shortnfreaky

Michael’s camcorder covers half of his face, trembling fingers clasping desperately against the plastic exterior as he works hard to keep it pointed at you.

Maybe his hands are shaking from nerves, or maybe it’s because he’s fighting against every last drop of restraint left in his body while your hips roll painfully slow over his as you ride him on the plush carpet of his bedroom floor.

It was your idea— filming the two of you in such an intimate setting.

You’d spent days watching Michael get all wide-eyed and giddy as he captured every little moment on his new video camera. He took it everywhere, becoming somewhat of an amateur filmmaker as he directed everyone around him, taping the most mundane moments.

Even when it was just the two of you, the camera stayed glued to his hand.

The late afternoon sun slipped through his curtains as you sat in his bedroom, thumbing through a stack of records. You thought you were finally safe from your boyfriend’s constant need to document his every move, when the realization hit you— you were being watched.

The albums at your fingertips stilled as you gazed up, noticing the red light glaring in the distance.

Your eyes found Michael’s through the lens of his camera— always filming.

He smiled from behind the bulky machine as you waved, giggles bubbling under your breath at your precious boyfriend who thought you searching through his music collection was something worth documenting.

And for him it really was.

But seeing the way his curls fell against his forehead while he focused on your every move through the viewfinder, his slender fingers curving and gripping at the camera as he kept you in his sight, gave you other ideas.

You’d thought about it last week; using his camcorder to film the two of you having sex.

His head was buried in the crook of your neck kissing and sucking, while his breath got heavier against your skin with every thrust of his hips.

And when his hand fought between your bodies to rub tight circles into your clit, your back arched in a way you didn’t even know was possible, pressing your cheek even further into the satin pillowcase beneath your head.

You felt a familiar coil tightening deep in your abdomen, but were met with a familiar sight when you opened your eyes, momentarily distracting you from the orgasm curling at your toes.

Sitting on the bedside table, his video camera was pointed toward you, completely shut off, and yet, your body went numb at the thought of the little red recording light turning on.

You imagined it capturing the lewd sounds Michael was making into your neck, and the image of your heaving bodies meshing together— all slick and sweaty.

The thought of filming such a filthy thing, having it on tape for just the two of you; it was hot. So hot, that the notion of it sent you right over the edge.

Michael was too busy moaning into your shoulder about how good you felt to notice your gaze locked on his favorite new toy.

You grasped at his back, nails digging into his skin as the most pathetic whines fell from your lips.

From that moment on you could barely look at it the same.

Every time he held the camcorder in front of his face, gentle hands keeping it steady, and the corner of his smile peeking out from behind it— your skin got hot.

But each time you thought you could work up the courage to tell him about your little fantasy, a twinge of embarrassment kept the words from leaving your mouth.

Michael was just so private. You couldn’t imagine he’d want to film something that personal.

So, for the sake of avoiding rejection, you kept your desire to be filmed confidential.

But it was especially hard to keep your dirty little secret in instances like this: him taping when it was just the two of you alone.

It would be so easy to ask him, so easy to set the camera on any surface in his room and angle it just right, letting it capture every second as you had your way with each other.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You never could.

Settling for a bashful smile in his direction, the tension fueled by forbidden thoughts pulled at your cheekbones as he caught each tweak of your expression on his camera.

“You’re so funny with that thing.” You went back to the albums at your fingers, flipping one after another looking for the perfect soundtrack to accompany the setting sun outside the window.

“How?” He kept the camcorder in front of his face, still rolling, as his question slipped past his grin.

You didn’t answer, shaking your head with a smirk of your own as you kept your hands busy with the records.

“Because I wanna record my girl?” His voice was sweet, carrying across the room with a quiet confidence that made your breath hitch.

If he wanted to record you so bad, maybe he wouldn’t turn down the depraved idea that kept rolling around in your head-

“Maybe I want something to watch when I’m away. When I miss you.” the camera was still recording, and you had to force your fingers to keep moving through the vinyls, because the way his voice got all low and soft threatened to make your entire body freeze.

Your chest swelled thinking about him watching these moments when he was halfway across the world; simple tapes of you doing absolutely nothing in his room— something to remind him what’s waiting back home.

But then your mind wanders as you think about him missing you in a different way.

The nights when he’s alone in a hotel room somewhere, with his hand wrapped around his dick and his eyes squeezed shut, picturing your naked body on the back of his eyelids.

The nights when it’s already morning back in California and he knows you’re too busy to talk on the phone.

The nights when he needs just a little something more than his imagination to fall asleep.

And you could help him with that.

Right now.

With his video camera you could offer a little keepsake for him to take on tour, something for him to keep hidden away until he needed it most. Something for his eyes only that would make his cheeks burn when he remembered it was tucked deep inside the front pocket of his carry on.

“You’d do that? Watch tapes of me while you’re away?” You try your best to keep the sultry curiosity out of your voice as you stare down at your hands that have definitely stopped moving.

“Of course baby.”

The camera lowers just enough for his stare to meet yours and his eyes are too warm and gentle. If only he knew the thoughts clouding your brain right now.

“That’s sweet.” Your smile barely reaches your cheeks before the camera is back in front of his face, capturing your response.

“Michael?”

“Hmm?”

A surge of courage, or more likely lust, rushes through your chest as you watch him hum in response, his lips lightly pressing together.

“Could you kiss me?”

The camera lowers, his eyes visible to you again.

“Baby you don’t have to ask-“

He pulls the camcorder down completely, his lips pulling into a full fledged smile as his finger hovers over the button to turn it off-

“With the camera on.”

His body goes still.

You’re staring at him, watching his smile settle into his cheeks, lips parted just enough for his breathy response to slip past them.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t turn off the video camera.

“I could do that.”

Instead he places it carefully on the edge of his bed, making sure it’s pointed directly at you. Adjusting it inch by inch, his eyes bounce between the picture of you in his camera, and your eyes locked on him just a few feet away.

It nestles perfectly against his comforter as he makes his way across the floor, kneeling beside you without saying a single word.

He looks a little uncertain and for a minute you regret putting him in this situation, but then his hand finds your jaw, pulling you closer until your lips meet.

The movement of his mouth against yours is slow and careful, but there’s a hunger in the way his hands find your waist, grabbing and pulling you into him— eager.

The kiss deepens but there’s a slight hesitation in his touch as his fingers linger at the hem of your t-shirt.

“We can stop.”

The offer is abrupt as you pull back just enough for your words to land on his lips: swollen, parted, and fighting a tender smile.

“The camera- I mean. We can stop recording.”

“D’ya want that?” His voice was quiet, eyes intense as he searches your expression for the answer to his question.

You’re unable to look him in the eyes, attention falling to the ground as you try to pry the word “yes” from somewhere deep in your throat where it’s refusing to leave.

“Angel…”

You can’t see his face, but the nickname floats through the air in a low chuckle.

He’s amused.

“Don’t.” Your chest is hot and there’s a slight pang of humiliation— or maybe annoyance— swimming in your voice as you keep your eyes trained on the floor.

“Look at me baby.”

You can hear the smile behind his words as his fingertips find your jaw, pulling your gaze forward.

“My angel wants to be filmed?”

“Mikey.”

He’s holding your face in his hands making it impossible for you to look away.

And he’s grinning.

“Tell me.” His words are taunting, seeping with a discreet kind of arrogance.

You shake your head, physically unable to pull the words from your mouth.

“C’mon, gotta tell me what you want.”

“I wanna record it.” You find your voice, pulling it from your throat and shoving it past your lips.

“I want you to have a tape— of us.”

You wish you didn’t sound so timid as you watched the smile push against his cheeks.

“Doing what?”

He’s smug now, biting at his lower lip to keep his smirk from growing.

“Michael.”

He raises a brow and suddenly you remember all of this is being captured by the camera perched on his bed.

“Wanna make a video of us fucking Mikey.” Your voice drops to a low whisper and you can feel him tense up at the indecent language dripping from your lips.

“So you can watch it when you miss me.” You throw his earlier statement back at him, only this time, the intention behind the words is far more perverted.

“Would that be okay?”

Now you’re teasing, trailing your fingers up the nape of his neck, wrapping them gently in his curls.

His answer is delivered in the quick grip of his hands on your hips, fingers sliding past your t-shirt and onto your skin.

His touch is everywhere: hands roaming your stomach, pressing flat against your lower back to push you further into him as your lips find each other in an all consuming heat.

It’s a sweltering frenzy of newfound corruption with both of your fighting to free yourselves from the layers of clothing that kept your skin from touching.

The flames of anticipation grew hotter with every article that hit the floor— the gentle reminder of your on-screen debut flashing red in your peripheral vision.

The camera sat nice and neat on the edge of Michael’s bed, recording as your bodies moved in a desperate rhythm.

Your lips were still attached when his fingers ran along the waistband of your panties.

