael shook his head, fixing his cap further down to cover his eyes the best he could, "This is so dumb... I'm gonna get recognized."
You giggled, undoing your belt and stepping out of the car with Janet and Michael, "You'll be fine, just... don't do the karaoke or they'll definitely suspect something."
Michael let out a soft laugh despite himself, adjusting the collar of his jacket. "No promises. Let's just get this over with."
Inside the Beverly Hills mansion, the party was in full swing. You and Janet immediately hit the dance floor, laughing and spinning under the flashing lights. Michael hovered near the wall, trying his best to blend in.
If there was one thing about Michael, he was an observer. He watched quietly from the sidelines as you and Janet danced, then his gaze flicked over to the various couples eating each other's faces, the very obvious illegal drug transaction happening next to him. He often wondered why Janet opted to these shit holes when he could get you and her both to way better parties than whatever this was.
He was mid sipping on whatever concoction they were serving in the punch bowl, when he saw you sipping on the exact same thing. The same exact thing that definitely had alcohol in it.
He swiftly pushed through the crowd of bodies all pressed up against each other, mumbling excuse me's and sorries while keeping his head down and voice low, until he was right behind you. You were just nursing on the red plastic cup when someone plucked the drink right out of your hand.
"Hey— What do you think—" You turned around quickly, ready to snap, but the words died in your throat when you saw Michael standing there, cup in hand, looking equal parts concerned and disappointed.
"What do you think you're doing,” he fired back softly, voice low enough for only you to hear over the music. "You're only nineteen. You shouldn't be drinking this."
The alcohol already warming your veins made you pout playfully. "It's just one, Mike. Come on… Like you didn't drink even younger than me." You swayed side to side with your head tucked in.
Michael's expression softened, but he didn’t hand the cup back. Instead, he set it down on a nearby table, his voice still gentle but firm. "That's... That's not the point. C'mon, let's get you some water."
He slid one arm behind you, just barely touching behind your back, guiding you towards the kitchen. You started going reluctantly, turning to look a t him as you walked. "You know, when Katherine asked you to chaperone us, I didn't think you would take it literal."
He gave a small laugh, glancing down at you. "Somebody's gotta keep you out of trouble. Janet's a bad influence, and you…" He paused, voice dropping softer, "well, you're just you."
The kitchen was less crowded, just a few people refilling drinks. Michael found a bottle of water and cracked it open for you, watching carefully as you took a sip. You leaned against the counter, eyes sparkling up at him, the alcohol making you bolder than usual.
"You're cute when you're all protective, you know that?" you teased, reaching out to lightly tug the zipper of his jacket.
His ears flushed pink under the cap. "Stop that," he muttered, but he didn’t move away.
Before he could say anything else, a tall brute in a vampire cape came slugging through the kitchen, clearly drunk and zeroed in on you. He shoulder-checked Michael as he leaned against the counter beside you.
"Ay, sweetheart, why you wasting time with this stiff? Let me show you a real good time." His eyes raked over you.
You smiled shyly, your arms instinctively coming up to wrap around yourself out of uncomfortableness. The guy started blabbing on about his sports cars, how his dad owned multiple dealerships, and how he could "show you a real ride." His breath reeked of alcohol as he leaned in way too close, completely ignoring Michael's presence.
Michael stood there stiff, fists clenched at his sides. He felt the need to intervene. But he also felt that it wasn't his place to do so. You were a grown woman. Still, when the guy leaned in even closer, his hand reaching out like he was about to touch you. Those gross hands who've probably so far down his pants? Heck no. So, by the might in everything in him, he spoke up.
"Hey man, I don't think she's interested." he cut in, voice ever so quiet, almost hesitant. Michael was never one for confrontation, but the sight of that guy making you visibly uncomfortable did a number on him.
The guy laughed, looking Michael up and down. "Buzz off, man. Who the hell are you, her dad? She can speak for herself."
You chimed in, ready to back Michael's claim, "M'sorry but I'm really not interested." You shook your head, uncrossing your arms to back away from him.
Michael swallowed hard, ears burning, but he didn't back off. "She already said she's not interested… so please just leave her alone."
You could see how tense he was—fists still clenched, shoulders tight, like he was ready to run out the door if the chance was given—but he was doing it anyway. For you.
The guy finally acknowledged Michael, for all the wrong reasons. He stood up tall, walking right up to him pressing his broad chest right against Michael. "Yeah? And what if I don't?"
Now, Michael wasn't exactly six feet tall and two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle, but if it's one thing he learned from growing up with four older brothers, he knew how to fight and defend himself.
Michael stayed planted, even as the much bigger guy pressed up against him. He took in a deep breath, and clenched his fist, ready to throw the first swing. Michael was all above confrontation, and definitely, was not a fighter, so when a girl in a flashy pink costume got in between the two of them and forced herself in Michael's line of sight, he nearly sighed a breath of relief.
"Are you—Oh—Oh my gosh, you're Michael Jackson!" She shrieked, pulling out her
The kitchen erupted.
"Michael Jackson?"
"Where?"
"Michael Jackson!"
"It's really him!"
"No way, let's go get an autograph!"
The vampire guy's aggressive stance collapsed instantly. His broad chest pulled back, eyes wide with shock as the crowd surged forward. He finally spoke, almost breaking down. "Michael Jackon... Dude, I'm like your biggest fan!"
Before you could process anything, Michael got sucked into a crowd of people, pushing and shoving to get past you to get to the superstar. The energy in the kitchen had completely flipped from tense standoff to chaotic fan frenzy in seconds.
Michael's eyes widened in panic. He tried to stay calm, even telling other people to mind each other, like trying direct traffic at a broken intersection.
You sunk back further into the crowd, looking for Janet. You tried the empty spots of the house that used to be alive with people bumping to music, when someone caught your wrist from behind.
You whipped around quickly, Janet. "Girl, what on earth is going on in the kitchen?" she asked, eyes wide with confusion and amusement.
You grabbed her hand, breathless. "Some idiot tried to fight Michael, then his cover got blown! The well you know the rest."
Janet's eyes lit up. "Oh my God, come on!"
The both of you bee lined to the door to the mansion, waving Bill down the block. He pulled up quickly, sensing the urgency, "Michael?" Michael, Janet, and you practically dove into the car. "He's still in there! They found him out!"
Bill didn’t need more explanation. He sighed, parking the car, and almost ripped the car door off its hinges before furiously marching into the storm, "I knew this was a bad idea."
A few tense minutes later, Bill re-emerged with a very frazzled Michael in tow. Michael's cap was crooked, his jacket rumpled, and his face was flushed from the attention. Behind them both, the crowd followed like zombies in an apocalypse.
Michael and Bill rushed to the car, Michael sliding into the car between you and Janet, breathing hard.
"Go, Bill. Please," Michael said quietly.
Bill didn't hesitate. He pulled away quickly, leaving the chaos behind.
"What in the world did you girls do?" Bill peeked back into the rearview mirror, all while keeping his eyes on the road.
Janet burst out laughing. "We didn't do anything! Some drunk guy tried to hit on her, Michael stepped in, then someone recognized him and the whole place went crazy!"
You leaned forward, still buzzing from the alcohol and adrenaline. "It was wild, Bill. Michael totally looked like he was about to throw a punch."
Michael sank lower in his seat, ears burning red. "Can we not talk about that part?" he mumbled, but there was a tiny smile tugging at his lips.
Bill just shook his head, chuckling. "I knew this was a bad idea from the start. You two especially are trouble."
The rest of the ride back to Hayvenhurst was filled with you and Janet happily babbling about how fun and chaotic the night had been, with Michael silently sulking in the middle seat.
Janet kicked off her heels by her bedroom door, "Oh my gosh did you see that girl totally flashing Michael?"
You burst out laughing, leaning against the wall in the hallway as you peeled off your own shoes. "I thought he was gonna melt into the floor! Poor baby was so red."
Michael, who had been trailing behind you both with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, let out a mortified groan. "You guys are sick. Sick!" His room was just across from Janet's.
Janet grinned like the cat who got the cream, blowing Michael a kiss before disappearing into her room, "Night Mikey!~"
The door clicked shut, leaving the hallway quiet except for the faint creak of the old mansion settling. Michael nodded to you, and mouthed goodnight, opening the door to his room and slipping inside quietly.
Outside, you stood there for a second, heart racing. Your cheeks still carried a warm blood, however, this time you weren't sure if it was the alcohol doing its thing.
It's no secret to anyone Michael was a cute young guy, not to mention hilarious, talented, gentlemanly, generous, kind, and a whole bunch of other things your buzzed mind didn't want to go digging for. He was, is, the perfect boyfriend. The perfect lover. And, probably, the best love maker.
You shook your head, embarrassed. The cocktail punch was still working its magic, making your thoughts hazy and your body warm. You shook your head, trying to push down the butterflies.
Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward and gently knocked on Michael's door. Your thoughts raced. Crap.
The door opened almost immediately, and Michael stood there in just his t-shirt and pajama pants, looking a bit surprised. "Hey… everything alright?" he whispered, voice low so he wouldn't wake the house.
"I... I just wanted to say thank you again... for sticking up for me at the party." You rubbed your socked feet together and twiddled your fingers. "That was really sweet of you."
Michael gave you that crinkly-eyed smile, leaning against the doorframe. "You don't have to thank me. I wasn't gonna let that guy bother you." He paused, noticing the way you were lingering, but decided not to make it awkward.
You looked up at him through your lashes, the hallway light casting a soft glow on his face. Your voice came out quieter. "...I think you're like—really, really cute, Mike."
Michael's eyes found yours for a second, and he let his head fall to hide the smile he had going on. He shifted his weight, one hand still on the doorframe like he needed the support. "…Thank you. That's… that's real sweet of you to say."
You stepped a little closer, the warmth in your chest spreading lower. The alcohol made everything feel softer around the edges. You reached out and lightly touched the front of his t-shirt, fingers lightly tracing the fabric. "I really mean it. Tonight… the way you stood up for me… it was hot. You're always so sweet, Mike. I've been thinking about it the whole ride back. About... you."
He swallowed hard, those big eyes flicking between your face and your hand on his chest. "You're tipsy..." he murmured.
You furrowed your brows, acting offended, "I am not!"
Michael's lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, but his eyes stayed soft. "Okay… maybe a little," he whispered. He glanced down the hallway like he expected someone to appear any second, then back to you. His hand came up, hesitant, and gently grabbed the top of your head to shake it a little. "You should probably get some sleep. We can… talk tomorrow if you want."
But you didn’t move. You stepped fully into his space, pressing your palm flat against his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.
"I don't want to talk tomorrow," you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes. "I want… to thank you properly. Right now." Your fingers curled into his shirt.
Michael swallowed hard, his hands moving to hover at his sides. He thought hard. He never really had a reason to see you more than Janet's friend. And while yes, you threw your flirty and perverted jokes towards him, you did it to everyone. Including his brothers. Especially if you had been drinking. Now, Michael was never one to take advantage of a woman, especially if she had a drink or two.
His voice was gentle, almost like a plea when he spoke, "I don't… I don't want to take advantage."
"I know what I’m doing, Mike,” you cut in, pulling him just a little closer to your face by his collar, "Come on... can I... thrill your night?" You probably looked so dumb, face flushed with alcohol and nerves, but the way Michael's eyes pleaded with yours told you he didn't think so at all.
He let out a shaky breath, his hand finally coming up to cover yours on his chest. He smirked, looking at you with those earnest, handsome doe eyes. "I'm pretty sure the saying goes—'thrill her night.'"
