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Michael made the tiniest strangled sound. Immediately his head tipped back with embarrassment, curls tumbling across his forehead. “Don't say things like that..”

“Like what?” she asked, all faux innocence and sparkling eyes.

“Those cute names when you're being..” He swallowed hard. “..dirty.”

A grin tugged at her lips. “I think you like it.”

Michael shook his head too fast to be believable. “N-no! I’m a gentleman.”

“Liar.” Her fingers hooked lightly into his belt loops now, teasing without actually pulling. The anticipation alone had him squirming beneath her touch, one leg bouncing nervously while he tried very hard to avoid looking directly at her.

It didn't help that she looked beautiful like this.

Too beautiful, and the thought escaped before he could stop it.

“You're too pretty to be down there..” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Messin' with something so.. perverted.”

She blinked up at him, trying not to laugh. “Perverted?”

Michael groaned softly and buried his entire face in both hands this time. “Please don't make me repeat stuff.. I’m really shy..”

The sound of her laughter was gentle, fond. She leaned forward just enough for her cheek to brush against his knee affectionately, and Michael nearly folded in on himself from the sheer tenderness of it.

“You’re shaking, Mikey..” Her hands left his belt slowly.

For a second Michael thought maybe she'd noticed how overwhelmed he was getting. The poor boy could barely breathe correctly anymore, all flushed cheeks and twitching thighs and nervous little laughs muffled behind his hands.

But then she reached for one of them.

Michael peeked through his fingers just in time to see her guiding his larger hand into her lap, her own looking impossibly small wrapped around it. Long fingers. Elegant fingers. The kind that belonged behind piano keys beneath stage lights.

“Mama..” he whispered, already embarrassed again.

She ignored him completely and instead, she turned his hand over gently and pressed a kiss to the tip of his thumb and Michael visibly melted.

Another kiss landed against his index finger.

Then his middle.

Then the next.

Slow little kisses. Unhurried and affectionate enough to make his pants feel unbearably tight. Michael stared down at her in stunned silence, lips parted slightly while heat crawled all the way down his neck. This was almost worse than the teasing because it was too sweet. Way too sweet.

His thighs shifted restlessly beneath her as she kissed the tip of his pinky last, eyes never leaving his face once— she was watching every single reaction bloom across him in real time.

Michael tried to hide again instinctively, but she still had his hand still holding him there. Her gaze dropped briefly and she took his longest finger gently between her lips, and Michael forgot how to breathe for a solid three seconds because all he could focus on was her mouth.

The softness of it. The shine of it. The way her plush lips looked wrapped around his finger while she looked back up at him through her lashes. She started sucking, bobbing her head up and down on the digit as her tongue swirled a little too good around the flesh.

Michael sucked in a shaky breath so suddenly it almost sounded painful. His free hand immediately covered his face again, utterly overwhelmed.

“Hoh, God..” he laughed weakly into his palm, voice trembling around the edges. His thighs tried to cave inward again, only stopping because she was still between them.

And she looked entirely too pleased about that fact.

This time her hand slid upward, fingers disappearing into the curls at the nape of his neck gentle and possessive in the softest way possible. She tugged him downward carefully, and Michael followed without resistance, folding toward her like he was helpless against gravity whenever she touched him like this. One of his hands caught against the mattress beside her head to steady himself.

He looked unbearably pretty up close with his flushed cheeks, heavy lashes and hips parted slightly from nervous breathing.

And still shy. Still hiding little fragments of his face from her whenever she looked at him too lovingly for too long. Her thumb brushed along his jaw and Michael's eyes fluttered shut the second her lips met his.

When she pulled back barely an inch, his eyes opened slowly. Dazed. She smiled at him so fondly it nearly finished him off right there. “Can I make you feel good, my angel?” she asked softly.

He ducked his head immediately, forehead nearly falling against her shoulder while a breathless giggle escaped him in pure embarrassment. “You already are..” he mumbled shyly.

Moments of movement and shuffling pass before Michael's breathing is completely uneven now.