“You sure?” His voice was muffled into the kiss, too quiet for his camcorder to pick up.

You pulled back, legs straddling his hips as you reached toward the bed.

You grabbed the camera, handing it to him, red light still blinking.

He held it out in his palm, unsure of what you were doing, until you moved his hand, guiding the camera to its habitual position in front of his face, letting him do what he’s been doing for weeks— record you.

“Oh, Angel.”

The groan falls from his lips as he leans back, one hand keeping the camera secure at his face, the other sitting flat against the carpet.

And while he looks for you in the view finder, you tug his underwear down his thighs, not even bothering to push them all the way off his legs.

You think about wrapping a hand around his length, stroking him a few times for the sake of his later-viewing pleasure.

But you were too impatient— willing to skip foreplay in exchange for the satisfaction of feeling him deep inside you.

You pull your panties aside just enough to feel him dip into the slick mess pooling at your center.

His breath hitched.

You were wet. It was rare that you could get this worked up from him barely touching you, and even more unlikely that you’d be ready to take him without the stretch of his fingers first.

But as you sunk down, it became increasingly evident just how much you wanted this— how much you’d thought about him filming you.

“That’s good angel.” His praise chokes out between sighs.

You’re whining as he fills you completely, every inch of him tucked away and pulsing against your walls.

Your eyes had been shut, soaking in the stretch as you slid down, but now, you looked directly at the lens in front of you, eyelids heavy and lips parting as you rolled your hips over his.

“Angel.” This time the word is a complete and utter whimper.

“You look s’pretty like that.” He’s cooing under his breath, as you keep eye contact with him through the camera.

His dick presses somewhere real deep making your lashes flutter and your brows pull together.

His fingertips dig into the carpet, and you can tell his need to touch you is agonizing, but the angle is too good. The point of view from his camera, the way he’s stroking into you at just the right spot; all of it forcing him to stay put— driving his hand even further into the ground to hold himself steady.

It’s a slight shift when pans the camera down, but the action has you going dizzy.

The camcorder is focused between your bodies, perfectly capturing the view of your pussy hugging him in.

You make a show of it, lifting up just enough for the camera to catch a glimpse of the creamy ring of arousal building at the base of his cock, before burying yourself back down on him. Bouncing nice and slow, watching the way his brows furrow from behind the camera.

It startles you when he shifts beneath you, abruptly leaning over to put the camera back in its original position, tossing it on the bed and pointing toward you, still recording.

He’s still inside you, his hands gripping your body, everywhere— desperate to touch you, to hold you.

You rock your hips into his at a quicker pace, fingers tugging at his hair.

“You like this.” His statement is almost incriminating as it melts through his smile pressing beneath your jaw.

Your hips stutter; skin going warm at his sultry accusation.

Before you can respond his voice drops lower, humming into your neck, “I like it too.”

He holds onto your hips steady, fucking up into you— deprived and impatient.

The pleasure is blinding and you can feel your body tensing under his fingertips.

“Mikey I’m close.”

You’re whining into the air, and the broken groans falling into your shoulder tell you he’s not far from his own release.

He kisses back up your neck, sloppy and quick before bringing his face back to yours.

“Look at me baby.”

With gentle fingertips, he holds your jaw in his hand, stroking a careful thumb across your cheek to coax your eyes open.

“Wanna see you.”

Your lashes flutter, eyes opening with heavy lids and a completely fucked-out gaze.

“My pretty girl.” His compliment yanks at the thin string of composure pulling tight in your stomach and you can’t stop the waves of relief from washing over you as it snaps.

The orgasm induced high clouding your brain sends a filthy request to your lips,

“Want you to cum inside Mikey…”

His hands stiffen, but his pupils grow wide, laced with something more than hunger— greed.

“Please please please.” The word is a breathless whimper ringing out over and over again, pussy sensitive and throbbing as your hips roll languidly against him.

The pathetic sound of your begging is all it takes for Michael to hold you close as he spills into you.

Burying into your chest, his lips press against your sternum muffling the desperate sounds seeping from his throat. Each little gasp melts into your skin while your hands tangle into his hair.

You gently play with his curls, wrapping them around your fingertips as you hear his breath soften under your touch.

He’s almost giggling when his voice finally becomes clear again, still purring into your bare chest, “That was filthy.”

He pulls back just enough to catch you peering down at him, both of you wide-eyed and grinning.

“Bet you’ll appreciate it when you’re all worked up a million miles away.”

Your fingers are still threading through his hair, attempting to remedy the mess you’ve made from all the grabbing and tugging.

“Bet I will.”

He’s got that look on his face of sheer joy. Smile digging deep against his cheekbones and his eyes washed over with pure bliss as he looks up at you.

But now? You’re with him, by his side at all times, thriving off of your support alone. At the end of each show he’s racing backstage to be greeted by your proud smile, pulling him into a hug without a care of him being sweaty.

He would never have his career get in the way of parting you both.

husband!michael who has so many lovely nicknames for you, but nothing beats his favorite of sometimes calling you ‘my wife’. Yes, it’s simple, but it has you swoon the most out of all because it reminds you that you belong to him and no one else.

“How’s my wife doing?” He’ll whisper sweetly in your ear, coming from behind with arms wrapped around you.

“Is that what my wife wants?” He’ll say after you point to a cute purse in a magazine you’re flipping through, knowing it’ll be in your possession by tomorrow.

“My wife’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” He mentions when an interviewer asks a question about your guys’ marriage, not wanting anybody to forget.

He’ll continue calling you that as long as it keeps putting you in a flustered mess for him to see.

husband!michael who’s brain short circuits whenever he sees you wearing his clothes.

You discovered how your clothes for lounging isn’t as nearly as comfortable as Michael’s. Shirts engulfing your frame like a blanket, not to mention how they smell like him too? You’re not sorry for how many t-shirts you’ve stolen from his closet. He doesn’t mind one bit, leaving a peck on your cheek while he mumbles that you look better in them anyways.

husband!michael who pulls you into his lap whenever he can.

If he’s working on his music and you’re curiously looking over his shoulder, he’ll pull your hand to plop you down on his lap for a closer look.

If you two are relaxing together on the couch after a long day, cuddling up to his side, he’ll soon gesture for you to move on his lap and get more comfortable, rubbing soothing circles on top of your thighs.

He wants to be as close to you as possible.

husband!michael who loves to steal kisses from you.

How your lips attract him like a magnet, leaving quick pecks every time he lays his softened gaze on you. Doesn’t matter where you are, hell it could be in the middle of an interview you two are doing. It’s the one thing he isn’t shy about doing, which is publicly loving his wife.

Don’t even think about teasing him by turning your head away to avoid it. He’ll gently squish your cheeks to force your lips to pucker silly, turning you back to his direction and planting multiple while you giggle and squirm your head for freedom.

husband!michael who’s the most observant man you’ve ever been with.

“Did you do something with your hair?” You hear him say the second you walk in after getting a small trim to cut off your dead-ends, catching you by surprise on how he could see such a small difference.

“Is that a new dress?” He’ll comment during a date night, admiring how beautiful the warm color looks on you. “Wear it more often, I love how it looks on you.” Which has you roll your eyes at the request because sure, you will, if he can resist the temptation to rip it off of you after twenty minutes.

How he’s quick to signal his security to bring the car up front, because he can read the slight strain in your tone when greeting people at a red carpet after party that you’re not in the mood to be here, and he’s more than happy to leave if it means to put you at ease.

To marry a man who can understand what you’re feeling without ever needing to voice it? You count it as a blessing.

husband!michael who swears up and down jealousy is an ugly emotion that isn’t in his system, but you’ve caught little actions here and there that says otherwise.

When a male celebrity at an event strikes up a conversation with you that doesn’t go farther than just being polite, you still begin to feel Michael’s hand on your waist tightening ever so slightly. You don’t even have to turn your head to know he’s boring his eyes right at the guy, monitoring his every move to make sure he doesn’t try any subtle flirting.

How after a movie you two just watched you circle back to a scene from one of the guy characters that made you laugh, not thinking much when you state he’s your favorite in that entire film. A few seconds of silence goes by, looking over your shoulder to see Michael try to hold back his annoyance. “Hmm, well I didn’t like him. Something about him felt off.” Right, sure.

husband!michael who can’t wait any longer to start the family he’s been dreaming to have since the second he fitted the wedding ring to your finger.

And he made sure to show you exactly how much he’s been dreaming about it.

He flexes his hand, spreading over your stomach, pressing just enough to feel the way your body yields around him. Your mouth parts in a silent gasp with the way his cock pushes deeper each thrust, having your legs tremble.

“My sweet baby is going to be the best mother ever to my children, hm?” He groans, his control slipping from how tight you clench around him, wanting to feel every thick inch drag along your gummy walls.