You rolled your eyes playfully, "Be quiet, dummy." You leaned in and mashed your lips onto his; he kissed you back immediately. One of his hands came behind your back, and the other cupped the back of your head gently, pulling you into him. The kiss deepened fast, and you felt the flutter in your chest spread lower, heat pooling between your thighs. Michael kissed you like he was starving for it, with a growing hunger that made your head spin, and your knees weak enough to the point you were almost sinking to your knees while Michael held you upright.
You tugged at his t-shirt impatiently. He broke the kiss, breathlessly, "...Wow."
You nodded in agreement, and pushed him further into his room, closing the door behind you. The lock turned under your fingers. The rest of the house was quiet, but your heart was pounding loud enough to fill the space.
Michael's back hit the edge of his bed as you kissed him again. His hands came to explore your body with the intentions of photo capturing every detail, so it stayed sharp in his mind. When you tugged insistently at his t-shirt, he broke the kiss just long enough to help you pull it off.
You immediately reattached to his lips like a leech, letting your cool hands explore his warm toned stomach, which flinched at the touch, and his whines that spilled into your connected mouths.
Michael shivered under your fingertips, a soft, breathy sound escaping him as your hands traveled lower. You left his lips again, and he stayed propped up on his elbows watching you take off your costume sweater. All you had left on were your knee-high socks and skirt.
His eyes darkened, that hunger deepening as he drank you in. "You look… unreal," he whispered. He bit his lip as he watched you peel off only your panties, leaving the skirt on for more tease.
Michael's breath hitched in his throat. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the short skirt higher until it bunched around your waist, exposing you completely to him. His long slender fingers felt like heaven on your aching skin.
You let your legs spread slowly, letting him see what now belonged to him. "Oh… baby," he whispered, voice dripping with awe and desire. He tenderly stroked your inner thigh up and down, suppressing the urge to take you right then and there.
Michael got on top of you this time, placing little pepper kisses all over your face, and jaw, then your neck. You giggled, threading your fingers through his curls. He pulled back from you, looking down at the space between your legs, "Can... Can I try something?"
You nodded eagerly, still buzzing from the excitement and the heat between you. "Anything, Mike."
He smiled, more so to himself, and kissed down your body slowly—soft, open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your stomach, your hips. When he reached your spread thighs, he settled between them steadily.
Michael looked up at you with those big, earnest doe eyes one more time, then leaned in.
He hesitantly let his tongue drag slowly from your entrance all the way up to your little nub in one long, wet stripe. He was hooked. He latched onto you with his warm wet mouth, and he moaned deeply against you, the wonderful vibration sending sparks through your core. "You taste so sweet,” he whispered. Then he really went for it.
He ate you out with focused and hungry devotion. His lips sealed around your swollen bundle of nerves, sucking gently, then flicking it teasingly with the tip of his tongue. He wrapped his hands around your thighs, ensuring they wouldn't close on him, and so that he had something to grab onto.
The heavenly sounds you sang went straight to the bulge straining in his soft pajama pants. He was helplessly humping the mattress like a dog in rut, desperate for any friction while he devoured you. You scent was intoxicating, like the pheromones you were releasing into the room controlled him. Michael's tongue never stopped—lapping, sucking, flicking your nub with wet, obscene sounds that filled the room.
"Ohhh... Mike!" Your hands flew to the back of his head, pushing him further into you, all while you rocked your hips against him. He groaned in bliss, his thoughts truly going blank, all focused on the absolute intensity and heat of the moment. He was ravenous.
Your thighs trembled around his head. "Mike, right there—don't stop—I'm—" Your back arched violently off the bed, fingers tightening painfully in his curls as you came hard, gushing on his tongue and fingers. Michael kept licking and sucking you through every it all, lapping up everything like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, only gentling when you started to squirm from overstimulation.
He finally pulled back, face shiny with your juices, lips swollen, breathing ragged. Sitting back on his knees, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand with a smile. "Would you believe me if I said that was the first time I did that?"
You let out a breathless laugh, still flushed. "If that truly was your first time, then you're a natural." He looked so handsome, a fresh sheen of sweat covering his chest and face. You just wanted to eat him up. Your eyes darkened as your beckoned him over, "Mike, come here."
He obeyed with no question, crawling back up your body, and capturing you in a kiss to taste your own self on his tongue. Michael's tongue tangled with yours, sharing your flavor as his hard self pressed hot and heavy against your inner thigh. You reached down between you, slipping your hand into his pj pants, wrapping your fingers around his length. He was warm, hard, and so soft. You slowly stroked once upwards from base to tip. He whimpered into your mouth, hips bucking into your hand.
"Baby… please," he whispered, desperate.
You bit your lip, smiling sweetly, "Please what?" You teased, squeezing the tip of him softly.
He groaned, head falling to the crook of your neck, hands bracing on either side of your head while he struggled to remain whatever sanity he had left. "You know what."
"Say it, Mike,' you whispered. The way he was shaking above you—equal parts desperate and still trying his best to remain respectful—made your heart swell with something softer. "Tell me what you want."
He lifted his head just enough to look at you. Those big eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed dark. "I… I want you," he breathed, the words barely audible. "...Want to be inside you. Please, pretty baby… let me make you feel good."
You nodded, releasing him from your heavenly torture, "Okay angel."
He backed up from you, sitting on his knees again to pull his pjs pants down enough to free himself. You watched him do it, eyes darkening with hunger as he carefully grabbed himself with such gentle reverence. He was so pretty—curls sticking to the sweat on his forehead, chest rising and falling deeply, and the way he was trying to avoid eye contact while you were totally checking him out.
"Stop looking at me like that," he whispered, failing to hide the little smile spreading across the face.
"Like what?" you teased again, propping yourself on your elbows to get a better view of him, "It's not my fault you're so pretty."
Michael's shook his head lightly, but that shy smile grew as he crawled back over you. "Shut up."
He hovered there for a second, his cock lightly kissing your inner thigh for a second, before lining himself up.
"M'gonna put it inside, 'kay?" he whispered, looking at you. But at this point, he might just be seeing it out loud to remind himself what was happening.
You nodded eagerly, whispering breathlessly, "Okay." Now it felt real. You were about to make love with musical sensation Michael Jackson. What would the tabloids say?
With one hand braced beside your head and the other gently holding your hip, he pushed forward.
Your brows furrowed when he tried to push forward, the pressure building at your lips bordering on slightly painful. You drew in a breath, trying to tough it out, watching as he struggled to push inside.
Michael finally looked down where you two were touching, confused. "...It's not—I'm... It won't—" his cheeks burned as he tried again—gentle but unsuccessful. "I don't know why it's not… I'm trying—"
He eventually looked up at you, pleading, "....Help me?"
You nodded, fingers wrapping around his length, guiding the tip back to your entrance. "Try again," you whispered. "Slow."
Michael pushed forward once more, this time with your help. "Okay..." The head finally caught and slid inside you with ease, stretching you open to accommodate the size.
He gasped at the warm and wet tight heat enveloped him, "Oh… baby," he breathed, voice trembling. "Y—You feel—"
You finally released the breath you didn't even know you were holding, "Fuck—Michael..."
The stretch burned so good as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips were finally flush against yours. Michael's eyes squeezed shut when he finally bottomed out, a stifled groan slipping out of him. His arms shook where they braced on either side of your head, little did you know he was actively fighting himself to not finish right inside you already.
A tiny bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he held perfectly still. Concern flooded your senses, and you turned your face to look at him, "You okay?"
Michael nodded quickly, eyes still squeezed shut. "Y-yeah… just— you feel too good," he whimpered. He pulled back from you to look where the two of you were perfectly connected, which was a huge mistake on his behalf.
The sight of himself buried deep inside your tight, glistening sex made his stomach flutter uncontrollably, and the little coil in his stomach almost sprung free. The size comparison to your little hole attempting to sheath him made his thoughts run wild. His voice cracked, "...Oh..."
Michael shook his head, trying to think of the saddest things possible. He hooked your legs over his shoulders earning a gasp from you from the sudden movement. "Baby I... I need to move, or I don't think I'm going to last like this..."
He trapped his lower lip between his teeth when he started moving, slow rolls of his hips, sliding easily inside you. His tip was perfectly kissing that sweet spongey spot inside you, the one that made your toes curl behind his ears.
You shook your head slowly back and forth, so lost in the sensation you could hardly speak. "Ohhh... Michael!" You slid your hand between the both of you to firmly press circles on your little bundle of nerves, the dual sensation burning a blissful hole right in the middle of your stomach.
Michael's lips parted slightly as he watched you, the way your breasts bounced upwards so adorably, the way your juices covered his length and his pubic area like some dirty claim to him. He reveled in the way you made those cute noises that made him go crazy for more.
Feeling a sudden boost of confidence, he leaned forward, bracing his hands at the sides of your waist, and latched onto one of your breasts with his mouth.
His warm, wet tongue swirled around your little nub before he sucked it gently into his mouth. You cried out, hands flying upwards to clutch his curls, "Mike— oh God, yes—!" you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair and holding him there. The gentle pull on his hair made him moan helplessly against you, those sweet vibrations doing terrible things to you.
Michael pulled back just enough to look at you, lips shiny, "Baby... My family— They're gonna hear you..." He teased with a small smile, placing his hand over your mouth gently.
You rolled your eyes playfully and pushed his hand away, "But you make me feel so good pretty baby..."
Michael blushed, nuzzling his face into your neck where he began to place open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. He was so close, the way you were squeezing him and sucking him in each time he drove backwards activated the muscles down there that it was soon time to release.
Michael breathed heavily into your neck, "You feel... like heaven—"
His thrusts grew erratic, short and desperate as he chased his release. He pulled back to look between the both of you, before looking into your eyes again, "Where... Where do you want me?"
"Inside," you gasped immediately, your legs locked around his neck, pulling him in deep.
Michael's eyes fluttered shut at your words, a broken whimper escaping him, "But—"
You cut him off, cupping his face gently, "I'm on the pill. S'fine."
He nodded weakly, enveloping you in a bear hug essentially folding you in half. "I'm— Gonna come..." he whined against your neck, voice cracking.
"Come on, angel," you gasped, clenching around him. "Fill me up— please—"
It was all so much for him. Your tight heat begged for him to spill inside, and how much of a gentleman would he be if he denied her lady such a thing? Michael buried himself to the hilt, his whole body shuddering as he came hard. Thick ropes expelled from him as they painted your insides a creamy white. With each pulse he whimpered into your neck where your hair covered him like a veil.
The feeling of him letting loose inside you made that coil inside you burn hot and snap beautifully. Your orgasm crashed over you in intense waves, walls fluttering and milking him for everything he had. Your legs trembled over his shoulders, a muffled cry escaping you as buried your face in his neck.
When the euphoric moment finally ebbed, he carefully lowered your legs, kissing your calves on the way down. He pulled out with a soft hiss, the view of his length and your heat coated in both your slick and his spend almost made him ready for round two. Instead, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and collapsed beside you. Two seconds in he remembered his manners and jumped up, sliding to the bathroom to retrieve a damp cloth to clean you.
He was so gentle, almost reverent, as he wiped you clean, murmuring soft apologies when you twitched. "There." He folded the cloth neatly, patting your hip gently, "All clean." He leaned down and kiss your thigh where there was already a forming bruise where he gripped you too hard. "Sorry 'bout that..."
You smiled sleepily, twirling a loose strand of your hair. "Worth it."