Every inhale came sharp through parted lips, every exhale trembling back out because he couldn't quite steady himself anymore. His face stayed turned away half the time, curls falling over his eyes while little helpless sounds kept slipping from him no matter how hard he tried to swallow them down.

“Mm.. mm—baby.. baby—” The words barely even sounded intentional. More instinct than speech as his fingers flexed uselessly against the sheets beside him before curling tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. A second later they were in his hair instead, tugging lightly at the curls near his temple while he whines under his breath in disbelief. A completely overwhelmed sound, genuinely not able process how good this felt.

Her tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his pretty mauve flushed brown tip, the wet warmth of her mouth enveloping him completely. Her small hands grip his base firmly, matching the rhythm of her mouth’s movements.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut again, brows pulling together while another soft moan escaped him, quieter this time. Almost ashamed of itself with pink flooding across his cheeks, lips parted helplessly and chest rising too fast beneath the open collar of his shirt.

Every little reaction crossed his face openly before he could hide it. And god, he kept trying to hide it. Every time a sound slipped out, he’d duck his head immediately afterward, one hand covering his mouth like maybe he could physically stop himself from making another. It never worked.

“Please..” he whispered at one point, though it didn't even sound like protest. More like he was overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of being wanted this way.

Her mouth is filled with the prettiest cock she’s ever had— slender but long, with a graceful curve that hits the back of her throat perfectly. And such a precious shade of cooked honey, the head thick and smooth. His pelvic area is impossibly smooth, completely hairless and perfectly groomed. She can see every detail of his erection without obstruction; the way his shaft rises from the clean shaven pelvis as her hands run over his smooth pubic bone, feeling how soft the skin is stretched tight over the area.

Another broken little moan caught in his throat.

Michael swallowed hard afterward, eyes glassy when they fluttered open again. He looked almost distraught from pleasure alone now.

“This is so..” He exhaled shakily, unable to finish the sentence.

Dirty.

Dirty and deply intimate in a way that made his stomach twist itself into knots. Michael looked almost painfully pretty like this. Completely unraveled by tenderness and desire all at once. Every soft sound leaving him admittedly was very pathetic and he couldn't understand how he’d ended up here at all. With a beautiful girlfriend who likes, no—loves him enough to put his.. thing in her pretty mouth. They’ve been intimate before this, but he’s still so shy when they do fool around he’s just like this every time. He hasn’t even seen what in between her legs looks like yet but he’s felt it before with his fingers.

A particularly shaky moan slipped out of him then, and he immediately groaned afterward biting the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I can't hold it.. I can't hold it..” he mumbled weakly against his skin, mortified. But even then his thighs trembled.

Michael’s breath stutters as his entire body tightens for a brief, helpless second before he loses whatever shaky control he’d been holding onto. He sits up almost involuntarily, pulled by instinct more than thought and immediately folds forward over her, shoulders hunched, curls falling around his face as he cradles her head with both hands. He’s cumming.

“Lord—have mercy..”

His fingers press gently into her hair, careful not to mess it up too bad while his forehead dips close. He tries to steady himself against her, a soft broken sound caught in his throat, as he stays there feeling her tongue roll against the underside of his dick. He.. doesn’t quite know how to come back down from the intensity except by holding on.

And that’s what he does until he bashfully lets her pull away, a big flirty smile on her face as she wipes the corner of her mouth.

“What? Don’t look at me like that..” His little accent is thicker now.

“We’ve been dating for months and you’re still so precious! Come hereeeee~! ♪ ” She chirps going in to tickle him, to which he preemptively starts screaming.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

A beep of a monitor was the first thing you heard once you woke up, the soft light of early morning sneaking its way through the curtains.

Then, slowly as your consciousness got its footing, you heard low singing from the other side of the room. A lullaby you hadn’t heard before but you knew who it was.

Turning over as carefully as you could, trying your best not to wince because Christ you were sore, your eyes finally landed on your husband who was standing with a baby in his arms. Rocking side to side on his never still feet as he sang a quiet tune to the newborn.