You manage a nod, shuddering as the pleasure builds, finding the strength to form words for a reply. “Yes, yes, I will!” You grip onto his wrists that holds your hips steady to take every snap of his, claiming you completely. “Please come inside me, where it belongs, I-I need it so badly.”

“Shit,” He shakily exhales, eyes locked onto the reflection of his cock disappearing into you. “Talkin’ like that, I’ll make sure you take every last drop.”

And you do.

Thick, hot pulse of cum hits your deepest spot, filling you up so completely it makes you dizzy. You milk his cock dry, your own orgasm clenching around him. He pulls out, having you taste the cold emptiness until his digits replaces.

“That’s it, that’s it…” He breaths low, twisting his fingers, pressing his cum further inside, making sure it stays there. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the way your body clings to his fingers, how you’re dripping from the mess he’s made of you.

If it’ll always be like this, him stuffing you so full, then you don’t care if he’s being serious when he mentioned in an interview that he would like to have 18 children.

Video two, month two.

“Baby, how are you feeling?” His voice was soft. The camera caught you laid out on the bed, your eyes softly fluttering closed from the nausea that ran through you.

“Like I just puked up dinner from last night.” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke, using your arm to cover your eyes in an attempt to stop the dizziness.

“You still look gorgeous, even if I just witnessed that.” He laughed behind the camera, turning it around so that he could be seen. The only thing that could be heard was a groan before you spoke again.

“Go away,” you mumbled, your face not shown, but the camera still picked it up as he waved, stopping the video.

Video three, month three.

The video opened with the two of you sitting on the couch, parenthood books and flyers scattered all around. The TV played softly in the background as the camera zoomed in on your small bump.

“Mikey, they say the baby is the size of a plum or a lime right now!” You held the pamphlet in your hand, a smile plastered on your face.

“Is that so?” He leaned closer, angling the camera so that the pamphlet could be shown, zooming in on the small letters.

Video four, month four.

“Share your pregnancy cravings with us.” The camera zoomed out, revealing you sitting at the table, your head in your hands as you laughed, looking up.

“Well, usually at night I eat a lot of ice, which is pretty normal,” you started, your face showing that gorgeous pregnancy glow. “But today I'm craving pickles and peanut butter! Oh, and lots of ice cream that Michael buys me nearly every day because I eat it so much.” You smiled, watching as Michael’s face turned into disgust behind the camera.

“Oh, come on, it's good, you should try it.”

“I love you, but no thank you.”

Video five, month five.

You held an envelope, the flap sealed shut in order to contain the surprise inside. “Are you ready?” Your voice shook with excitement as you slid your finger against the seal, the sound of the paper ripping filling the room.

The camera was shaky; Michael was unable to keep his hands still. “I'm nervous,” he laughed, the softness of his voice fitting the scene in front of you.

“Oh my god, Michael,” the camera caught your expression as your eyes scanned the page. It was almost like you could hear the sound of his heartbeat through the camera.

“It's a girl!” You shouted, the camera becoming blurry with all the movement Michael was making as he hugged you, the two of your laughs filling the air even if the camera couldn't catch it all.

Video six, month six.

This video was shorter than the others. The only thing that could be seen was the movement from your stomach, a small kick gently stretching the skin, but not painfully.

“Look at our angel,” Michael whispered, as if he spoke too loudly she'd stop making herself known before he pressed his lips to your belly, tracing his free hand along your stomach.

Video seven, month seven.

At this point your feet were sore and swollen, and the only thing you could do was waddle around the house. The camera caught you in action, moving slowly to the living room as you sat down. Your eyes focused on the TV.

“Michael, I see you,” you crossed your arms above your expanded belly, gently placing them on top. Your eyes made contact with the lens of the camera.

“How'd you see me?”

“I always do,” you rolled your eyes playfully.

Video eight, month eight.

“How do you feel, baby?” He whispered as if he was afraid to wake up the baby in your stomach, as he zoomed out, catching the faint smile on your face.

“Like I want this baby out,” you giggled, rubbing another lazy circle around the stretched skin.

“I'm tired,” you yawned, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Let's get you to bed.”

Video nine, month nine.

The video already started off hectically. Well, mostly on Michael's part as he tried his best not to panic, but his heart was damn near falling out of his chest; his heavy breathing could be heard faintly through the mic.

“Mike, grab the hospital bag!” You yelled from the front door, the camera catching a faint glance of you and your round belly as you rubbed it gently.

It was honestly too blurry to see what was going on, but considering the pure stress that Michael was causing himself, you couldn't have expected anything better.

The camera caught him grabbing the bag before it cut short. The next clip showed you in the hospital taking deep breaths in order to ease some of the pain before cutting again.

©angelfacediary

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The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the bedroom. You stirred slightly, stretching against the soft sheets, before the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm vanilla drifted past your nose.

Opening your eyes, you found Michael already sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a beautifully arranged tray. His dark curls falling loosely around his face, and that familiar, soft smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and raspy from sleep.

"Michael," you murmured, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. "What is all this?"

On the tray sat a plate of golden-brown French toast dusted with powdered sugar, a bowl of fresh berries, a glass of orange juice, and a single, perfect pink rose in a crystal vase.

"Just a little something to start the day right," he said, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "We’ve both been so busy lately, and I wanted to make today special for you. Eat up, because you have a busy schedule ahead."

You laughed, taking a sip of the coffee. "A busy schedule? What are you planning, michael?"

"It's a surprise," he replied with a mischievous glint in his eye, tapping the tip of your nose. "Just promise me you'll enjoy it."

True to his word, Michael had the entire morning meticulously planned out. Shortly after breakfast, a driver arrived to take you to your favorite boutique salon in the city. When you walked in, the staff greeted you by name, immediately escorting you to a private room.

"Mr. Jackson called ahead," the manicurist told you with a smile. "He picked out a few colors he thought you'd like, but of course, the choice is entirely yours."

You spent the next two hours being completely pampered—a luxurious manicure and pedicure, followed by a professional styling session for your hair. Every detail felt deliberate, designed to make you feel like royalty.

When you returned home, you found a large, elegant box sitting on the bed. Tied with a satin ribbon, a small note rested on top in Michael's neat, looping handwriting

Wear this for me tonight. A car will pick you up at 4:00 PM. I can't wait to see you.

All my love, Michael.

With racing pulses, you untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside lay a breathtaking, flowing dress in your favorite color, made of soft silk that felt like water against your skin. Paired with it were a set of delicate, understated jewelry pieces that perfectly complemented the gown.

You changed quickly, looking at yourself in the full-length mirror. The dress fit flawlessly, hugging you in all the right places before cascading down to the floor. Right on time, a soft knock on the front door signaled that your driver had arrived.

The drive took you away from the bustling city streets, winding down quiet, tree-lined roads until the car finally pulled up to a massive stone archway. The driver opened the door for you, gesturing toward a cobblestone path that led into a dense, beautifully manicured estate garden.

"He's waiting for you at the end of the path, miss," the driver said warmly.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped onto the stones. The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, lavender, and roses. As you walked further down the winding path, you noticed small, delicate details hanging from the branches of the willow trees.

Strung on thin, invisible wires were Polaroid photographs.

You stopped, reaching out to touch the first one. It was a candid photo from three years ago—you and Michael sitting on a blanket in a park, laughing hysterically at an inside joke, his camera catching the exact moment of pure happiness.

A few steps further, another photograph caught your eye. This one was from a quiet rainy evening at home, where he had caught you fast asleep on his shoulder while a movie played in the background.

Every few yards, another memory hung in the air

A snapshot of your first vacation together by the ocean.

A goofy selfie of the two of you covered in flour after an attempt at baking.

A quiet, tender moment backstage at one of his shows, where he was holding your hand just before stepping into the spotlight.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you walked through the living timeline of your relationship. Michael had kept all of these moments, preserving them like treasure. Each photograph was a testament to the years of love, growth, and unwavering support you had shared.

The path opened up into a breathtaking, secluded clearing.

The centerpiece of the clearing was a massive, ancient oak tree, its branches completely draped in thousands of tiny, twinkling fairy lights that cast a soft, ethereal glow over the entire space.

Elegant floral arrangements of white hydrangeas and pastel roses surrounded the perimeter, and soft, acoustic violin music drifted faintly from hidden speakers.

Standing right beneath the canopy of lights was Michael.

He had traded his casual white dress shirt for a sharp, tailored black suit that made him look incredibly handsome. His curls were neatly styled, but his expression was completely soft, his eyes locked onto you from the moment you stepped into the clearing.

As you walked toward him, he held out his hands, taking yours the moment you were close enough. His hands were warm, trembling just a fraction.

"You look absolutely breathtaking," he whispered, his eyes scanning your face, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. "The dress looks even more beautiful on you than I imagined."