Michael smiled, shaking his head, crawling back on to the bed, pulling you into his arms and tucking you against his chest under the covers. You nuzzled your face comfortably into his neck, inhaling the scent of him. His heavenly cologne and the light musk and sweat from earlier activities.
"...Mmm, you smell really good angel face."
Michael let out a soft, groan slash whine. "Stop it, you know what you're doing." he whispered, pressing a small kiss to your hair.
That night you fell comfortably asleep in his arms, safe from the quarrels of whatever previous troubles that had been building up. Because Michael really had a way of licking the slate clean.
The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains of the Hayvenhurst kitchen. Marlon and Janet were up early, perched at the large kitchen island, picking at plates of eggs and toast while chatting in low voices.
Michael padded downstairs in his pajama pants and a loose t-shirt, hair still a wild mess from sleep, eyes half-lidded. He made a beeline for the freezer, still remaining polite, "Morning." He pulled out a tub of his favorite ice cream inspecting the box carefully.
Janet glanced up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face the second she saw him. She took a slow sip of her juice, eyes sparkling with knowing delight.
"So, Michael... Someone had a thrilling night," she said sweetly, giving the biggest smile her face would allow.
Michael froze, ice cream in his hand, back still facing his siblings. His entire face burned in mere seconds.
Janet giggled, nudging her brother with her elbow, "Right, Marlon, you heard it?"
Marlon stopped with his fork halfway in his mouth, looking between Janet and Michael. Utterly confused, he spoke, "Huh?"
Michael snatched the entire tub, clutched it to his chest like a lifeline, and bolted for the stairs without another word—nearly tripping over his own socked feet in his haste. The sound of his door slamming upstairs sealed the deal.
Marlon blinked slowly, fork settling on the plate. "...What the hell was that about?"
Janet just burst out laughing, covering her mouth as she shook her head. "Oh, nothing. Eat your eggs, Marlon."
•!!•°*🩰Pervy!Michael who allowed you to get comfortable in his bed and fall asleep while he finished the movie by himself. Occasionally taking glances underneath your gown and seeing pink lace
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who couldn’t resist the urge. Cutting off the lights in his bedroom before unbuttoning his jeans and exposing himself, watching his precum roll down his shaft—just feeling the cool air brush past his tip made him shiver with sensitivity
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who moved your hair out of the way to get a better glimpse at you, tucking your hair behind your ear while his dominant hand did all the dirty work. Stroking himself from his base and back up to the tip, showing himself extra attention in the more sensitive spots before stopping to prevent getting too loud
•!!•°*🩰Pervy!Michael who has been secretly using you as inspiration to orgasm for the past three months. Always stealing you away from his sister just to have alone time with you. Watching you from the distance and playing the innocent role
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who fantasized about how good you taste in between your legs. Thinking about the night he overheard you talking about how you watched porn and got so turned on watching the woman receive oral from her partner
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who had his head pressed into his headboard still masturbating with you right next to him. Mouth slightly open and breathing harder than usual, eyes closed as he imagined you on top of him—riding him hard and kissing all over his lips and neck
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who had a bad habit of collecting a pair of your underwear whenever you came over. Almost getting caught the last time by you, creeping out the room .5 seconds before you walked in to change
•!!•°*🩰Pervy!Michael who had now achieved his first second orgasm and didn’t even attempt to stop. His cum shot out and he continued to keep going as he stared at your beautiful face. Fantasizing about your lips touching his and how you’d look with your lips wrapped around his dick
•!!•°*🩰Pervy!Michael who was whimpering and whispering whatever came to his mind when it came to you. Saying things to you that he’d never be able to do during the day. How badly he needed you and felt pathetic he had to do things like this just to feel relieved from his desires
•!!•°*🩰Pervy!Michael who had woken you up with his sweet whimpering and stuttering through his hot tears. The loud noises his hand made with each stroke , hand covered in his own fluids
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who was so embarrassed that you had caught him red handed. Little did he know you were into some of the same kinks as he was. Instead of being grossed out you were turned on by it, encouraging him to keep going for your own pleasures. Kissing his ear gently and rubbing his chest while you encouraged him to keep going
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who watched you undress and expose your chest, allowing him to use it as inspiration to chase his orgasm. Grabbing your breast and dragging your nipple across his mouth and pulling it away just before he could fully enjoy the experience, watching his face grow with desperation and on the verge of crying
•!!•°*🩰 Pervy!Michael who had finally came three times before you allowed him to even touch you. Lying against the headboard and allowing him to suck your nipples while still masturbating. Taking breaks to catch his breath just to refer to you as things like “baby girl” or “angel”. Begging for your forgiveness for doing something so wrong right in your face. Listening to your moans get louder as he brought you to your own peak just from his oral fixation
•!!•°*🩰Pervy!Michael who was surprised that you requested for him to cum on your face, making him masturbate harder than he ever had as he watched it shoot all over your tongue and various areas of your mouth. Each ejection feeling better than the first. Having to cover his mouth to mask the overstimulating orgasm he just had
•!!•°*🩰Pervy!Michael who immediately grabbed you by your waist and cried into your abdomen with his hands around your waist while you rubbed the back of his head and soothed his crying. Accepting his multiple apologies and kissing his lips as a sign of forgiveness
Im a firm believer that michael was a huge pervert. The type of man to drop something purposely so you’d bend over—then he’d fake hump you from behind.
like that time you were immersed in your book on the couch—wearing that tight scrap you called a skirt, he’d come up from behind—and shove his face right between your ass, earning a gasp from you.
“m’sorry, baby—“ he’d start, placing both hands on each cheek, gripping and squeezing at your flesh. “god—this booty, its so perfect” you tried to be annoyed but in reality you loved him like this. He then placed a gentle kiss on your left ass cheek, earning a giggle from you.
or that time he begged you to sit on his face. “mama, please I promise it’ll be quick—just wanna feel you.” he loves feeling your pussy all over his face. “but michael, what if I hurt you—“ you’d start, he’d quickly reassure you tho.
he loves your thighs so much, the way they stretched out whatever pants you wore—it was intoxicating to him. He especially missed you when he was on tour, those lonely nights in his hotel room.
“oh god—“ he moaned out, speeding up his strokes. He’d imagine you, a whiny mess as he licked up your pussy—thighs crushing his head. “need you so bad, mama.” he whines, hips bucking up to meet his hand—throwing his head back as he spilled all over his stomach.
he loved doing little perverted things, so he could sneak a glance at you. Like when he’d put things way up high in the cabinet so—you had to stand on your tip toes to grab it, skirt riding up the curve of your ass. He’d be behind you in an instant, “here—let me help you, girl.” he’d grab whatever it was, handing it to you then place a firm smack on your ass. “michael..”
oh and you wearing skirts was his holy grail. You’d be sitting beside him—watching a movie on the couch, thighs exposed. He couldn’t help but look over a couple times, pushing up his hips to adjust his boner. You’d catch it pretty quickly—giving him a look. “m’sorry baby, you just look so good in those skirts—driving me wild, mama.” he started. you had him completely wrapped around your finger.
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ur writing is the reason I wake up in the morning (xoxo 💋) dangerous era!michael getting jealous when martin bashir comes to interview them at neverland ranch and he kept staring at youngerwife!reader. the smut, tension, everythinggg!!! tysmmmm :))))💗💗
tgs ◞ dom!michael, sub!reader, black fem reader, neverland ranch, married, established relationship, smut, martin bashir mentioned, use of ‘y/n’, possessiveness, jealousy, hint of ‘daddy’ kink, age gap (reader is 24), young wife reader
The grandfather clock in the grand foyer of Neverland Ranch ticked with a heavy, rhythmic cadence, echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings and the rich mahogany woodwork. Outside, the California sun was blazing, casting a golden hue over the rolling hills of the estate, but inside the main house, the air conditioning was crisp.
The vast space smelled faintly of expensive lavender cologne, vanilla wax candles, and the subtle, sweet scent of your cocoa butter lotion.
You smoothed down the front of your dress, taking a deep breath to steady the fluttering in your chest. It was a simple, elegant A-line piece in a light sage green, that complemented your rich, brown skin beautifully. Michael had picked it out for you himself, as he often did. He loved dressing you up, treating you like the rare, precious jewel you were to him.
To the rest of the world, he was an untouchable, larger-than-life icon, but to you, he was the man who brushed your curls out of your face with trembling devotion, who held you like you were made of glass, and who anchored you when the world became too loud.
At twenty-four, you were significantly younger than your husband, a fact the media loved to chew on and spit out in sensationalized headlines. But inside the gates of Neverland, the age gap didn't exist. There was only the deep, unyielding bond the two of you shared.
Right now, however, the weight of the outside world was knocking on your front door.
Michael stood by the tall French windows, looking out over the sprawling amusement park rides and manicured gardens. He looked magnificent—a striking vision of sharp angles, sleek lines, and undeniable power. His black hair fell in perfectly sculpted, glossy curls around his chiseled face, a few damp strands framing his sharp jawline. He wore a crisp, crimson button-down shirt with black armbands, tucked into tight black trousers that accentuated his lean, dancer's frame. His hat rested on the side table, and his dark eyes were temporarily shielded behind his signature aviator sunglasses.
He was nervous. You could tell by the way his slender fingers rhythmically tapped against his thigh—one, two, three, four.
"Michael, honey," you murmured, stepping toward him. The soft click of your heels drew his attention instantly.
He turned, the rigid tension in his shoulders melting the second his eyes landed on you. He reached out, his large, warm hand instantly wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his chest.
"You look beautiful, ‘y/n’," he whispered, his voice a soft, breathless rasp near your ear. He used your full name only when he was feeling intensely affectionate or incredibly anxious. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "Are you sure you want to do this with me? You don't have to be on camera if you don't want to. I can tell them to leave."
"I'm sure," you said gently, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid, steady beat of his heart beneath the silk of his shirt. "We agreed on this. A documentary to show the world who you really are. Martin Bashir promised he wanted to show the truth, right? I'm right here by your side. We’re a team."
Michael smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to your lips. He tasted like the peppermint he'd been chewing to calm his nerves, his mouth tender and warm against yours. "My brave girl," he murmured against your skin, his thumb caressing the bare skin of your lower back where your dress dipped.
"Just stay close to me. Don't leave my side."
A chime echoed through the house, signaling the arrival of the production crew. Michael’s grip on your waist tightened for a fraction of a second—a quiet, protective squeeze—before he reluctantly let you go, slipping his sunglasses off and placing them next to his hat.
The heavy oak doors opened, and in walked Martin Bashir, followed by a small crew hauling cameras, tripods, and lighting equipment.
Bashir looked exactly as he did on television—shrewd, calculated, wearing a sharp, dark suit and a smile that felt a little too perfectly practiced, a little too eager. But as his eyes scanned the room, they bypassed the gold records on the walls, bypassed the sprawling art installations, and locked straight onto you.
Michael stepped forward, his posture instantly shifting into that of a global megastar—polite, poised, yet intensely guarded. "Martin. Welcome to Neverland," Michael said, extending a hand.
"Michael, an absolute honor," Bashir said, shaking his hand firmly. But even as he spoke to Michael, his eyes flicked right back to you, taking in the curve of your collarbone, the warmth of your skin, and the youth radiating from your face. "And this must be the lovely lady of the house. The elusive Mrs. Jackson."
Bashir stepped closer, stepping right into your personal space, and extended his hand to you. "Martin Bashir. It is an absolute privilege to finally meet the woman who captured the Michaels heart."