You smiled as you watched Michael. His eyes glowing in a way you hadn’t seen before. Looking as though he was holding the entire universe in his arms. Perhaps he was.

There was something else, though. Buried deep beneath his expression. One that would be hard to notice if you didn’t know how to read the fissure lines that held him together, but you’d had years of practice on learning how to pick up the hints of when something was bothering him.

“Honey?”

He turned, surprised to see you were awake and a string pulled at the corner of his lips.

Before he could get a word out, the question dripped off your tongue. “What’s wrong?”

Michael shook his head, eyes flicking away from you and down to the baby girl. “Nothing. Everything is perfect.”

“Come here,” you urged, adjusting the level of the bed so it’d be easier for you to sit up.

He carefully made his way over, his steps moving with the precision of someone walking on a high wire and his eyes never once leaving the baby wrapped in his arms.

Once he sat down on the edge of the bed, your finger gently tugged the blanket down and you smiled. “Those are your eyes, Michael. Look how beautiful she is.”

He was quiet for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Yeah.”

You frowned as you considered him. “You gotta talk to me, honey. What’s going on?”

He started to shake his head again, “I don’t wanna ruin the—“ his words died on his tongue when he took note of the expression you were wearing and he sighed. Gaze dancing back down to the baby. “I’m sorry I was late.”

“You were right on time.”

“But I wanted to be here. For the whole thing. I should’ve been with you when your water broke and I should’ve been the one to drive you here. I should’ve been holding your hand through each contraction and I wasn’t because I was working.”

It broke your heart to see how badly he was beating himself up over this, watching carefully as he slowly stood up to lay the baby down in the crib before he came back to the bed, taking your hands in his and the run of his thumb over your knuckles seemed to help calm him down.

“None of that was your fault. I knew you’d be here, I just knew it. And you were, you got to hold my hand and hear our first baby’s cry.“

“But I should’ve—“

“Michael.” You tugged him, encouraging him to sit back down and you brushed some of his curls away from his face, his eyes closing briefly at your gentle touch. “There’s something else you're not telling me, I can feel it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes dancing up to the ceiling for a moment before deciding to bite the bullet.

“She looks a lot like me.”

Your brows furrowed. “I know.”

“From before, I mean.”

You shut your eyes, trying not to cry all the sudden because you knew that would only make him feel worse. When you opened them again he was looking down, messing with your wedding ring.

“You’re both beautiful. All of you and each version. Don’t ever think otherwise—“

“What if she gets it?” What it was remained unspoken, hung silent in the air. “There’s a hereditary aspect to it, y’know. Not guaranteed, but it could happen.”

“We’d love her all the same, you know that.”

“But if she sees me hiding it then she’ll do the same and then what is she supposed to think of me? And what if I can’t handle it? What if I got ahead of myself? I mean, growing up with Joseph… I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

You knew he’d been avoiding this conversation for months now. You had seen it dancing on the edges of his lips every time parenthood got brought up. After every dinner you had with his parents. After every doctor appointment.

You knew he wanted kids more than anything in the world and he would never admit how terrified he actually was.

He was afraid of getting it wrong the way his dad did. Afraid of making his own kids feel small and like they weren’t enough.

You took hold of his chin and made him look at you, his red eyes making your heart ache.

“Michael, I say this sincerely and not just as your wife, you are the most wonderful man I have ever had the privilege of knowing. If our kids get to experience just a fraction of your kindness, they will experience the love of a lifetime from you as their father.”

A tear slipped from his eye, your thumb catching it and his smile was warmer than the sun that was bleeding into the room.

“And our child will love you just the same, because you’re her daddy and that’s all that matters. The rest is just noise.”

He rested his forehead against you for a moment, trying to steady himself as he took hold of your hands to bring them up to his lips.

Michael then kissed you, the taste of salt on your tongue because you hadn’t realized you’d been crying yourself.

You’d blame it on the postpartum hormones for now.