"Michael, all of this... the photos, the garden... it's incredible," you breathed, looking around. "What is all this for?"

He took a deep, steadying breath, squeezing your hands gently.

"I wanted to bring you somewhere where we could step away from the rest of the world," Michael began, his voice rich with emotion. "Just you and me. Looking back at those photos on the way in... it reminded me of how much we've built together.

Through every high and every low, you've been my rock. You love me for exactly who I am, without any expectations, and you've given me a peace I never thought I'd find."

He stepped closer, closing the small distance between you.

"Every day with you feels like a gift. You bring so much light into my life, and I can't even begin to fathom a future where you aren't by my side. I want to protect you, cherish you, and make you happy for the rest of my days."

Before you could speak, Michael slowly dropped down to one knee on the velvet grass. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. Opening it, a stunning, brilliant-cut diamond ring caught the light of the fairy lamps, sparkling brilliantly.

Your breath hitched, a hand flying to your mouth as tears finally spilled over your eyelashes.

"You are my heart, my soul, my entire world," Michael said, looking up at you with pure, unfiltered devotion in his eyes. "Will you do me the greatest honor of my life? Will you marry me?"

For a second, the entire universe seemed to hold its breath.

"Yes!" you sobbed happily, nodding your head quickly. "Yes, Michael, absolutely yes!"

A brilliant, radiant smile broke across his face—the happiest, most genuine smile you had ever seen on him. He slid the ring onto your finger before standing up and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, lifting you slightly off your feet. You clung to his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as he spun you around under the canopy of twinkling lights, both of you laughing through tears of pure joy.

when i imagine intimacy with michael in ANY level, the word that comes to mind is sensual. he wants to feel it. like, really feel it. and he wants you to feel it, too. he takes a torturous amount of time in foreplay, sending the softest kisses possible to every inch of your exposed skin.

with a busy life like his, he rarely has the time to stop and be present in the moment. sex is like slowing time for him. he likes to step back when he's really into it and look at what's been done, having a glance at your sweaty bodies as you connect spiritually. he spent so many years viewing the act as dirty that it never crossed his mind how romantic it can make him feel.

michael likes some of the dirty stuff, too. like the way your boobs jiggle when you ride him, all flesh and bounce directly at his eye level. and the sounds of sex? music to his fucking ears. he loves hearing the way your pussy squeaks and sings as you produce an ungodly amount of wetness. he'll never tell you what to do, but every now and then he might say "shhhh, you hear that?" as he slows his movements, focusing in on the sweet sounds of your sex. he looks with wide eyes as his dick disappears into your pulsing cunt, shuddering at the sight of a white ring around the base. that always makes him go a little harder.

all about the physical contact. he would really crawl into your skin if that was an option. he allows his hands to touch everywhere he restrains himself in public, indulging in the privilege it is to make love to you.

privilege. that man is grateful. every single time. the first few times he climaxed ended with a long stream of grunts and 'thank you's. once he's comfortable, he's in your ear with nothing but gratitude. "i can't believe i get to fuck you for the rest of my life," "your body is so perfect, i can't get enough," "shit, i'm so lucky."

yeah, i think that's the only time you'll hear profanity leaving his lips.

2008 neverland ranch

One of your favorite things in the world had always been watching Michael sleep.

There was something so peaceful about it, something that never failed to make your heart ache with tenderness because sleep had never come easily to your husband. Rest had always been something he fought for instead of something freely given, which made mornings like this feel precious beyond words.

The soft sunlight spilling through the windows during sunrise framed his face beautifully, wrapping him in golden light that made him look almost ethereal. His face was completely relaxed, free of the worries and thoughts that so often occupied his mind when he was awake. His lashes cast delicate shadows against his cheeks, and the steady rise and fall of his chest told you he was sleeping deeply, and that alone made you smile.

The slightest shift of your body against his immediately caused his arms to tighten instinctively around you, even in his sleep, pulling you closer against his chest. The gesture was so unconscious, so deeply ingrained after decades together, that it made warmth bloom inside you all over again.

It was Father's Day, and just like Michael and the children had showered you with love on Mother's Day, today belonged to him. Today, you were going to make sure your husband felt every ounce of the love he so freely poured into everyone else.

Michael rarely allowed himself to be spoiled. It simply wasn't in his nature. He preferred being the one giving, the one taking care of the people he loved, the one planning surprises and wrapping you up in affection until you nearly cried from being overwhelmed.

But birthdays and holidays were the few occasions where you managed to win.

For one day, he'd reluctantly surrender and allow himself to be taken care of. He'd let you spoil him, let you love on him without protest, only to spend the next several weeks trying to outdo whatever you had done for him.

Though if you asked Michael, he'd tell you he'd been spoiled every day for nearly thirty years just being with you, because of all the little things you've done throughout your relationship and marriage that made him feel loved.

Bringing him food when he disappeared into the studio for hours because you knew he'd forget to eat if left to his own devices. Finding him asleep over mixing boards at three in the morning and gently waking him before guiding him upstairs to bed, making sure he was comfortable before climbing in beside him. Always having dinner waiting for him. Keeping the house stocked with his favorite snacks and drinks without him ever having to ask.

Then there were your children, the three little souls the two of you had brought into the world together. To Michael, being their father and your husband made him the most spoiled man alive.

Your fingers move gently through his curls, carefully tucking a loose strand behind his ear before you lean forward and press a soft kiss against his cheek. Michael stirs slightly, not enough to wake up, but enough for his brow to soften even more.

You smile and press another kiss against his other cheek. His arms immediately tighten around you again, pulling you flush against his body while his eyes remain closed, and your heart melts at the sleepy possessiveness of it. You found it cute how Michael still held you like he was afraid someone might steal you away.

You lean forward again, this time pressing your lips against his. Your thumb trails lovingly along his jaw while you kiss him softly, and after a few seconds, Michael begins waking enough to kiss you back, but sleep still clings to him.

His lips move lazily against yours, slow and warm, like he hasn't quite left his dreams yet and is simply following instinct.

You lift your leg gently over his, smiling against his mouth when he immediately responds, his body pressing closer to yours on pure habit. His lips part with a soft sigh when you deepen the kiss, and even half asleep, Michael kisses you with the same tenderness that has always made your knees weak.

His hand tightens slightly against your back, pulling you impossibly closer, and when you finally leave his mouth, your lips begin trailing softly along his jaw and down to his neck.

You feel him shift beneath you.

A quiet sound escapes him, low and sleepy, and it makes you smile because your husband has always been softest in these moments between sleep and wakefulness, when his body responds before his mind catches up.

Your hands slip beneath his shirt, and the second your fingers brush against his skin, his body shudders lightly beneath your touch. The warmth of your hands against his chest draws another soft sound from him, and you feel his breathing change slightly as he slowly begins to wake more and more beneath your loving attention.

When you look down, you see the shape of him already pressing against his boxers that he slept in, and you smile to yourself. Even half asleep, you're still able to arouse him. Your hands hook in the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down his legs as Michael's body shifts again. His length springs free when you remove his boxers, already flushed and throbbing for your touch.

You move yourself to settle between his legs, slightly pushing them apart as you lie down in front of him. You lean forward pressing slow and lingering kisses against his thigh, moving upward along warm skin while his legs instinctively part wider for you, giving you more room, more access, more of him. A sleepy moan slips from his lips as your mouth trails across his other thigh now, and the sound makes you lift your head to look at him.

"Good morning, Michael," you say softly as your hand begins to stroke him. Michael's eyes slowly flutter open, the last remnants of sleep falling away as he focuses on you, settled between his legs. You spit into your hand before wrapping it around him; his thighs shudder around you at the contact.

You use your thumb to pull back the skin of his tip, feeling the slick warmth already gathered there, and you spread it slowly while your hand moves against him. You can feel the subtle pulses throbbing underneath your palm with every stroke. The way his body reacts so openly to every little thing you do to him, even when he's half awake, makes heat curl low in your stomach.

"Mama..." Michael's voice comes out low and sleepy as you feel him pulse under your palm again. His hips buck instinctively, pushing himself further into your hand, chasing the friction of your touch. You smile at the reaction immediately, your fingers tightening slightly around him.

"Happy Father's Day, my love," you say softly, letting your hand move quicker against him. Your name spills shakily from his lips, his voice half-broken from pleasure and half-rapsy from coming out of sleep.

"Don't stop... mama, please," his eyes open more as he pushes himself up to sit up and look down at you.

You nod slowly before leaning forward, your lips brushing gently against the tip of him in a soft kiss that makes his entire body shudder beneath you. You feel his muscles clench as another breath catches in his throat.

Your hand keeps moving while you tease him slowly with your mouth, giving him just enough to make his hips buck, chasing more from you, and the room fills with the quiet sounds of his breathing and those soft little whimpers he can never fully hold back when you have him like this.