Before you could even raise your hand, Michael shifted. It was a subtle movement, but incredibly deliberate. He didn't just stand next to you; he partially stepped in front of you, his broad shoulder cutting off half of Bashir’s view.
"My wife," Michael said. His voice was still soft, but there was a distinct, icy drop in his pitch that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "Her name is Y/N."
"Y/N," Bashir repeated, his voice dropping into a smooth, performative cadence as he bypassed Michael's defensive stance to take your hand anyway. Instead of a standard handshake, he brought your knuckles close to his lips, his eyes locked onto yours, lingering far longer than courtesy required. "An absolute vision. Michael, you are a very lucky man. She possesses a quiet... captivating youthfulness."
You felt a sudden, sharp spike of discomfort. The way Bashir said youthfulness felt dirty, like he was trying to probe a bruise, analyzing the dynamic between you and your husband with a clinical, judgmental gaze. You gently but firmly pulled your hand back, offering a tight, polite smile. "Thank you, Mr. Bashir. Welcome to our home."
Behind you, you heard the sharp, distinct sound of Michael clearing his throat. When you looked back at him, his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped beneath his smooth skin. His dark eyes, usually so warm and full of gentle light, had narrowed into slits of pure, unadulterated ice. Michael was a man fully aware of his power, his sensuality, and his territory. And right now, someone was stepping on it.
The interview began in the grand living room, seated on a pair of opulent, gold-trimmed velvet couches. Michael sat closely beside you, closer than he normally would on camera. One of his long arms was stretched across the back of the sofa behind your head, his fingers lightly playing with a stray curl at the nape of your neck, effectively branding you as his in front of the lenses.
Initially, the questions were standard. Bashir asked about the music, the inspiration behind his latest projects, and the creation of Neverland. Michael answered eloquently, his soft voice filling the room, but his body language remained rigid. Every time Bashir asked a question, his eyes would wander from Michael's face down to you.
"Now, Michael," Bashir said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes sliding down to your legs, which were crossed elegantly beneath your green dress, before flicking up to Michael. "The public is endlessly fascinated by your private life. And, of course, your marriage. Your wife is quite young. Quite beautiful. A stark contrast to the chaotic world you inhabit. Tell me, how does such a young woman adjust to the... unique lifestyle of Michael Jackson?"
Michael’s fingers, resting on the velvet behind your head, twitched. "She handles everything with grace," Michael said, his voice clipped and precise. "She is my rock. She doesn't just adjust to my world, Martin. She is my world."
Bashir smiled, a slow, greasy smirk that made your stomach turn. He turned his gaze entirely to you, ignoring Michael completely. "And for you, dear? It must be overwhelming. Being married to a global icon. A man so much older, with so much history. Do you ever feel... isolated here? Do you ever feel like you're living in a gilded cage, trapped by a man who demands your total isolation?"
The bluntness of the question made you gasp softly. "No, not at all—" you began, but Bashir cut you off, leaning even closer, his eyes scanning your face with an intense, invasive scrutiny that felt borderline predatory.
"Because looking at you now," Bashir murmured, his tone dripping with a faux-sympathetic warmth, "one can't help but see a beautiful, vulnerable young woman. A woman who perhaps needs a different kind of... protection. A different kind of attention. Are your needs truly being met here, Y/N?"
The room went dead silent. The camera crew held their breath, the heavy silence stretching thin.
You felt a cold dread wash over you, not because of the question, but because of the sudden, terrifying change in the atmosphere next to you. The air in the room felt like it dropped twenty degrees in a single second.
Michael slowly stood up.
He didn't yell. He didn't raise his voice. He never raised his voice at you, and even now, his fury was entirely directed outward, away from his precious girl. But the sheer aura of dominance he radiated as he stood was suffocating. He stood at his full height, looking down at Bashir with a look of such lethal contempt that even the seasoned journalist visibly blinked, sliding back into his seat.
"We're taking a break," Michael announced. His voice wasn't soft anymore. It was deep, commanding, and absolutely final. It was the voice of a man who commanded stadiums of a hundred thousand people with a single flick of his wrist. "Turn the cameras off. Now."
The director scrambled, instantly barking orders to cut the feed.
Michael didn't wait for them to pack up. He turned to you, his expression softening instantly into one of pure tenderness. He reached down, his large hand gripping your wrist firmly—not enough to hurt, never to hurt—but with a bruising, unyielding possessiveness that left no room for argument. He pulled you gently but quickly up from the couch.
As he led you past Bashir, Michael stopped. He didn't look at the journalist, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, but his voice cut through the room like a blade. "If I catch you looking at my wife like that again, Martin, this interview is over. And you will be escorted off my property by armed security. Do you understand me?"
Bashir swallowed hard, his face turning a pale shade of grey. "Michael, I merely meant—"
"We are done for the day," Michael snapped, cutting him off entirely.
Without another word, Michael guided you along, his grip tight and protective around your hand as his long legs ate up the distance across the marble floor, leading you out of the living room and straight toward the private wing of the house.
The heavy mahogany doors of Michael’s private master bedroom shut with a loud, definitive thud, and the lock clicked into place with a sharp, final sound.
The moment the world was locked out, the tension in the room exploded.
Michael let go of your hand, turning around to pace the length of the massive bedroom. His hands flew to his hair, pulling at his curls, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon. The calm, collected global superstar was gone; in his place was a man consumed by a raw, primal protective instinct.
"The nerve," Michael muttered, his voice shaking with a dangerous mix of anger and adrenaline. "The absolute, disgusting nerve of him. To come into my home. To sit on my furniture. And to look at you... to look at my wife like you were something he could analyze, something he could covet."
"Michael, baby, breathe," you said softly, stepping toward him. You weren't afraid of him; you knew his heart, knew that his anger was born out of a fierce need to protect you. "It's okay. He was just trying to get a reaction—"
"I am not angry with you, Angel," Michael interrupted quickly, his voice instantly softening as he turned to face you. He stepped toward you, his eyes wide, dark, and filled with a desperate devotion. He reached out, his large hands framing your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Never with you, my beautiful girl. Please know that. But the way he looked at you... it made my blood boil. He looked at your lips. He looked at your body. Thinking about what's mine. Thinking he had any right to even breathe the same air as you."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged. "Do you know what that did to me? Sitting there, having to watch another man look at you like that?"
"Michael..." your voice was a breathy whimper. The sheer intensity radiating from him was making your heart race, a sudden, intoxicating heat pooling in your lower abdomen. You had never seen him quite this consumed by possessiveness, and it was deeply, thrillingly arousing.
"You are my wife," Michael growled softly, his voice dropping into a register so deep, so gravelly, it sent a shiver straight down your spine. His hands moved from your face, sliding down to grip your hips, his long, taped fingers digging into the fabric of your green dress, anchoring you to him. "You are mine. Every single inch of this beautiful, soft skin belongs to me. He has no right to look. Nobody does."
"I am yours," you gasped out, your hands instinctively reaching up to grip his broad shoulders. "Only yours, Michael."
"Prove it to me then," he demanded, his voice a dark, sensual command. "Because right now, I feel like ripping the world apart, and the only thing that's going to stop me is making sure you remember exactly who you belong to."
Before you could answer, Michael’s mouth slammed down onto yours.
It wasn't his usual gentle, worshipful kiss. This was a bruising, dominant claim. He groaned into your mouth, his tongue forcing its way past your lips, tangling with yours in a desperate, hungry rhythm. His hands moved from your hips, sliding down to grip the underside of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, letting out a breathless sob into the kiss as he carried you the two steps to the bed, coming down over you like a dark wave.
The mattress swallowed you up, but Michael’s weight pressed you down, pinning you completely. He broke the kiss, panting heavily, his dark eyes burning into yours. His hands flew to the buttons of his crimson shirt, tearing them open with an impatient tug, sending a couple of buttons flying across the room. He threw the shirt off, exposing his lean, muscular chest, glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
He looked magnificent. Wild. Driven entirely by his love and desire for you.
"Michael, please," you begged, arching your hips up against his, feeling the heavy, thick ridge of his arousal pressing through his trousers straight against your center.
"Tell me what you want," Michael rasped, his hands grabbing the hem of your green dress and shoving it up past your hips, exposing your lace panties. His dark eyes roamed over your exposed thighs, his breath catching at the sight of you. "Tell me who takes care of you, princess."
"You do," you whimpered, your hands running over the smooth skin of his chest, your nails digging into his shoulders. "You take care of me."
"Say it," he whispered, his hand sliding up your thigh, his long fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your underwear, making you gasp and arch your back. "Let me hear it, baby."
You looked up into his intense, burning eyes, seeing the man who shielded you from the world, the man who provided everything, who demanded your total safety in his arms. The raw power dynamic shifted, settling into a deeply erotic rhythm.
"Daddy," you breathed, the word slipping out like a quiet prayer. "Please, Daddy. I need you."
A dark, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of Michael’s lips, a low, guttural growl escaping his throat. The word acted like gasoline on a fire. "That's my good girl," he purred, his voice dripping with a heavy, possessive praise that made your heart swell. "That's my girl. You don't ever look at another man, you hear me? You only look at me. I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this."
He slid his hand inside your panties, his long fingers instantly finding your slick, soaking heat. You cried out, your head tossing back against the pillows as he began to stroke you, his thumb rubbing circles over your center with an expert, heavy pressure.
"Look at me, baby," Michael commanded gently, his voice sharp but full of deep affection.
You forced your eyes open, blinking through the haze of pleasure, locking your gaze onto his.
"You're so wet for me, aren't you?" Michael murmured, watching your face twist with ecstasy as his fingers slid deeper inside you, stretching you, testing your readiness. "So tight. All made for me. Bashir can look all he wants, but he'll never know how sweet you taste. He’ll never know how you scream my name."
"Michael—Daddy, please, I'm going to—" You rocked your hips against his hand, the friction driving you over the edge.
"Hold it," Michael ordered, his fingers suddenly stopping, holding you right at the precipice. You let out a whimper of protest, your eyes pleading with him. "Not yet. I want to be inside you when you break. I want to feel every single squeeze."
With a speed that left you breathless, Michael reached down, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers and briefs down his legs. When he freed himself, he was thick, fully erect, and throbbing with a desperate need.
He positioned himself between your thighs, hooking his arms under your knees and pulling them back, opening you up completely to him. He looked down at the contrast of his pale hands against your rich, dark skin, a look of profound reverence passing over his face before the possessive hunger took over again.
"You belong to me," he whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "Say it one more time."
"I belong to Daddy," you cried out, your hands gripping his hips, guiding him to your entrance. "Please, Michael, now!"
With a heavy, powerful thrust, Michael buried himself inside you in one deep, unyielding stroke.
The breath was completely knocked from your lungs. He was so big, so full, stretching you to your absolute limit. You let out a high-pitched cry, your fingers digging deep into the muscles of his back as your walls clamped tightly around him.
Michael let out a loud, ragged groan, his eyes snapping shut as he threw his head back, his neck straining. "God, baby... you're so tight... so perfect," he gasped out, his hips already beginning to move.
Driven by the lingering adrenaline and jealousy, his paces were hard, deep, and utterly possessive. Every thrust was a declaration, his heavy frame slamming against yours with a rhythmic, mesmerizing force. The headboard rattled against the wall, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet room.
"Ah! Michael!" you screamed, your vision blurring as the pleasure washed over you in intense, electric waves. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, biting his skin to keep from screaming too loudly.
He loved it. He let out a dark laugh, his hands gripping your waist tightly, anchor lines holding you in place as he dominated your senses.