“I love you,” he muttered, his hand coming up to rest gently against the side of your throat. You knew your heart beat calmed him down.

michael jackson masterlist

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The argument afterward had not gone.. well. Mostly because it stopped being about jealousy almost immediately—that would’ve been easier. Instead it became about disrespect. About spending an entire evening standing in a room full of people while another woman monopolized her boyfriend’s attention. About feeling invisible and like a second choice. About Diana acting like she possessed a claim on Michael that nobody else was supposed to fucking question. Then, Diana made the catastrophic mistake of questioning her right back. Michael doesn’t remember every detail because the second the tension started rising, his survival instincts kicked in and his brain effectively left the building. But he remembers (Name) asking if she could maybe have five uninterrupted minutes with her own boyfriend. He remembers Diana not appreciating the tone. He remembers trying to smooth things over then—the drink in (Name)’s hand found itself splashing in Diana’s face before Michael had to physically pick up and pull her away while another nearby did the same with Diana.

Now Diana is on one side of the club pretending none of it happened. His girlfriend is on the other side pretending he doesn’t exist.

And somehow Michael is the common denominator in both disasters.

After spending nearly fifteen minutes pacing around the bar (like a condemned man awaiting execution), Michael finally orders her favorite drink. Then orders another because his hands are shaking badly enough that he drops the first one. By the time he starts walking toward her booth, he’s rehearsed approximately seventeen? different apologies and forgotten every single one of them. His girlfriend notices him immediately but she simply chooses not to acknowledge it. Michael stops beside the table and waits. Nothing.

“Hi.” Silence. “Hi,” he tries again, somehow sounding even more nervous the second time. Still nothing then carefully, he sets the drink down in front of her.

“..I got this for you, baby..” That finally earns him a reaction: she looks at the glass. Then at him and back at the glass. A smile appears and Michael’s stomach immediately drops to the floor. Because it’s not her happy smile. It’s the smile. The one that means she’s about to make him suffer.

“Oh.” One word as she picks up the drink and studies it thoughtfully before slowly lifting her eyes back to his. The smile widens.

“Oh,” She says again. “Finally remembered who your girlfriend is?” And just like that, every apology Michael spent the last fifteen minutes rehearsing evaporates completely.

Michael just stares at her. Which, unfortunately, is probably the worst possible thing he could be doing right now. He just.. stares. Partially because he's terrified and genuinely, sincerely terrified in a way that feels ridiculous considering he’s a rising star, one would think very little scares him. But he’s staring mostly because she’s angry, and he's never actually seen her like this before. Not really—not directed at him. Usually when she’s upset, there’s still something soft underneath it. Its huffy, pouty, there’s some visible crack where he can see his way back in. Tonight there isn’t. Tonight she’s sitting across from him looking completely unimpressed, completely unaffected by his presence, and somehow so damn beautiful. She’s beautiful everyday, yeah. But right now? Whew. Her eyes seem darker, her posture straighter and there’s a confidence that feels like she owns the entire nightclub and everyone inside it. Michael knows he should be apologizing. Knows he should be speaking. Knows he should be doing literally anything other than staring at her. Instead, his brain completely betrays him by noticing how pretty she looks when she’s mad.

The silence stretches longer than it should and her eyebrow slowly lifts. Michael continues staring.

“Hello?” Nothing. “Michael?”

His brain finally restarts with all the grace of a car refusing to turn over. “Pardon?” The second the word leaves his mouth, she lets out a short laugh and leans back against the booth cushions.

“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You're not even listening to me.”

Michael immediately opens his mouth to argue before deciding against it. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Then she gestures casually across the club toward Diana and smiles in a way that makes every survival instinct in his body activate at once.

“Please go back over there before I drag that old bitch.” Michael’s eyes widen and his gaze instinctively flickers toward Diana before snapping right back to his girlfriend. Huge mistake. She catches it immediately.

“Oh, don't worry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.” And suddenly Michael understands that this isn’t really about Diana at all—or at least entirely. It’s about spending an entire evening making his girlfriend feel unwanted while he floated around Studio 54 like he didn’t even have one. The realization settles heavily in his stomach, and for the first time all night, he's no longer scared of her being angry. He’s scared because she has every right to be.