Michael's hand tangles in your hair as you press another kiss to his thigh before giving him what you know he really wants. When he feels the warmth of your mouth wrapping around him, his hips instinctively buck. You take your time with him at first, your tongue gliding against him while your manicured hand keeps stroking what your mouth can't take yet. Michael tilts his head back, a low groan coming deep from his chest, completely overwhelmed by the combination of it.

His thighs tense beneath your hands as his breathing turns uneven, and every little sound he makes only encourages you more. You hollow your cheeks slightly, taking more of him slowly, and Michael's restraint immediately starts slipping apart underneath you. His hips buck instinctively, pushing himself more into your mouth. You groan softly against him in response, undoing him even further.

"You're so good, mama... that feels so good," Michael groans as his hand tightens on your hair, his fingers curling as he uses the feel of your hair to ground him to the moment. His dark, glassy eyes follow your every move between ragged breaths.

You quicken your pace little by little, and the room slowly fills with the intimate sounds of wet kisses, uneven breathing, and Michael's increasingly desperate moans and whimpers spilling freely now that he's too far gone to hide them. Every time your lips tighten around him, every time your tongue moves against him just right, another wrecked sound leaves his lips.

When his hips push upward again a little too hard, pushing his tip to the back of your throat, your eyes water briefly from the sudden depth of it, but you don't pull away. Your hand strokes slowly at the base while you steady your breathing around him, and the sight alone nearly drives Michael over the edge.

You feel him twitch harder against your tongue, and his grip tightens gently in your hair. "Mama, I'm so close... please," Michael whispers brokenly. You increase your speed. Your hand comes up, gently cupping his balls as you squeeze and massage them, undoing Michael even more underneath you. You feel him throbbing harder against your tongue, you watch as Michael's entire lower half tightens and clenches beneath you, and Michael releases a loud groan as you feel his release filling your mouth.

Your mouth continues to move on him through it, soft, moans vibrating against his twitching dick as white, thick ropes of his release pour down your throat. Michael watches as you take him, watching as it dribbles down your chin, the way your throat moves as you swallow, and he feels completely spent as he lies back against the pillows again while you finish him off.

You pull off of him with a wet pop, softly licking your lips, softly moaning at the taste of him. Looking down at your husband, you can't help smiling wider. You have always loved seeing him like this, his cheeks flushed beautifully from the intensity of what you had just shared, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he slowly tries to gather himself back together.

Slowly, you crawl back up his body until you're lying comfortably against his chest, and Michael chuckles softly as he reaches up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

"What a way to wake up," Michael teases.

You laugh softly, warmth spreading through your chest at the sound of his voice, and he immediately pulls you down into another kiss. A soft groan leaves him as he can taste the remnants of his release still clinging to your lips, and his arms tighten around you instinctively, as though he simply can't hold you close enough.

As you kiss him back, Michael shifts, gently rolling you beneath him, and his hands immediately begin trailing down your body with familiar affection. But just as his fingers reach your waist, he pauses, pulling back slightly and resting his forehead against yours.

"Where are the kids?" he whispers softly against your lips.

"Downstairs with your Mom," you whisper back. Michael chuckles immediately, shaking his head, already knowing they won't hear anything from downstairs. "They're not allowed upstairs until I go and get them," you say.

Something playful flashes through his eyes then, and before you can even ask what he's thinking, one moment he's above you, and the next he's standing beside the bed with you slung over his shoulder. You suppress a scream, dissolving into laughter instead as you lift your head to look at him.

"What are you doing, you goofy man?" you ask.

"I'm not done with you yet," he says. That only makes you laugh harder.

After thirty years together, three children, and more memories than either of you could count, he still had that playful side, that boyish spark that had made you fall in love with him all those years ago, and you silently prayed you would never grow immune to it.

He carries you into the bathroom, setting you carefully on the counter before stepping between your legs and leaning down to kiss you once more. His hand finds the hem of your shirt, and when he finally breaks the kiss long enough to pull it over your head, he pauses and smiles.

You feel your cheeks warm immediately beneath his gaze.

Michael's eyes had always been unfairly beautiful, but what affected you even more was the way he looked at you. Even now, after three children and over thirty years of sharing your lives and bodies together, that gaze still had the power to make you blush. Sometimes you almost felt the urge to cover yourself, not because you felt ashamed or insecure around him, but because there was something so intense about being loved that deeply. Those dark eyes were filled with nothing but adoration, and somehow that made you feel even more vulnerable than desire ever could.

Because Michael had never looked at you with anything except love.

He turns away for a moment to start the shower, steam quickly beginning to fill the room, and while the water warms, he removes his own shirt before returning to stand in front of you again. His hands come to the waistband of your panties, and his touch is so gentle that your heart aches.

"Lift, baby," he says softly.

You lift your hips obediently, and moments later, he picks you up once again, stepping into the shower with you in his arms before carefully setting you down beneath the warm water.

The second the spray washes over you, you close your eyes with a contented sigh, letting the heat soothe your skin. Michael immediately turns you around and draws your back against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist while pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck. His lips trail slowly over your shoulder, and you melt back into him, completely relaxed in his embrace.

His hands trail down the softness of your skin. You softly shudder when you feel his hands trail over your stomach, moving lower as his lips still move against you. Instinctively, you part for him as his hands cup you at the center, feeling how wet you already are, how wet you've been since you surprised him this morning. A soft, breathless moan leaves your lips from the double sensation of his lips and his thumb moving against your clit.

Michael lifts your leg, resting it against the shower ledge, and you almost laugh. "You love putting me in this position," you tease him as you moan again, and Michael chuckles against your skin, his other hand stroking himself as he lines up with you.

"Because it has you all pretty and spread for me," Michael whispers into your ear as he pushes into you with one hard stroke, pulling a broken sound from your lips as your body slightly jolts forward, but he keeps his arm wrapped tightly around you. The fullness of him overwhelms you every time, the amount of time you've spent together not mattering.

Michael moves slowly at first, giving your body time to adjust while he buries himself deeper and deeper until he's fully pressed against you, and once he settles fully inside you, buried at the hilt, you groan loudly enough for the sound to echo through the bathroom.

"Oh, mama, look at you, already taking me so good," Michael moans.

The praise alone nearly sends another wave of pleasure through you as he begins moving properly, his thrusts deep and steady at first, each one dragging another helpless sound from your lips. Your body responds to him instinctively, stretching around him only to tighten again the deeper he pushes, and the intensity builds almost immediately.

Michael leans forward then, burying his face against the curve of your neck while his movements grow faster, rougher, and needier. His lips keep brushing against your skin between breathless sounds and scattered kisses while one hand slides slowly up and down your raised leg soothingly, lovingly, even while he completely wrecks you beneath him.

The combination of his body pressed against yours, his kisses and bites along your neck, and the relentless rhythm of his hips becomes overwhelming so quickly. "I love all the pretty sounds you give me, mama," Michael mumbles against your skin.

And the sound that leaves you afterward is somewhere between a moan and a sob, loud enough to echo through the shower walls while Michael groans in response, completely intoxicated by every reaction you give him.

The shower fills with the messy, breathless sounds of skin slapping against skin, the squelching sounds of Michael sliding in and out of you, and your cries tangled together with Michael's groans while years of love, desire, and devotion pour into every desperate movement between you.

"Yes... Michael, p–please," you whimper as your fingers tighten helplessly against his arm that's helping keep you upright. The words hit Michael like a physical blow.

A broken sound leaves him immediately as his arms wrap tighter around you, pulling your body more firmly against his chest while his lips continue moving across your skin in scattered kisses. You feel the exact moment your begging for him lands, because his control begins slipping further, every snap of his hips becomes rougher with need.

"You take me so good, Michael," you breathe out shakily. Hearing that from you nearly undoes him completely. Michael has always loved hearing what he does to you. Your pleasure affects him emotionally just as much as physically, and every soft sound falling from your lips only drives him further.

His rhythm loses some of its steadiness after that, becoming more erratic, more needy as he clings tighter to you, his forehead briefly pressing against the back of your shoulder while he tries to hold himself together. He feels the way your body tightens around him, the way your breathing suddenly catches, and the way your legs begin trembling harder beneath you. Michael knows your body too well not to recognize the signs immediately.

He knows you're close, and judging by the way his own movements are beginning to falter, the way uneven sounds keep leaving his throat against your skin, he knows he's not far behind you.

The pleasure becomes overwhelming so quickly after that.

You slap your hand against the shower wall, a louder moan ripping from your lips as your body finally breaks apart around him, the intensity ripping through you hard enough to leave you shaking uncontrollably. Your leg nearly gives out beneath you from the force of it, but Michael immediately presses himself more firmly against you to keep you steady, holding you together while your entire body trembles in his arms and you completely coat his dick with your release.