"That's it, take it all," Michael rasped, his pace quickening, becoming frantic, completely losing himself in the feel of your body. "Tell me who owns this body. Tell me!"
"You do! You do! Ah!"
Your words triggered your release. Your internal muscles clamped down on him in violent, rhythmic spasms. The pleasure was too intense, shattering your mind completely as a loud, sobbing cry escaped your lips.
Feeling the crushing, tight warmth of your orgasm, Michael lost all control. He let out a deep, primal roar, burying himself as deep as he could go, his hips stuttering as he came inside you. He poured himself into you, his length pulsing inside your warmth as he flooded you, his chest heaving heavily against yours.
He collapsed on top of you, taking care not to crush you, his face buried in your curls, both of you panting as the aftershocks of the climax rippled through your bodies.
The room was quiet now, save for the sound of your synchronized, heavy breathing. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon outside, casting long, golden shadows across the bedroom.
Michael slowly shifted his weight, rolling onto his side but keeping you securely tucked against him. His long arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your back against his chest in a tight, protective spooning position. He pulled the silk sheets up over both of your naked bodies, shielding you from the world once more.
He began to plant soft, apologetic kisses along your bare shoulder, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your stomach.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair, his voice returning to that soft, gentle melody you knew so well. "I didn't mean to be so rough with you, my beautiful girl. I never want to hurt you. I just... when I saw him looking at you like that... I lost my mind. The thought of anyone else thinking they can have a piece of what is ours..."
You turned your head slightly, kissing his jawline, feeling the smooth texture of his skin. "Don't apologize, Michael. I loved it. I needed to feel you, too. I'm yours. No one else matters. Let him look all he wants; he can never have this."
Michael smiled, a genuine, warm smile that finally filled his dark eyes with light. He squeezed you tighter, burying his face in the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, completely content.
"Tomorrow, Bashir will finish his interview," Michael murmured, a quiet, confident edge returning to his voice. "But he will look only at me. Because everyone in that room will know exactly who you belong to."
You smiled, closing your eyes, completely safe, completely worshiped, and entirely claimed by the man who held your heart.
Synopsis: Behind the fame, the headlines, and the closed gates, Michael’s greatest secret was you. So when his family decides to surprise him with an unexpected visit, one awkward interruption turns into the most chaotic first meeting either of you could’ve imagined.
1/2 requests from an anonymous
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷: Risk play, Exhibitionism, blow job, recording, age gap, secret relationship, praise play, daddy kink, recording kink, and penetration
You sat comfortably in Michael’s lap, your legs draped over his waist as your fingertips traced lazy circles across his chest. His hands rested on your thighs, gently stroking them while the two of you exchanged soft smiles, completely lost in each other’s company. The soft amber sun shining through the windows of the house and hitting Michael’s skin making this moment so much more romantic
“Do I make you happy sweetheart?”
“Of course” You smiled sweetly before kissing his knuckles a few times
You & Michael have been in a secret relationship for the past three months yet only the two of you knew about it. Michael had no desire to share you with the rest of the world and you could fictitious the backlash of your family wondering what you were doing in a relationship with an older man.
But what people would never understand is how happy he made you, yes he was an older man but you’d never felt so fulfilled and appreciated by a romantic partner
“Can we try something baby?” You asked sweetly
“Like what?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips before you kissed Michael’s lips delicately
“Ohh my god—Tink”
Michael struggled to keep the camera from slipping out of his hands because he was getting so lost in the lustful pleasures you were giving him
The two of you now in the Foyer with Michael recording you giving him the messiest blowjob he had ever received. Your saliva had completely coated his shaft and covered your mouth completely
Taking a break from deep throating, you used both hands to create a double twisting sensation and occasionally sucking his balls also. His knees were threatening to give out at any moment
“Baby I need you to do something for me?” You sweetly asked while kissing his quivering thighs and staring into his eyes
“Yes Tink?”
You never stopped stroking his dick, feeling his precum and saliva coating your hands with each twist
“I want you to fuck my face”
“Wouldn’t that hurt you?”
“No baby—it’s just something I wanna try with you, I wanna do it for you”
Michael took a deep breath and gripped the camera tighter, still looking uncertain about it
“Don’t you wanna cum for me?”
Immediately he shook his head yes “Yes..Whatever you want sweet face”
A smile spread across your face just before you kissed his tip making him shiver “You’re still recording me right?”
“Mhm”
You swallowed his dick gagging once you reached the halfway point, pacing yourself and grabbing his thighs for support once you successfully took everything in. Michael began rocking his hips forward and grabbing the back of your head once he got comfortable “Fuck” he groaned
Staring down at your beautiful brown eyes and your full lips wrapped tightly around his dick, taking everything that he was giving to you. Each thrust his tip touched the back of your throat, he was surprised that you weren’t gagging or begging him to stop
Instead you moaned as loud as you could and bobbed your head at the pace Michael forced your head down. Feeling your mouth transition from his tip and back down to his base repeatedly “Fuck fuck fuck!” He moaned “Baby your mouth feels so fucking good right now”
Your mouth was heavily salivated causing it to splatter with each thrust, coating your chest and thighs
“You doing okay mama?”
“Mhmm” you replied with tears filling your eyes
Michael tightened his grip around the camera as he spread his legs slightly and placed one hand behind your head. His fingers pressed in the back of your skull watching you work
Feeling your mouth travel from his tip and back to his base repeatedly, the warm sensations disappearing before returning. Feeling your tongue brush up against his dick drove him wild
You could feel his dick twitching like crazy in your mouth signaling he was about to cum, even his thrusting had gotten aggressive “You ready for me to cum pretty girl? Hm?”
“Mhmm” you managed to get out
Shortly after his cum shot down your throat and his body recoiled repeatedly in your presence. Your lips touching his shaft as he held your head in place , moaning out for you and stuttering over his words
You remained obedient, kneeling on your knees and waiting for him to be done before you moved. He staggered back before pulling his dick out of your mouth, wincing at the pleasure of just feeling the insides still touching him. He dragging his dick across your lips slowly—watching his cum still spilling out across your face as you grabbed it and kissed his tip before swallowing the rest of his cum
“You taste so good baby” rubbing your thumb against his tip to make more cum shoot out
“Get up there” pointing at the sofa
“Oh fuck! Michael please”
Now it was your turn to hold the camera while Michael ate you out, your hands trembled trying to get a clear shot
One leg rested on the sofa while the other was over his shoulder while he focused all his efforts towards making you cum again. Pumping his middle finger in you passionately while pressing his tongue in your clitoris
The knot in your stomach felt like it would collapse at absolute any second, your abdomen continued to retract trying to fight against cumming so soon. Michael looked up at you and smirked seeing the desperate look on your face and the way your jaw hung open, unable to even get your words out
As his tongue continued to swirl your clitoris Michael removed his finger from inside you and used it to press down on your abdomen causing you to squirt in his face, your hips rocked forward into his face—not wanting it to ever end
Michael pressed your legs into your chest while he took his time swallowing your fluids, feeling his lips against yours made you shiver even more because of how sensitive you had become
Using the bottom of his shirt Michael wiped his face before kissing your soft lips “You done Tink?” Tapping his dick against your clitoris and watching you shiver
“No” you shook your head slowly
“Good” kissing your forehead before taking the camera from you “because now it’s your turn”
Michael focused the camera on your face capturing the exact moment his dick slid inside you, the way you gasped and scrunched your eyebrows before dropping your jaw
“Ohh fuck, fuck!” You cried
Sitting on top of the coffee table was Michael’s cellphone, buzzing and vibrating catching his attention “whoever that is gotta wait, I’m busy” turning his attention back to you
“Your pussy just does something to me” he panted speeding up his pace “I wish you would let me taste it everyday”
“He’s not answering! I just tried again” Jackie slamming his flip phone shut
“I’m sick of this yall are taking too long” Marlon pushed past his brothers punching in the code to Michael’s front door
Since Michael was so wrapped up in his secret rendezvous he hasn’t been in contact with hardly anybody from the outside world and people were starting to get worried. Today was the final attempt his brothers made to contact him over the phone before popping up
“Maybe he’s just in one of his moods, yall know how Michael can be sometimes”
Jermaine whispered as the three brothers stepped into the foyer
“I don’t wanna hear it, I need to lay eyes on him today or I’m calling the police”
Meanwhile, Michael was so distracted with fucking you that he failed to hear the front door open and the approaching footsteps. His only focus was you
By this point Michael had flipped you into back shots, you dangling over the couch and clawing at the arm rest with tears spilling out your eyes while Michael recorded you from behind and releasing his cum on your butt
Just then all 3 brothers walked in on the two of you, you immediately gasped and jumped back covering your chest with your arms and grabbed a pillow as a shield
Michael immediately dropped the camera and turned red seeing his family standing in the living room, immediately all 3 brothers covered their faces and turned around after what they saw
“I told yall we had no business coming over here”
“Shut up Jermaine you the one that called me up” Jackie added
“Now we know why he wasn’t answering the phone” Marlon teased making everyone laugh
The two of you quickly threw on clothes before the brothers turned around “This is my girlfriend” Michael proudly announced
A/N: I was so nervous writing this because I’d die inside getting caught by his brothers
Tag list: @diorzaep @mikeysfavoritefish @mikeysfishfr @michaeljacksonspyt @18lkpeters @j-nae @michaeljacksonspyt @michaelcomeback
❛ michael jackson 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ ╱ requested.ᐟ michael taming his bratty girlfriend.
18+ mdni ➜ contains smut (it gets freaakyy) oral f!recieving, soft dom & possessive mature era!michael, domestic intimacy, very light bondage & emotionally intimate sex. also bambi mention because that is one of my favorite vintage disney films. 🥹 (im sorry this one is long yall)
tags: @whirlwindmarley & @anglfac
𝓉he bedroom was dimly lit when the two of you finally stumbled back into the penthouse after the event, the soft amber glow from the bedside lamps casting warm shadows across the room.
your heels had already been kicked off somewhere near the door the second you walked in.
michael loosened the tie around his neck with a tired sigh, shoulders finally relaxing now that the cameras and crowds were gone. his black suit still fit him unfairly well even half exhausted, locks slightly messy from running his hands through them all night.
meanwhile, you had changed almost immediately after getting home, now curled up near the end of the bed in one of his oversized shirts and tiny sleep shorts, legs crossed while you watched him from across the room with an obvious attitude still lingering on your face.
michael noticed instantly.
“what?” he asked knowingly, pulling the loosened tie from around his collar completely before tossing it onto the bed.
you looked away pettily. “nothing.”
he hummed softly like he didn’t believe you for a second.
“baby.” he said in a calming way.
“you always do this,” you muttered finally, arms crossing tighter over your chest. “every single time we go somewhere, it’s always people pulling you away from me.”
michael glanced at you through the mirror while undoing the first few buttons of his dress shirt slowly, too composed, which only irritated you more.
“i barely saw you all night,” you continued, already slipping deeper into your little fit. “everybody always wants something from you.”
he sighed quietly through his nose before turning to face you fully, leaning one shoulder against the dresser.
“you jealous?” he asked smoothly.
your eyebrows pinched together in irritation. “i am not jealous.”
that smug smile started pulling at his lips right away.
“mm,” he murmured. “sure sounds like it.”
you grabbed one of the pillows beside you and threw it at him without hesitation.
michael caught it easily against his chest, laughing quietly under his breath.
“you’re annoying.” you muttered, but he fired back quickly.