(Name) stares at him for another few seconds before letting out a long sigh and sliding out of the booth. Michael immediately straightens because the fact she's standing up usually means a decision has been made, and Michael has a horrible feeling he isn’t going to like it. She smooths down her outfit, picks up her purse, and points directly at him.

“I’m leaving.” She says and Michael blinks.

“Okay..” He nods.

“You can stay if you want.” His face falls instantly. “But,” She continues holding up a finger, “I’m changing the locks if you do.” The statement confirms he is, in fact, still very much in trouble and (Name) watches the realization happen in real time. His shoulders sink. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Then without a single argument, he simply stands up and follows after her immediately with no hesitation. He’s trailing along a few steps behind like a giant, miserable puppy that knows exactly why it’s being punished.

(Name) makes it approximately ten feet before glancing over her shoulder and finding him still there looking guilty and pathetic. Looking like if she left him alone in Studio 54 for more than twenty minutes he’d probably just stand in the corner thinking about life. The sight nearly breaks her resolve. Nearly.

“That's what I thought,” She says, reaching back and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and Michael doesn’t even protest. If anything, he seems relieved to be collected. (Name) rolls her eyes and starts steering him toward the exit while he obediently follows along behind her. They’re halfway across the club when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

“Well, look at this.” Quincy appears out of nowhere, drink in hand and a grin already spreading across his face as he takes in the scene before him. (Name) with one hand on Michael’s collar. Michael following behind her with all the dignity of a man being escorted out of kindergarten. Quincy immediately starts laughing.

She brightens instantly. “Hi, Q!” she calls cheerfully, as if she isn’t actively dragging her boyfriend through the middle of Studio 54. “We're leaving!”

Quincy glances at Michael and at the hand attached to his collar. “I can see that, sweetheart.”

She nods enthusiastically. ”Early too!” And behind her, Michael closes his eyes for a brief moment as Quincy nearly doubles over laughing.

“What’d you do, Mike?” Quincy asks.

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Michael mutters.

“He knows what he did,” She answers at the exact same time, giving his collar another tug toward the door and Quincy laughs even harder. Michael wishes the floor would open and swallow him whole.

The walk to the car is painfully embarrassing for Michael but she saves him from the embarrassment of the paparazzi because releases his collar the second they step outside, but somehow that’s worse. At least when she was dragging him around, she was touching him. Now she’s just walking beside him with her purse tucked under her arm and her expression fixed firmly ahead. The night air is cooler than inside the club, carrying away some of the heat and noise of Studio 54, but none of it helps the growing sense of dread sitting in Michael’s stomach. When the car finally pulls up, he nearly lunges for the door handle, rushing ahead to open it for her before she can do it herself. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture beyond sliding into the seat without a word and Michael follows a moment later, settling beside her as the door shuts and the city begins moving past the windows.

The silence inside the car feels louder than the music had.

(Name) sits with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and one leg thrown over the other, looking out the window because she’s suddenly become fascinated by New York traffic. Michael glances at her once.. then again. Then a third time. Every few seconds his eyes drift back toward her before darting away when she doesn’t react. He lasts maybe five minutes before finally giving up. Slowly and cautiously, he reaches across the seat and rests his hand lightly on her knee.

She just refuses to look at him.

“Lovey..” Michael says quietly. No response.

“I’m sorry.” His thumb moves against her knee. “Will you look at me?” Nothing.

“Please? What can I do?” The worst part is how sincere he sounds. He’s not making excuses or defending himself. He’s just being her Michael. Soft and sweet and looking so genuinely miserable that she can physically feel her resolve beginning to crack down the middle. She hates it. Hates how easy it is when he uses that voice. Hates how his eyes get all sad. Hates that she still wants to forgive him..

So instead she turns her head slowly and narrows her eyes at him. Michael immediately brightens.

Big mistake.

“Don't,” she warns and his smile falters. “You are going to massage my feet until your hands hurt.”