Michael keeps his chest pressed against your back, pressing kisses through your skin as his hips roll more slowly, bringing you through the intensity of the orgasm. "You're doing so well, mama... just a little more," Michael whispers against your skin.

His voice sounds wrecked, tender, and completely consumed by you. A choked sob comes from you, as wave after wave of pleasure keeps crashing through your body, and all you can do is cling to him while he gently guides you through it, and then you feel him finally break too.

His entire body shudders against yours, his movements turning uneven for a brief moment before he buries himself at the hilt, holding you tightly while you feel the warmth spreading through you as he releases. The sound that leaves him against your shoulder is half groan, half whimper.

Michael pulls out to watch how you've both come together inside of you. Your mixed releases dripping from your spent hole in a way that makes Michael's hunger even deeper. He watches as it drips out of you, only to be washed away by the water.

Michael turns you around again to face him. He pulls you against him again before kissing you deeply, slower this time, the kind of kiss that feels full rather than desperate. Both of you are still breathless, still trembling slightly, but wrapped inside the warmth of each other now.

"My beautiful girl," Michael murmurs softly when you pull away. His thumb brushes across your jaw as he takes you in. You look completely spent standing there in his arms, lips swollen from kissing him, hair messy, cheeks flushed warm, and Michael honestly thinks you've never looked more beautiful in your life.

Michael had always taken his time afterward.

As the warm water continued cascading over your bodies, he gently washed you, his touch soft and loving as he lathered your skin with soap. There was never anything hurried about Michael when it came to caring for you. Even now, after decades together, his hands moved over you with the same gentleness they always had, making sure you were comfortable, relaxed, and cared for.

And just as he always took care of you, you took care of him.

Smiling softly, you worked shampoo through his curls, your fingertips moving with practiced gentleness over his scalp. Even though the Pepsi accident had happened decades ago, you knew better than anyone that the pain had never truly gone away. There were days when his scalp was more sensitive than others, and after all these years, you instinctively knew exactly how much pressure to use and how to massage his hair without causing him discomfort.

Michael practically melted beneath your hands. His eyes drifted closed while your fingers moved through his curls, and a contented sigh escaped him, making you smile.

"You always do that so much better than anybody else," he murmured sleepily.

You laughed softly. "Good thing you're stuck with me then."

"Forever," Michael replied immediately, opening his eyes to smile at you. The quiet sincerity in his voice made your heart squeeze because even after thirty years together, your husband still said forever with a kind of wonder that made you think a part of him still couldn't quite believe he had been lucky enough to find you.

By the time the two of you made your way back upstairs, sunlight had climbed higher into the sky, filling your bedroom with soft golden light. You slipped into a pair of leggings and one of Michael's button-up shirts, smiling at the familiar scent of his cologne lingering on the fabric, while Michael sat comfortably on the edge of the bed, buttoning his own shirt.

"You don't even have to get me anything else; this has already been the best Father's Day," he teases. You laugh immediately, shaking your head affectionately.

"And it's only just beginning," you say with a smile, thinking about the gift you and the children had spent weeks putting together for him. Just imagining his reaction made excitement flutter inside your chest because you already knew he was going to treasure it for the rest of his life.

Your eyes drift back toward him, and your smile softens, because there he was. The man who had given you the greatest love story of your life, your husband of 15 years, the father of your children, and somehow, after all this time, the sight of him simply sitting there still had the power to make your heart flutter.

"Okay, wait here. I need to check on the kids, see if they're ready," you say.

Michael smiles immediately. "You said they're downstairs with my mom?" he asks.

You nod. "Yes... So, I need to make sure they haven't burned down my kitchen." The laugh that bursts out of him is deep and rich, that wonderfully unrestrained laugh he has whenever something genuinely amuses him, and the sound instantly makes you laugh too.

"What are you planning?" he asks. You simply smile and lean down to kiss his forehead.

"The day that the best father of my babies deserves." Color immediately rises to his cheeks, and before you can straighten completely, his hand wraps around your waist and gently tugs you between his legs. "You never let me spoil you, so I'm taking full advantage," you say.

Michael shakes his head softly, though you can already see the blush spreading further across his face. "Baby, everything you do for me spoils me. Being by my side this long is spoiling me, I know it wasn't always easy," he says.

He was right. People always imagined that being married to the most famous man in the world was glamorous, but they didn't see the sleepless nights, the loneliness, the fear, the heartbreak, or the pressure. They didn't see the moments where the world seemed determined to take pieces of him away, or the times when you both had to cling tightly to one another just to weather the storm.

Loving Michael had never been easy, but because it was Michael, every difficult moment had been worth it.

"Nothing that's worth it ever is easy... and you've always been worth it, Michael," you say softly.

His eyes immediately soften, and that familiar look crosses his face, the one that always makes your chest ache because. His hands gently squeeze your waist, and you lean down once more to press a kiss against his forehead.

Before you can pull away, Michael wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly against him, burying his face against your chest with the quiet contentment of a man who has spent decades finding peace in your embrace.

"I love you so much," he whispers into your skin. You smile, your fingers automatically finding their way into his curls.

"I love you more," you say. Reluctantly, you step back, though Michael's hand lingers around yours for another moment, his thumb brushing across your knuckles with absentminded affection. "I'll come get you when we're ready, okay?" you ask.

He nods with a smile that still makes you weak in the knees. "Okay, baby."

As you quietly slip out of the room to check on the children, Michael remains sitting on the edge of the bed with a smile lingering on his face and his heart so full that he thinks it might burst.

After everything life had given him, after every dream that had come true and every success he had achieved, nothing had ever compared to being your husband, the father of your children, and coming home every night to the four people who loved Michael Joseph Jackson more than they loved the legend.

In his eyes, that made him the most spoiled man who had ever lived.

────୨ৎ────

When you make your way downstairs, a smile immediately spreads across your face when you step into the kitchen and find all three of your children gathered around the island with Katherine.

The second the children hear footsteps, all three of them immediately turn around.

For one brief, panicked moment, their eyes widen as they assume it's Michael coming downstairs early and ruining the surprise. The relief that washes over their faces when they realize it's only you is so dramatic that you can't help laughing.

"Mommy!" your daughter exclaims. She immediately abandons her place beside the counter and rushes toward you, throwing her arms around your waist. You smile and kiss the top of her head. "Daddy's still upstairs, right? We're almost done with breakfast. Grandma came to help!" she says excitedly.

The words tumble out of her so quickly that she barely pauses to breathe between them, and the excitement written across her face makes your heart melt.

Looking around the kitchen, you can see evidence of their hard work everywhere. Ingredients are scattered across the counters, mixing bowls are stacked beside the sink, and there are little signs of eager helping in every direction. The kitchen is far messier than it would normally be this early in the morning, but somehow that only makes it feel warmer.

You had known Katherine would be there, of course. The two of you had planned this together days ago after the children became determined to make breakfast for their father. They had spent the entire week talking about it, whispering ideas to one another whenever Michael wasn't around, and asking endless questions about what Daddy's favorite breakfast foods were. Since you already knew exactly how you planned to surprise Michael that morning, you had called Katherine the day before and asked if she would be willing to come over early and help supervise.

"Thank you for helping the kids this morning, Katie," you say as you lean over and kiss your mother-in-law's cheek. Katherine smiles warmly before glancing over at her grandchildren.

"An excuse to spend some time with my grandbabies? Anytime," she says. The affection in her voice immediately makes you smile.

"You know you never need an excuse to spend time with them." Katherine's smile widens because she knows it's true.

One of the things you've always loved most about her is how devoted she is to her family. Her grandchildren have never doubted for a single second how much she loves them, and watching her with your children always reminds you of why Michael grew into such a loving father himself.

While the children finish plating everything, Katherine helps them arrange the food on serving dishes and reminds them not to carry anything too heavy. Mostly, though, she stays out of the way and lets them take the lead, allowing them to feel proud of what they've created for their father.

Once the last plate is set down, Katherine brushes her hands together and smiles, announcing that now that she's helped with her part, she's going to return to Hayvenhurst so the kids can have the day with their Dad.

All three children rush toward her at once. Your youngest reaches her first, wrapping himself around her legs while your older two throw their arms around her as well.

"Thank you, Grandma!"

"Thanks for helping us!"

"We couldn't have done it without you!"

Katherine laughs softly as she hugs each one of them, kissing their foreheads and smoothing their hair affectionately. Watching them together always makes something warm settle in your chest. There is something beautiful about seeing generations of love gathered together in one room, especially knowing how much family has always meant to the Jacksons.

When the children finally let her go, you step forward and pull her into a hug of your own. "Thank you," you say softly.

Katherine squeezes you tightly. "See you soon, sweetheart." You smile because she's right. The Fourth of July is only a few weeks away. With the Jackson family, any holiday is guaranteed to become a major family gathering filled with food, laughter, and cousins running everywhere around Hayvenhurst, while Michael inevitably becomes the center of some ridiculous game with the children.