“and you’re spoiled.”
the room fell quiet for a second after that because he said it so casually, so knowingly. you knew you were absolutely spoiled but him saying it so surely almost felt like an insult.
your jaw dropped slightly while michael just stood there watching your reaction carefully, dark eyes heavy with amusement beneath the warm bedroom lighting.
“excuse me?” you narrowed your eyes at him. you were feisty, but it was something he adored. you didn’t take shit from anyone else except him.
“c’mon now,” he murmured, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “actin’ up because i had to talk to people for a few hours?”
you rolled your eyes with exaggerated offense and turned away from him with a huff. “whatever.”
that was when michael started walking toward the bed slowly, loosening the cuffs of his sleeves as he moved. the teasing energy shifted almost instantly the closer he got.
“you done?” he said gentle but firm, voice lower now.
you shot him a look from where you sat against the pillows. “depends. you done bein’ annoying?”
that smirk widened slightly like he already knew exactly how this was going to end.
michael was patient in the worst way possible. never rushed you, never raised his voice. just stayed calm while you mouthed off, knowing eventually you’d end up melting into him anyway.
“c’mere,” he said softly as he sat down on the edge of the mattress, patting his thigh once.
you ignored him on purpose, reaching over toward the nightstand for your water instead.
big mistake because suddenly michael’s hand wrapped gently around your ankle, tugging you toward him across the mattress with embarrassing ease.
“michael—” you blurted in surprise as your breath caught in your chest. he’d never handled you like that before, you must’ve really gotten under his skin this time.
“nah,” he interrupted quietly, voice dropping lower as he pulled you between his knees. “been givin’ you too much freedom tonight, baby.”
the heat rushed straight to your face and he noticed immediately—of course he did.
his laugh was soft and sleepy, hands settling against your hips while he looked at you through tired eyes.
“there she is,” he murmured. “thought you were tough a second ago.”
you hated the way your stomach flipped at his tone, hated it even more because he knew exactly what he was doing.
“shut up.” you replied back, sharply.
that attitude of yours made one of his eyebrows cock upward. “yeah? i think i gotta teach you a lesson, young lady..”
you looked at him in confusion as he stood from the bed and grabbed his tie he had thrown on the bed earlier, “turn around.” he ordered.
you hesitated for a moment, not sure if he was serious, but oh, he was dead serious.
“turn around, and put your hands behind your back.” his tone was still calm, it just held a firmness that you’d only heard a few times.
“fine, officer.” you joked in a bratty tone but still obeyed and with a firm grip, he grabbed your wrists and tied them together with his tie.
“you think you’re so funny,” he pushed you down into the mattress, your ass now perched up in the air. a soft sigh escaping your lips which michael found amusing. “hope you keep that energy..”
he began to pull down your shorts at a slow pace, glancing at you every now and then to check on you.
“is this what my baby needed? hm?” he asked in a hushed tone as his hands ran down your thighs, his eyes stayed on your expressions. “my attention just on you.”
your face was turned toward him, your stomach fluttering as a familiar throb started in your core. his words, his touch, you were desperate for all of it. he didn’t like your lack of response though.
he placed a smack on your ass which caused a whine from your lips. “mhmm.” you hummed in response.
“words, angel, i need to you to use your words.” he rubbed the spot he had hit. your breathing got heavier as you got needier.
“yes-“ you struggled out, “yes it’s what i needed.”
his smirk returned to his lips as he watched you struggle. the confidence you once had now gone as you crumbled beneath him.
he placed kisses up your thighs, really anywhere but the place you were hoping he’d put his lips and it was making you antsy. you’d move your hips a bit impatiently and to that, michael would give the flesh on your hips a squeeze.
“gotta be patient, baby,” he muttered, giving your ass another smack. you huffed out another sigh against the mattress. any kind of disobedience was gone now, all your focus was on wanting him to just touch you, but you had to earn it after acting out.
after a few minutes of teasing your hole and softly kissing your folds, you were a wet and sticky mess. it nearly started to drip down your thigh. you bit into the sheets as you fought back your cries of desperation.
“what do you want, sweetie? cmon, tell me.” he said while he continued teasing.
you mumbled something into the fabric before turning onto your cheek again, “i need you..”
“to what, baby?”
you got shy when it came to using your words and michael knew that. when you went silent and struggled out a whine while his fingers played with your folds, he encouraged you with a kiss on your pussy.
“mmh- fuck me- please..” you begged out, a raspy chuckle left him.
“thank you… for being so patient for me, mama.” he said before licking a stripe from your clit to your glazed entrance. you couldn’t help but cry out a soft moan, the feeling of his tongue working against you, giving you a few sucks and kisses.
he gave your ass another smack, accompanying it with a squeeze while you were a whimpering mess for him, practically drooling onto the sheets, “i know, baby, i know.” he whispered.
he parted from you for a moment to undo the notches in his belt and pull it off, then undid his pants. your head was crooked to see him, he was undoing the tie that held your wrists together and with a swift motion he turned you to be positioned on your back.
“my pretty girl..” he smiled at your flushed cheeks.
“thank you.” you said low, all the attitude evaporated from you at this point. your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watched him remove the rest of his clothing, pulling off his oversized shirt you had put on earlier. you propped up on your elbows to watch as he began to line his cock up at your entrance with one hand and grabbed your chin lightly to maintain eye contact with him. he pushed into you slowly, still mindfully trying to be gentle with his girl.
“oh…” you hummed out from the stretch of his length as your head fell back, the sensation being a bit painful at first but with a few thrusts it turned to pleasure. he moved in and out at a steady pace, the prettiest noises falling off his lips as he played with your boobs, massaging them and giving your nipples a slight pinch which caused you to cry out in bliss. your arousal made michael speed up, hitting it just a bit deeper—he knew exactly how to make you feel good.
he craved the way it felt as you squeezed around his cock. the way he was able to slide in and out so easily with help from your desperate wetness. how your hands gripped onto the defined muscles in his back that were definitely gonna be marked up in the morning.
“you’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he whined out, “taking me so well.” his thrusts getting harder and needier from the way your squishy walls sucked him in. he could’ve finished right then and there.
then, he grabbed the back of your thighs to push your legs further up, resting them on his shoulders now to hit even deeper.
“fuck- michael-“ you sobbed, you felt that familiar feeling in your lower abdomen that signaled you were close. he was the only person who knew exactly how to tame you—and it was this. the bed nearly felt like it was about to collapse by how much he was really giving it to you, but the immense pleasure clouded your brain from anything that wasn’t him. you were devoted to him and as he was to you, despite how much you liked to run your mouth.
just then, you felt his cock twitch inside of you. he separated your legs once again to be closer to you, placing a passionate and loving kiss on your lips. the kiss felt like a warm hug he’d been waiting to give you, like you were gonna slip away at any moment. you kissed back in the same way, your arms wrapping around his neck as you two were chest to chest now.
his pace only quickened as he allowed himself to now that he was closer in your presence, he felt he was able to come undone now. you both moaned desperately into each other’s mouths, sweat beading on his furrowed eyebrows as your fingers curled into the hair on the nape of his neck.
“i’m close baby-“ you warned him but he already knew as your pussy squeezed around him even more.
“me too- ah- don’t cum until i say-“ he demanded while his stance got sloppier which signified he was close too.
after a few painful moments of desperately trying to contain yourself, he finally signaled to you that you were able to finish.
“now mama- now.” his high pitched moans sang in your ears as he snapped his hips one more time before his pulsating member filled you up. you bit into his shoulder as you tightened around him one last time, both of you trembling through the aftermath together.
he stayed there for a minute as your chests heaved together. he finally looked down at you, wiping some damp hair from your face with a soft giggle. you bit your lip once again as your finger traced across your bite mark on his shoulder. his eyes shifted to it as well, the smile never leaving his face.
he hummed under his breath before finally pulling out and saying, “let’s get you into a bath.” and placed a kiss on your forehead.
and that he did, a warm bubble bath with lavender. he sat next to the tub before eventually joining you, embracing each other the entire time as you washed each other off. the night ended with sleepy cuddles in fresh linen sheets and bambi playing on the tv.
18+ mdni.ᐟ ⏖ ׄ ❛ bad.era 𝑥 𝓯.rea ❜ ⧽ you share a heartfelt moment with michael as you suprise him for his birthday that turns into him showing how grateful he is for you. ꒰ model series ꒱ ⎯ 𝓌c. 3.4𝑘
content ❤︎︎ ﹕ fluffy fluff ﹐ michael gets emotional ﹐ oral : f!recieving ﹐ lots of pet name use ﹐ praising ﹐ soft dom!mike ﹐ unprotected sex (dont forget to wrap it up!!) ﹐ domestic aftercare (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) ‿◞ ྀི⊹ ׄ
it had been a long 4 months that michael had been gone touring. he had a short break before he had to leave again for the next leg of his tour. the hallway outside your apartment had never felt so unbearably quiet.
you stood just around the corner of the kitchen island, both hands carefully balancing the tiny vanilla cake you had picked up earlier that afternoon. it wasn’t elaborate by any means. just smooth white frosting, a thin red ribbon piped around the edges, and a single candle flickering softly in the dim apartment.
you checked the clock for what had to’ve been the tenth time.
11:48 p.m.
michael’s flight had landed almost an hour ago. your stomach twisted itself into impossible knots, but before you could even overthink anything else, you heard the unmistakable sound of keys jingling against the front door. your heart leapt into your throat from your off the wall nerves. the lock clicked then the door slowly pushed open.
a tired sigh escaped michael as he stepped inside the pitch dark living room, quietly shutting the door behind him before dropping his duffel bag onto the hardwood floor with a dull thud. weeks of rehearsals, interviews, airports, hotel rooms and sold-out stadiums weighed heavily on his shoulders, evident in the slow way he rubbed a hand over his face.
“…baby?” his voice echoed gently through the apartment, but he was met with silence. he frowned slightly.
“you here?”
you bit down on your smile as you lit the candle. another few careful footsteps echoed across the floor.
“hello?”
“stay there!” you called quickly, trying—and failing—to suppress the excitement in your voice.
he froze almost immediately. “…okay?” he laughed quietly, completely confused.
you took one steadying breath before carefully stepping around the corner. the tiny candle cast a warm glow across your face as you walked toward him, smiling so brightly your cheeks almost hurt.
“♪ happy birthday to you…”
michael blinked at you in disbelief. his brain currently short circuiting to the sudden surprise.
“…happy birthday to you…”
his eyes immediately fell to the little cake in your hands then back to you.
“…happy birthday, my sweet michael…”
he just stood there with a big smile on his face, suitcase forgotten by the front door, looking at you as though the entire world had stopped turning.
“…happy birthday to you.”
the final note faded into the apartment. for a moment, neither of you spoke. you suddenly became painfully aware of how small the cake looked. how lopsided the frosting had turned out after you insisted on decorating it yourself, how there was only one lonely candle sitting in the middle.
you gave him a sheepish smile. “i know it isn’t much…” before you could finish, michael crossed the room in three quick strides.
“baby…” his voice cracked. one arm wrapped carefully around your waist while the other steadied the cake in your hands, pulling both you and your little birthday surprise impossibly close. he buried his face against your shoulder.
“…hey,” you whispered, feeling him take a shaky breath. you tilted your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face, a single tear had slipping free from his eyes. you felt your heart shatter. “michael…”
“‘m sorry.” he let out the smallest embarrassed laugh, quickly shaking his head.
“don’t apologize.” you took one of your hands free from the plate to reach up and lightly caress the back of his head.