For a moment he stares at her then relief washes across his face so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. “That's it?”

Her eyes narrow further and Michael wisely corrects himself. “I mean.. yes. Absolutely. As long as you want.”

“Good.”

“Okay."

“And I'm still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“Very mad.”

“I know, lovey.”

She turns back toward the window, fighting the smile threatening to appear on her face and a few seconds later, Michael’s hand quietly slips from her knee into her hand.

This time she lets it stay there.

The second she lets his hand stay in hers, Michael immediately gets hopeful in that cutie way he gets when he thinks he might still be forgiven. She doesn’t even have to look at him to feel it. Its the little glances he keeps sneaking at her and the way his thumb moves against her knuckles. She keeps her gaze fixed out the window acting like she hasn’t noticed any of it even though she absolutely has.

The quiet doesn't last long.

“..Can I have a kiss?” Michael asks, voice softer than it already is because he’s testing whether the ground is stable again. (Name) closes her eyes for a second like she’s physically bracing herself, then finally turns her head toward him. The look she gives him is unreadable, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning across the space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It’s brief, barely even a second, and the moment it’s over she’s already pulling away and turning back toward the window like nothing happened. Michael goes completely still beside her for a second then lets out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.

“I got a kiss,” he says softly, and she immediately groans and hides her face in her hand.

“Don’t start,” she warns, but her voice isn’t nearly as firm as she wants it to be. And Michael, still holding her just leans back in his seat with a smile that makes it very clear he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

By the time they get back to her apartment (he pays for), the argument has started to lose its intensity. She kicks off her shoes the second she walks in and Michael follows her in without a word, already looking for ways to make things right without overcomplicating it.

A few minutes later she’s settled on the couch with one leg tucked under her, a cigarette resting between her fingers as she leans back into the cushions, watching him move around the room. Michael eventually ends up sitting on the floor in front of her, carefully taking her feet into his hands and he starts massaging slowly, thumbs pressing into her arch. She doesn’t look at him at first, just exhales smoke toward the ceiling, acting like she’s still mad, but her foot relaxes in his grip anyway, betraying her before she can stop it.

Michael glances up at her once, then keeps going when she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it from her anyway.

(Name) doesn’t look down at him right away. She just takes another slow drag from her cigarette, considering it for a second longer than necessary, then finally tilts her head slightly in his direction with the faintest trace of a smile pulling at her mouth. And Michael, still on the floor with her feet in his hands, keeps massaging like he’s already accepted whatever verdict she decides to give him.

Michael keeps working his thumbs into her feet and she lounges back into the couch like she’s testing how long she can stay annoyed before it dissolves on its own. She finally speaks without looking at him, voice light but still edged with something he knows better than to fully relax around.

“I dunno,” she says, exhaling another thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Do you think I should still be mad?”

Michael pauses for half a second, hands still resting around her ankle. Then he looks up at her properly, curls a little messy, expression soft and painfully earnest.. that look always makes her anger feel less solid than it should. “Yes,” he says immediately, then corrects himself just as fast, “I mean—no. I mean.. I think you were right to be mad.”

That earns him a look.

So he keeps going, “I was stupid,” he admits, thumbs resuming their slow pressure like he needs the movement to stay grounded. “I should’ve been with you more. I didn’t mean to.. make you feel like that.” His eyes flick up again, searching her face carefully, like he’s trying to read whether he’s losing her in real time. “But I.. also really don’t want you to stay mad at me.”

(Name) watches him for a moment, cigarette still between her fingers, expression unreadable in a way that makes his stomach tighten slightly. Then she tilts her head, studying him like she’s deciding something she hasn’t fully committed to yet. Michael doesn’t move, he just waits there on the floor with her foot in his hands.

Finally, she lets out a small breath through her nose, something almost like a laugh buried in it, and leans her head back against the couch.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she says, not quite forgiving him but not holding on to the anger either. Michael lets out a relieved breath he clearly didn’t realize he was holding and immediately goes back to massaging.

“But you’re definitely putting that mouth to work tonight.”