Once Katherine leaves, you turn toward your kids. Three excited faces immediately look back at you. "Alright, go ahead and go get your Dad."

The three of them take off so quickly that you barely finish speaking before they're racing toward the staircase. Their footsteps thunder up the stairs, and you laugh as their voices disappear down the hallway toward yours and Michael's bedroom.

A few moments later, you hear your bedroom door fly open, and then you hear Michael laugh. The sound is immediately followed by three excited voices shouting together.

"Happy Father's Day!" The joy in their voices makes you laugh all over again.

A few moments later, you hear footsteps heading back toward the stairs, and this time, there are four sets. When Michael finally appears, your children surrounding him on all sides, his smile is already impossible to miss.

The second his eyes land on the breakfast spread waiting on the table, he shakes his head affectionately, looking from the food to the children and then to you, his expression softens immediately.

The children don't even give him time to speak before they're pulling him toward the table.

"Daddy, sit!"

"Look what we made!"

"You have to try everything!"

Michael laughs as they practically push him into his chair, and you can already see the emotion beginning to creep into his expression. While they excitedly explain who helped make which dish and argue over whose contribution was most important, you begin fixing plates for each of the children so they can sit and eat with their father.

The entire kitchen feels warm and alive with laughter and overlapping conversations. It reminds you of every family breakfast you've shared over the years, the kind of mornings that become treasured memories without anyone realizing it at the time.

Once the children are settled, you pour a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and carry it over to Michael, and as you set it in front of him, you lean down and press a kiss to the top of his head.

Michael immediately reaches up and catches your hand before you can pull away, his fingers wrapping gently around yours as he looks up at you. His eyes are already shining. You give him another smile before slipping back into the kitchen while Michael turns his attention to the kids. 

"Did you three make this all by yourselves?" Michael asks as he looks at the kids.

You bring the kids their glasses of orange juice before making your own plate, pouring your own glass, and joining your family at the table. The children are practically glowing with pride, their eyes fixed on Michael as they wait for his reaction, and the sight makes your chest warm because there's something so sweet about how badly they want him to love what they made.

"Grandma helped!" your oldest son says.

Michael smiles as he takes a bite, closing his eyes and humming the way he always does whenever something tastes especially good, and you can't help smiling at the sound because after all these years, those little habits of his still feel precious to you.

"It's amazing, thank you, all of you," Michael says as he smiles at you guys.

The five of you have breakfast together in that easy, joyful way that always makes the house feel even more like home. You and Michael tease and joke with the kids while they talk over one another, laughing between bites and proudly explaining different parts of the meal, and Michael sits in the middle of it all with his heart feeling like it might burst from the love surrounding him.

It isn't just the breakfast or the surprise. It's the way the children keep looking at him, the way you smile at him from across the table, the way the whole morning seems to be quietly telling him that he is loved not for what he does or what the world calls him, but simply for being their father.

When breakfast is finished, your oldest son helps you load the dishes into the dishwasher while your daughter and youngest son lead Michael into the living room, where the projector has already been set up. When Michael sees it, he looks over at you and raises an eyebrow, clearly curious, but you only smile at him as you get the video ready to play.

Once everyone is settled onto the couch, the kids press close against Michael the way they always do. Your youngest son curls comfortably in Michael's lap while your daughter and oldest son sit on either side of him, and you sit beside your daughter, smiling as Michael wraps one arm around the children nearest to him. You press play, and Michael's face softens immediately when your own face appears on the screen first.

"Hi, baby! You're at a meeting right now, so the kids and I are taking full advantage to get your Father's Day gift together, starting with Prince," you say.

Michael smiles at the sound of your voice on the video, already touched before the gift has even truly begun. Then the camera angle shifts, and your oldest son appears on screen, looking playfully annoyed that he's being recorded.

"Okay, what's your favorite thing about your Dad?"

"I actually have a few. I love his sense of humor and the pranks we've played on each other during the years... like, I love how Dad is very childlike and playful, but then he also knows how to be in Dad mode when we need it. Oh, and I love his compassion... Dad's really famous, but he doesn't act like it; he really loves humanity and taking care of it, and I really like it when we go volunteer in the community with him. I think those are my most favorite things about him. I hope I can be like him when I'm older," he says.

You look over at Michael and see tears already gathering in his eyes. The sight makes your own chest tighten because you remember crying a little after recording that part, too, overwhelmed by the realization that your son had noticed so much more than either of you thought. Michael hadn't known Prince had been watching him that closely either, hadn't known that those quiet acts of compassion and playfulness and discipline had settled so deeply into his son's heart, and that is what makes the moment hit him so hard.

"You already are just like him in that regard, baby," your voice says on the video. Prince's face lights up at your compliment, his earlier playful annoyance disappearing beneath the pure pride of being compared to his father.

"Sweet. Happy Father's Day, Dad. Best Dad in the world. I love you," he says on the video, and then he looks past the camera, clearly looking right at you. "Can I go play on my game now?" he asks. In the video, and right there on the couch, laughter fills the room.

"Yes, get your sister, though," you say.

Prince nods, and as he walks off camera, you can hear him in the background yelling for his sister, which makes all of you laugh again. In the video, the camera turns back onto you, and you shake your head with an affectionate smile on your face, the kind of smile only your children can pull from you when they're being completely themselves, and it makes everyone on the couch laugh all over again.

The camera turns back around, and this time your daughter appears on the screen.

The second Michael sees her, another smile spreads across his face. There had always been something special about the bond between the two of them. All three of your children adored their father, but your daughter had inherited so much of Michael's heart that sometimes it felt like looking at a reflection of him. The sensitivity, the compassion, the thoughtfulness she showed toward other people, and even the way she became adorably shy whenever someone complimented her all reminded you so much of him that it still caught you off guard sometimes.

"Okay, sweetie... this is for your Dad for Father's Day... can you tell me your favorite thing about your Dad?" you ask. On the screen, her face immediately lights up.

"Oh, I really love how patient Daddy is... even when we mess up, he's really patient and loving when he corrects us," she says before her eyes suddenly widen. "And so are you, Mommy!" she quickly adds.

Your laugh fills the room, from sitting beside Michael and on the screen in the video. "It's okay, baby. I know this is about Daddy right now, keep going," you encourage her.

Your daughter nods seriously before continuing.

"I like that he always makes time for us, even though he's really busy. I know Daddy's really famous, and he does a lot of things and a lot of people require his attention, but he still gives a lot of attention to us, and I like how he tells us that even though we have a lot and we're very lucky to have the things we have, it doesn't make us better than anybody else, and he's right. Everyone deserves really nice things, and I'm really glad we have them."

The room grows noticeably quieter after that; her words settle deeply into everyone listening.

Your daughter is speaking so earnestly, so matter-of-factly, that it becomes impossible not to hear how much of Michael's influence has shaped the way she sees the world. She isn't talking about his fame or the places he's taken her or the things he's bought her. She's talking about his character. The lessons he's spent years teaching all three of your children when nobody was watching, the values he hoped they would carry with them long after they were grown.

You hear Michael sniffle softly beside you. When you glance over, his eyes are fixed on the screen, and your heart immediately tightens. The emotion written across his face is impossible to miss. His eyes are filled with pride and so much love.

Michael had spent their entire lives trying to teach them that kindness mattered more than status, that compassion mattered more than wealth, and that every person deserved dignity regardless of what they had or didn't have. Hearing those lessons reflected back to him through his daughter's words clearly means more to him than he knows how to put into words.

Without thinking about it, he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her forehead. Your daughter immediately smiles and curls a little closer against his side, completely unaware that she is making her father emotional.

On the screen, your voice gently responds.

"That's very sweet, and he's right... We are really lucky to have all the things that we have, but that doesn't make us better than people who have less... it just means we have more resources to help them with."

Your daughter smiles brightly. "Exactly! I love you, Daddy! Happy Father's Day. Do you want me to get Blanket?"

"Yes, please," you say.

As soon as she disappears from view, the camera shifts back to you. You smile into the lens, but your eyes are already glossy. "Since I know you so well, you'll probably be crying by this point, but as you can see, I am too." Your watery laugh fills the room as you wipe at your eyes.

That immediately earns another round of laughter from everyone sitting on the couch because there has never been a truer statement spoken. The moment the video version of you says it, you and Michael both turn toward each other at exactly the same time.

The sight that greets you makes your smile widen. His eyes are filled with tears, and several have already escaped, leaving tracks along his cheeks, but despite that, he is smiling so hard that his face almost hurts.

You reach over and take his hand without even thinking about it, intertwining your fingers with his, and Michael immediately squeezes your hand in return. You knew this would happen because you knew that gifts like this affected him more than anything money could ever buy.