“i didn’t wanna cry.” he admitted. you knew how strong he was and how rarely you seen him cry—he’d usually do that alone, in the bathroom while you were busy or when you were asleep.
“i know.” you held onto him, rubbing his back with your palm to comfort him.
another quiet laugh escaped him. “you.. you did all this?” he looked back down at the tiny cake, the candle still burning stubbornly between the two of you.
you nodded, “i wanted the first thing you came home to be somebody who loves you.”
his eyes squeezed shut as another tear escaped, and this time he didn’t even bother hiding it—that did it for him.
tour had been loud and stressful with the crowds, the cameras, the constant traveling and the pressure, but standing here in the doorway of your shared apartment, holding a crooked little birthday cake while the woman he loved smiled back at him, it was the quietest he’d felt in weeks.
he leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss against your forehead. “best birthday i’ve ever had.”
you grinned, “you haven’t even made a wish yet.”
he looked into your eyes for a long moment before glancing back at the tiny flame. “…i think it already came true.”
you smiled through the tears threatening your own eyes, carefully lifting the little cake between the two of you.
“c’mon,” you laughed softly. “before the wax melts all over it.”
michael let out a watery chuckle, the sound still thick with emotion. “right…”
he looked down at the tiny candle, the flame dancing gently between you. closing his eyes for only a moment, he took a quiet breath.
you watched him carefully, “make a good wish,” you teased.
his eyes opened again, already fixed on you. “…don’t have to.”
before you could ask why, he leaned forward and blew out the candle in one gentle breath. darkness swallowed the room once more, only for a second. you reached over, flicking the light switch beside the entryway.
a warm amber glow spilled across the apartment, chasing away the shadows. when you turned back around, michael was already looking at you—really looking at you.
his eyes wandered over your face as though he were trying to memorize every little detail he’d missed while he was away.
“…what?” you asked with a bashful smile.
he shook his head. “nothin’.”
a grin tugged at your lips that michael just couldn’t help but notice. “you’re staring again.”
“’cause i missed you.” his answer came so quickly, so honestly, it made your chest ache.
weeks apart had stolen away all the little things—the lazy mornings, the dinners shared on the couch, the absentminded kisses whenever one of you passed through the room.
now that he was finally standing in front of you again, it was as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real.
you set the cake carefully on the console table beside the door before turning back to him. without another word, your hands found his face.
your thumbs brushed lightly beneath his eyes, wiping away the last traces of tears he hadn’t realized were still there.
“there’s my birthday boy,” you whispered, causing michael’s nose to scrunch as a shy laugh escaped him.
“don’t start.” he spoke with a tiny shake of his head to ignore the burning sensation of tears wanting to spill.
“what?” you nibbled slightly at your bottom lip.
“you’re gonna make me cry again.” he pouted slightly.
“maybe i like making you emotional.” you teased, he knew teasing was like your second nature but never took it seriously.
“that’s mean.” his composure cracked beneath the pull of a smile, causing a giggle to escape you.
“i’m sorry baby.” you said between giggles, your hands staying at the sides of his face.
he finally smiled—one of those bright, boyish smiles you’d been missing ever since he’d left for tour, “c’mere.”
he didn’t wait for you this time. his hands slipped around your waist, drawing you against him until there wasn’t the slightest bit of space left between your bodies.
the embrace lingered—neither of you in any hurry to let go. you rested your forehead against his, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne beneath the crisp night air that still clung to his jacket.
“home feels a lot nicer with you in it,” he murmured.
your heart fluttered. “yeah?”
“mhm.” his thumb absentmindedly traced slow circles along the small of your back. “hotel rooms are just… rooms.”
you looked up at him as he spoke, “this…” his gaze softened before continuing, “…this is home.”
emotion swelled in your chest as you leaned up, pressing the gentlest kiss to the corner of his mouth. he smiled into it.
“that’s all i get?” he asked, his voice teasing now.
you tilted your head innocently. “i dunno…”
“is that right?” one of his eyebrows cocking up.
“maybe you gotta earn the rest.” you debated.
he laughed—a full, genuine laugh this time. “on my birthday and after flyin’ halfway across the world?”
“rules are rules.” you shrugged.
“that’s cold.” shaking his head at your ridiculous rules.
“is it?”
“mhmm.”
his smile only widened before he leaned in once more. this time, he kissed you properly—slowly—like he was making up for every kiss he’d missed while he was gone.
your fingers disappeared into the soft curls at the nape of his neck as he held you close, the rest of the world fading into the background until all either of you could hear was the quiet record still spinning somewhere in the apartment. you couldn’t resist michael and with so much time apart, you were craving him to say the least.
when you finally pulled apart, neither of you moved very far. his forehead found yours again.
“…happy birthday,” you whispered. michael smiled, brushing his nose lightly against yours.
“best one yet.” he replied. “but, its not over quite yet.”
his lips found yours once again, savoring the familiar sweetness of you like he’d been deprived for far too long. a quiet sigh escaped him the moment you scratched lightly against his scalp, his shoulders visibly relaxing beneath your touch.
“god…” he breathed with a shy laugh, resting his forehead against yours for only a second before stealing another kiss. “i missed you so much.” he mumbled between your lips.
“i know.” you snuck in, fingers massaging his soft curls as your lips maneuvered in sync with his.
“no…” he smiled in between, “i don’t think you do.” his voice low. the kiss lingered, deepening little by little, leaving only the quiet sounds of shared breaths and your tongues dancing with one another.
his hands never left the small of your back as he slowly guided you toward the dining table. when the backs of your legs brushed against the table, his hands wandered lower before gently lifting you onto the edge, never once allowing the warmth between your bodies to fade.
his fingers gripped the plush of your hips while his lips lingered to your cheek, then your jaw, then right below it. it was as though he couldn’t decide where he wanted to kiss you most.
he placed a few more wet, soft kisses on sweet spot of your neck, the spot that settled right below your ear. your arms now swung over his shoulders, a breathy sigh slipping from the back of your throat.
your arms stayed wrapped around him until michael carefully took one of your hands into his own. lifting it between the two of you, his kisses wandered from the bare curve of your shoulder, drifting unhurriedly down your arm until they reached your hand. he gathered it carefully in his own, pressing kisses against your knuckles, relearning the familiar comfort of your touch that he missed so dearly.
stepping back a bit, he admired you as a whole. a beauty right before him he couldn’t let go unsatisfied. your cheeks warmed up under the gaze of his eyes scanning details of your body. your freshly blown out hair, the one-of-many satin slips you own—it was a dark crimson one you were wearing this time, the ‘M’ necklace that decorated your clavicle with a shimmering glint every time the light hit it.
his hands grazed your skin before kneeling on one knee, grabbing your silky soft thighs to rest on his shoulders and pulling you closer to him. he pressed soft kisses from your inner knee all the way to your inner thigh, savoring the way the cute noises you were making from his touch rang through his ears. his thumbs gently lifting the little bit of fabric covering your glistening core to reveal you panti-less, another surprise michael wasn’t expecting. his eyes looked up at your face, already smirking down at him as you were waiting for him to figure this specific surprise out.
“naughty little one..” he whispered, a smile glued to his lips before dipping back down to continue teasing with warm kisses on each of your thighs. though, you were undeniably patient, the build up before him actually touching you in the places you craved was just as thrilling. your elbows rested on the mahogany wood table as his tongue continued tracing kisses up to your folds, your fingers moving small strands of loose curls away from his face, sometimes even tucking them behind his ear for him.
his mouth got to work on you right away, licking a strip up your clit before swirling his muscle around the sensitive bud. your thighs slightly tensed at the feeling, squishing his head between them causing him to chuckle against your heat. the vibrations damn-near sent shivers down your spine, your head resting back as soft satisfied hums echoed through the dinging room.
“mm- mikey.. it’s your birthday i should be- hm- i should be be pleasing you, my love-” you barely made out between the hums of pleasure, but he quickly cut you off.
“shh- i wanna show you how much i appreciate you darling.” he interrupts, “for everything.” he could taste your arousal as you dripped onto his lips, creating a tightness in his slacks now.
after a few moments of michael devouring you and your sweetness, you felt the familiar tightening in your lower abdomen, “’m close baby.” you moaned out. one of your hands tugging on his curls as the other held onto the edge of the table for stability. the slurping noises from his head between your thighs had came to an halt after hearing your words.
“already, my love?” he teased, stepping back up. his hands slithered around your waist to help you from the table.
“shut up..” you murmured and took his hand in yours. he shook his head and lead you to your shared bedroom.
shutting the door behind you, he guided you to the edge of the bed. with a gentle push, he sat you down on the edge, now in eye level with belt of his slacks. your lip caught between your teeth as you watched his fingers slowly undo the buckle, then the loop, then completely pulling it off. every movement of his made you weak—whether it was on stage or in the bedroom—the slight of his unbuttoned shirt practically made you drool.
he swiftly removed his button up, kneeling over you to bring his lips to meet yours. your hands cupped his cheeks as you were now laid on the mattress with your handsome lover hovering over you. the ambient sounds of nature only enhanced the tenderness of the two of you in this moment.
you felt his strong hand feel up your thighs once again—his biggest weakness being your legs—slowly maneuvering your mini slip up more and more. his hands moved to fully pull off his slacks, all without parting his lips from yours. you pulled apart for a moment, your breathing slowed while watching him in adoration as he took his erect member, that was nearly touching his bellybutton, and lined it up with your entrance. your eyes darted from his face to the work of his hands, licking your lips hungrily.
before fully sinking into your warmth, you fully slipped off your dress, leaving your body on display while michael ogled you with desire.
“you are the most gorgeous woman ever..” he cooed in your ear, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips then to your neck, finally slowly plunging into you.
you both let out heavenly sounds as his length seeped deep into your cunt that was already lubricated with your arousal. he fully removed his cock before filling you back up again, each thrust accompanied with a little whimper from you.
“i know baby.. i know,” he caressed your face, holding it with one hand while the other fondled with your breasts. “you’re takin’ me so well.” his gaze moved down, watching how his length disappears as he thrusts.
his pace remained slow and steady, never taking his eyes off of you. “i’missed you so much.” you whined out, your fingers met with the curls on the back of his neck once again.
“yeah? i missed you too, angel,” his breath quickened as well as his penetrating movements. hearing your whiny voice confess how much you missed him unlocked something inside of him at this moment. he wanted to show you how much he really missed you.
he adjusted his position, arms to the side of you, engulfing your lips with a deeply passionate kiss before picking up his pace. the sounds of skin smacking and michael swallowing your desperate moans. his noises just as sinful, grumbling and groaning into your mouth as well. he took one of his hands and moved it down to your clit, using the pad of his thumb to rub the swollen bud. your hips pumped up slightly at the sensation, tugging at his locks.
michael’s face fell into the crook of your neck, the pleasure becoming all too overwhelming as his hips snapped against yours, his filthiest moans singing in your ear. your nails dragged along his back as you tightened around his cock, “fuck- you feel so good mama.” he whimpered along the slick skin of your neck.
you could feel him twitch inside of you, signaling that he was ready. the immense amount of adrenaline he felt caused him to move at a merciless rhythm, plummeting his full length into you—sending you into ecstasy—and leaving you a moaning mess.