Michael loved giving gifts. Over the years, he had spoiled you with beautiful jewelry, thoughtful surprises, extravagant vacations, and countless keepsakes, but what always made those gifts special wasn't their cost. It was the thought behind them. Michael never bought things simply for the sake of buying them. He paid attention. He remembered conversations you'd forgotten having. He noticed details you didn't realize he was noticing. Every gift carried meaning because every gift carried a piece of his heart.

The same had always been true for both of you. The gifts you cherished most weren't the expensive ones; it was the letters, the photographs, the home videos, and the scrapbooks. The memories that are preserved in a way that allows you to revisit them years later.

Those were the things that became more valuable as time passed, the things neither of you could ever replace.

Because at the center of your marriage, long before the fame and success and extraordinary life the two of you had built together, there had always been a shared understanding that love wasn't measured by how much money someone spent.

It was measured by how much of themselves they gave.

As you sit there watching tears continue to slip down Michael's face while your daughter talks about the man she sees when she looks at her father, you know this gift is already becoming one of the most treasured things he owns.

The camera turns again, and this time your youngest son appears on the screen.

The angle lowers noticeably as you sink down onto your knees so you're eye level with him, and the sight immediately makes Michael smile. No matter how many years passed, seeing you with the children always affected him in a way he couldn't quite put into words. There was something about watching you become exactly the mother he had always imagined you would be that still made his chest ache with love all these years later.

"Blanket... can you tell me your favorite thing about Daddy and then tell him Happy Father's Day?" you ask.

His entire face lights up immediately.

"Music! Daddy makes really good music, and I love it when he dances with me and when we watch movies. I love watching movies with Daddy! Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"

The answer comes tumbling out of him so quickly and enthusiastically that all of you burst out laughing. It isn't a long answer, nor is it particularly profound, but somehow that only makes it sweeter. At four years old, his favorite things about his father are exactly what they should be. He loves dancing with him, watching movies with him, and listening to the music his father creates.

Michael laughs too, though his laughter is still thick with emotion, and you can see his eyes glistening as he watches the screen. A few moments later, footsteps can be heard approaching in the recording, and both of your older children walk back into frame.

"Mom, can I see the camera?" Prince asks. The video shifts as you hand it over, and suddenly you're the one sitting in front of the camera.

"Okay, Mommy, now it's your turn. You've been with Daddy for a long time. What's your favorite thing about him?" your daughter asks.

The moment the question is asked, the room grows quieter.

On the screen, your eyes soften almost immediately as you think about your answer, and a smile slowly spreads across your face. Sitting beside you on the couch, Michael watches the expression carefully because he knows that look. He knows you're remembering. Not just one memory or one moment, but all of it. The first time you met. The first conversation. The first date. The years of friendship and love that followed. Every triumph, every heartbreak, every challenge you survived together. He can practically see the memories moving behind your eyes.

"I think... my favorite thing about your Dad is his mind and the way he thinks about things, and not just musically. I love how he'll offer me a perspective I've never thought of before because of the way he thinks about things. Your Dad is very special, I've known that from the moment I met him."

Michael lowers his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the words.

Throughout his life, millions of people had admired his talent, his music, and the performer he became on stage, but very few people had ever truly understood the way his mind worked. You always had. Long before the world saw him as a legend, you had seen the thoughtful, curious, intelligent man underneath all of it, and hearing you say that one of your favorite things about him was the very thing that often made him feel misunderstood, touches something deep inside him.

"And his smile, my favorite thing about him, is also his smile; all of you inherited the same beautiful smile from him." A watery laugh escapes Michael as he wipes at his eyes.

Beside him, your oldest son smiles. Your daughter smiles too. Even your youngest breaks into a grin, and for a moment, Michael can't help noticing how right you are. All three of them carry pieces of him, but nowhere is it more obvious than in their smiles.

"Happy Father's Day, Michael. Thank you for being the best Dad to our babies. We love you so much." The video ends as the screen fades to black, and for several seconds, nobody says anything.

The room isn't silent because there's nothing to say. It's silent because everyone is sitting in the emotion of it. The memories, the laughter, the love that had been captured in those recordings seem to linger in the air even after the projector goes dark.

When you glance over at Michael, your heart immediately melts.

At some point during the video, all three children had gradually worked their way closer to him until they were practically piled on top of him. Your youngest remains curled comfortably in his lap while your daughter and oldest son lean into either side of him, and Michael has wrapped both arms around them as tightly as he can, holding them against him like he never wants to let them go.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad/Daddy!" they all say at the same time. Michael closes his eyes briefly as another wave of emotion hits him.

He kisses the top of each of their heads before taking a deep breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is thick with tears. "This was the best gift ever... I love you all so much. I really, really do."

Then his eyes find yours. Even with the children tucked tightly against him, he looks at you the same way he always has, as though everyone else in the room disappears for a moment.

"I love you," he says softly. You lean toward him, pressing your lips gently against his, and Michael immediately kisses you back.

"I love you more, Michael... Happy Father's Day," you say.

"Can we watch a movie?" your youngest son asks.

The question immediately earns laughter from everyone in the room, especially after hearing him proudly announce on the video that one of his favorite things about his father was watching movies together.

Michael laughs and looks down at him. "Of course, we can watch a movie. What does everyone want to see?"

The three kids immediately look at one another as though a very serious family meeting is taking place. For a moment, they exchange glances, silently communicating in that way siblings somehow manage to do, and then they all nod before turning back toward Michael at the exact same time.

"Pinocchio!"

The synchronized answer makes both you and Michael laugh, and Michael nods immediately.

Pinocchio had always been one of their favorites. There were plenty of movies they loved and watched regularly. The Lion King, Finding Nemo, and Toy Story were all strong contenders in your household, but somehow Pinocchio always managed to come out on top whenever a final decision had to be made.

You stand and switch off the projector before setting up the television and pulling out the Pinocchio VHS. The familiar routine feels comforting in a way that only family traditions can. There was something special about movie days in your house, especially when everyone was together. No matter how busy life became, no matter how many responsibilities pulled at Michael's attention, moments like these always felt protected.

Once everything is ready, you grab a couple of blankets from the back of the couch and bring them over. "Wait, we need snacks. Paris, help me, please," your oldest son says as he stands. Your daughter immediately laughs and nods.

Together, they disappear into the kitchen, already discussing what snacks everyone would want and debating which ones belonged in a proper movie-night spread. The second they're gone, Michael turns toward you.

His eyes soften as he reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your cheek for a moment longer than necessary.

"We raised some really good kids," he says. The emotion in his voice makes your heart squeeze.

You glance toward the kitchen, where you can hear your older two laughing while they search through cabinets, and then toward your youngest, who is still curled comfortably against Michael, completely content to stay exactly where he is.

"Yeah... we did," you say softly.

For a moment, neither of you says anything else; you simply sit there looking at one another, both silently thinking about the years that brought you here. The sleepless nights with newborns. The first days of school. The scraped knees, bedtime stories, and family vacations. The mistakes, the lessons, the milestones, and every ordinary day in between that somehow became extraordinary because you experienced them together.

Michael leans forward first.

The kiss he gives you is soft and lingering, filled with the quiet affection that comes from loving someone for most of your life. It isn't a kiss born from urgency or passion. It's the kind of kiss that only exists after decades of choosing the same person over and over again.

You pull away when you hear approaching footsteps, both of you smiling immediately.

Your older two return carrying drinks and snacks, proudly setting everything down before reclaiming their places on the couch, and soon, everyone is settled again.

Blanket remains curled comfortably in Michael's lap, perfectly content to use his father as both a chair and a pillow. Prince takes his usual place on Michael's other side, while Paris settles between the two of you, naturally leaning against both of her parents at once.

You spread the blankets over everyone until the entire family is tucked comfortably beneath them, and within a few moments, the movie begins.

The opening scenes play across the television while drinks and snacks are passed around. Occasionally, someone reaches for popcorn. Someone else quietly steals a snack from another bowl. Blanket begins reciting parts of the movie he already knows by heart, and Prince immediately corrects him when he gets a line wrong.

The small sounds of family life filled the room as laughter drifted between whispered conversations, blankets rustled whenever someone shifted, and the familiar soundtrack of a movie they had all seen countless times played softly in the background. Sitting there in the middle of it all, Michael found himself looking away from the television and instead focusing on the people gathered around him.

A quiet smile spread across his face as he looked at the four of you. For so much of his life, people had assumed his greatest dreams revolved around music, records, awards, and accomplishments, but sitting there on the couch with his youngest curled in his lap, his older children pressed against his sides, and his wife beside him, Michael knew those things had never truly been the dream. The dream had always been this: a family, a home filled with laughter, children who felt safe and loved, and a wife who was still his best friend after all these years. Looking around the couch, Michael felt something warm settle deep inside his chest because every difficult thing he had endured throughout his life had somehow led him here.