“i.. i’m so close baby!” you cried out as you held onto his back with no more space left between both of your bodies. with a few more thrusts paired with his fingers working magic on your clit, you dissolved into pleasure as you fell over the edge. your eyes shut tightly and you gripped around his cock as you spilled over, leaving a mess all over him. he fell close after you with a shattered breath and sweet whine, slamming into you once or twice as he deliciously filled you with his seed which helped you ride out your orgasm perfectly.
you felt his hot breath dance on the skin on your neck before feeling his lips engulf yours, tasting the salty sweat that beaded on his upper lip. he moved easy in and out a few more times before fully pulling out, a relaxed sigh spilling from the both of you.
“i love you.” his voice rasped as he looked at you now, fully. “i love you too, mikey.” you replied back, caressing his back gently. neither of you moved for a minute before michael finally decided to get up, propping yourself up along with him. he took one of his neatly pressed shirts, guiding each of your arms through the sleeves and buttoning it for you, leaving a few open—all with an enormous grin on his face.
“look at you..” he pressed a soft kiss to your nose before getting back up from the plush bed and dressing himself in some grey sweats and a t-shirt. you felt your face transition from its original color to now a tinted pink from his words. despite the year long relationship, michael knows how to leave you smitten, especially vulnerable in your post-orgasm glow.
you watched as he disappeared out of the bedroom, curious as to what he was doing. your hand reached for the tv remote, flipping through the channels before seeing him return with his cake, two forks and two glasses of water. you jumped up to help him as he seemed to have been struggling to keep everything together.
“woahh~” you grabbed the glasses of water as he sat on the edge of the bed, “now you’re ready for your cake?” you teased with a laugh, causing him to do the same. he gently tugged at his shirt that was draped on you, sitting you down on his lap. you slightly yelped at the sudden dominant movement that undeniably gave you butterflies. you placed the glasses of water down on the night stand ensuring not to spill.
he grabbed one of the forks and took a piece out of the cake, bringing it to your mouth for you to eat. obeying, you opened and took the fork to your mouth before grabbing it from him. michael watched as you hummed in response to the delicious taste of the cake, giving yourself a proud nod, “i picked a good one!”
“yeah?” he asked before taking his own fork to try it. he also nodded at the luscious tasting cake, giving you a kiss on the cheek, “i love it!” he exclaimed.
the rest of the night was spent finishing- no devouring the cake then staying up for majority of the night, sharing stories of his first leg of the bad tour, the events you’ve attended while he was away, and potential plans for your future together. and you wouldn’t want it any other way.
hi angels!! new theme & post layout, what do we think?? anywho, here’s an idea i thought of that turned into a oneshot for the model series ♡ aka my favorite series so far. i hope yall enjoy it as much i enjoyed writing it hehe!
❛ michael jackson 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ ╱ requested.ᐟ when you have a pregnancy scare and slightly spiral.
ⓘ fluffy hurt/comfort romance with domestic undertones & established relationship of course. not any specific era, i just wrote this with history/mature mike in mind, so feel free to imagine any era!
the rain tapped softly against the windows of hayvenhurst, the bedroom dim except for the warm yellow glow spilling from the bathroom light. somewhere downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed two in the morning.
michael sat on the edge of the bed in gray sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt, watching you pace the room for what had to be the hundredth time. your arms wrapped tightly around yourself.
“baby,” he said softly, concern lacing his voice. “you’re gonna wear a hole through the floor.”
you stopped abruptly, running a shaky hand through your hair.
“i can’t do this.”
his brows pulled together immediately. “do what?”
“this.” you gestured wildly between the two of you, tears already beginning to gather in your eyes. “all of this, michael.”
his expression shifted instantly. it was something gentle, attentive, and worried.
he stood carefully from the bed. “talk to me.” but, you looked away—how could you face him? that alone made his stomach twist.
for the last few days, you’d barely slept and, of course, he noticed every little thing about you too much not to. you’d pushed food around your plate at dinner, fallen quiet during studio sessions, cried over a commercial three nights ago then denied it afterward, and now this.
your voice came out smaller this time. “my period’s late.”
this caused the room to fall in an uneasy silence. even the rain outside suddenly sounded distant. michael blinked once or twice, thinking before he replied.
“late?” he repeated carefully.
you nodded, already looking seconds away from spiraling.
“and before you say anything, i know i should’ve told you sooner, i just— i thought maybe stress caused it or something but now it’s been over a week and i’m freaking out because what if i actually am and—” you babbled.
“wait.” his interruption was soft, not in any way harsh.
you finally looked up from the carpet, your heart racing at a million miles. and that’s when your stomach dropped—because michael was smiling, not laughing, not panicking, but, smiling. small at first, almost like he was trying not to.
“michael,” you whispered in disbelief. “why are you smiling?”
“i’m not—” he pressed his lips together, failing miserably at hiding it. “i just…”
his eyes softened in a way that nearly broke you apart.
“really?” your jaw fell slightly without trying to.
“really?!” you repeated, voice rising. “that’s your reaction?” you didn’t know if you were hurt or mad.
immediately, guilt flashed across his features. “no, no, sweetheart— c’mere.” he stepped toward you slowly, palms gentle against your arms. “i’m not making fun of you.”
“this isn’t funny,” you choked out.
his smile disappeared instantly. “i know.”
your breathing became uneven then as you tried desperately to hold back the tears that were stinging your tear ducts.
“michael, our lives are insane right now. the tabloids already follow us everywhere and what if people find out? what if i’m not ready? what if i’d be horrible at it?” your voice cracked harder with every sentence. “what if you wake up one day and realize this ruined everything?”
“hey.” michael’s tone was so tender it physically hurt.
he guided you carefully to sit on the edge of the bed with him before kneeling in front of you, hands wrapping around yours immediately.
“look at me.”
you tried not to, tears slipping down your cheeks anyway. his thumbs brushed softly across your knuckles.
“you wouldn’t be doing this alone,” he whispered. “not ever.”
your lip trembled, “but what if you regret it?”
his face fell like the thought alone wounded him. “regret you?” he asked quietly.
“the baby,” you corrected shakily. “me. all of it.”
michael stared at you for a long moment before shaking his head. “i could never regret something that came from loving you.”
your eyes squeezed shut as another tear escaped. he moved closer instinctively, resting his forehead lightly against yours.
“we don’t even know yet,” he murmured. “and if you are scared… then we’ll be scared together.”
his voice was so soft now, so honest.“nothing changes how much i love you.”
a sob escaped your throat before you could stop it. immediately michael pulled you into his arms.
“shhh, c’mere, baby…”
you melted against him while he held you tightly, one hand rubbing slowly up and down your back.
“i’m sorry,” you cried quietly into his shirt. “i just didn’t know what to think.”
“you don’t gotta apologize.” his lips brushed against the top of your head.
“truthfully?” he admitted after a moment, voice almost shy.
you sniffled. “what?”
he hesitated then laughed softly under his breath. “i think i’ve imagined this before.”
you pulled back slightly. “what?” his cheeks pinkened instantly.
“not— not on purpose,” he stammered adorably. “i just…” he looked down with a nervous smile. “sometimes i think about what our kids would look like.”
your heart nearly gave out. “oh michael…” you melted.
“i never wanted to pressure you,” he said quickly. “i swear. i just…” his eyes lifted back to yours, impossibly warm. “i think you’d be wonderful at it.”
you stared at him in stunned silence because all night you had prepared yourself for fear or disappointment, distance even, not this overwhelming, terrifying amount of love.
michael reached up, brushing damp hair away from your face carefully.
“and if the test says no,” he whispered, “that’s okay too.” his smile turned softer then.
“but one day?” he kissed your forehead gently, “i think we’d make something really beautiful together.”
the next morning, you sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor wearing one of michael’s giant shirts while the pregnancy test rested face down on the counter.
you looked seconds away from passing out.
michael, meanwhile, paced nervously outside the bathroom door.
“how much longer?”
“i don’t know!”
“it’s been six minutes!”
“stop counting!”
“sorry!”
despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you. only could he, in these circumstances make you laugh in the slightest.
he peeked around the doorway carefully then, curls messy from sleep, glasses slipping low on his nose.
“can i come in?” he carefully asked.
you nodded weakly. he immediately sat beside you on the cold tile floor, your shoulder leaning against his as his hand found yours instantly. the warmth from his bigger palms was comforting.
you both stared at the test sitting on the counter like it might explode. then finally—michael reached over and flipped it.
there was a beat of silence and your breath caught, like all the air had escaped from your lungs.
negative.
you hadn’t realized how hard your heart was pounding until relief flooded your body all at once.
“oh my god,” you exhaled shakily.
michael let out a breath too, rubbing a hand over his face with a quiet laugh.
“wow.”
you leaned back against the cabinet behind you, emotional exhaustion settling into your bones. but after a moment, there was something strange that had filled the silence. not disappointment exactly, just something aching.
you glanced over at him but he was already looking at you and somehow, without either of you saying it aloud, you both knew.
one day—maybe not now, maybe not soon but one day...
a mini you mixed with him could be running around the house.
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You don't know whether it was Michael's age that caused him to be so in love with your breasts, or just his natural male urge. Michael was a few years older than you, so seeing a pair of ripe, full, & youthful breasts in his face always made his day.
If they looked this perfect now, he'd always imagine how even more beautiful they'd look once he knocked you up with his babies, all round and swollen full of milk. The thought made his heart soften, he wanted so many babies with you in general.
Even after a long day, or especially when he'd come home from touring, he couldn't wait to get his mouth around them, a natural relaxant for him.
You'd be laid up on the sofa with him propped next to you, his head resting on your shoulder as you kissed deeply, your hands tangled in his thick hair. It wouldn't be long till he broke the kiss, pulling the neckline of your pink camisole down, letting your perky breasts fall free. This was routine.
"Missed my girls so much. You don't know what they do to a man," he'd mewl.
Your nipples were raised & hard from the slight breeze that hit them as soon as Michael took them out.
"God, look at that. So damn pretty," he'd coo at them, caressing them with both hands ever so gently, occasionally pinching your nipples lightly. He adored everything, the shape, the size & especially the colour.
"You love 'em, don't you, Mikey?" you'd tease, your cheeks flushing a light rose as he began squeezing them.
He'd nod slowly, "So fucking much."
He'd keep his eyes on you as he grabbed one, holding it up as he latched his mouth onto your nipple with a rhythmic, wet, gentle pull. He'd roll your other nipple between his middle finger & thumb, perfectly in time with the suction of his mouth. Small little whimpers fell from your lips as you arched your back slightly, it was inevitable. You continued stroking his hair as you rested your chin on his head.
"Been such a hard week, hasn't it, baby?" You'd say in between moans.
He'd hum around your areola before releasing himself from you with a wet pop, continuing to drag his face along them as he'd complain about the stresses of his work.
This wouldn't be the only time he'd try to touch or have them in his mouth. He'd come up behind you while you'd cook for him, undoing the buttons of your cardigan, groping them immediately. Or even when you were bathing. He'd simply come in & sit on the edge of the tub, throwing mantras of praise at you while he rubbed the soapy water all over them as he felt his cock stiffen in his slacks.
& of course, cowgirl was his favourite position for obvious reasons. He'd love watching the way they bounced & swung in his face. He'd rut his cock into you from beneath for that sole reason alone, occasionally wrapping his mouth around one for support as he'd shoot his load inside of you, forgetting who he was for a few seconds.
Sure, Michael was a wise man, yet he had the tendency to think with his cock a lot when it came to you. He had to remind himself it wasn't your body, or the way your sweet little pussy felt wrapped around him that made him buy you a ring, it was because he loved you. Although the first reason came pretty damn close.
𑣲⋆
a/n: I saw a few videos of michael in his mature era referring to breasts or like making jokes about them, so i was like wait
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