soulace

Being in a relationship with Michael Jackson was a dream, but being the woman who could make the world's biggest star panic with a single sniffle? That was a power trip.

You were, by all accounts, a professional cry baby. A misplaced look, a short goodbye, or a minor disagreement was enough to send you into a spiral of dramatic despair. Most men would have run for the hills, but Michael? Michael lived for it. He adored the way you clung to him, the way your lip trembled, and the way you made every little moment feel like a grand tragedy. He treated your emotions like a game he loved to win, often finding that the quickest way to stop your tears was to replace them with loud, breathless moans of pleasure. For Michael, there was nothing more rewarding than turning your dramatic sobbing into desperate pleas for his cock.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The suitcase was packed, and the air in the room was heavy with the scent of Michael’s cologne and the salt of your tears. You were clinging to his waist, your face buried in his chest, sobbing loudly as if he were leaving for a decade rather than a tour.

"Please don't go, Mikey... I can't do it without you," you wailed, your shoulders shaking.

Michael sighed, a small, indulgent smile playing on his lips. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him. "Oh, mama, look at you. You're such a little cry baby, aren't you?" He kissed the top of your head, his voice a soothing velvet. "I'll be back before you know it. But I can't leave you in this state."

He didn't let you go; instead, he guided you toward the bed. He stripped you slowly, his eyes full of tenderness. He laid you back, kissing away the tears on your cheeks before moving down to your neck. When he entered you, it wasn't with haste, but with a slow, rhythmic glide.

"Shhh, just feel me, mama," he whispered, his hips grinding softly into yours. He fucked you with a gentle, steady pace, focusing on the connection. Every thrust was a promise to return. You whimpered, your cries turning from sadness to pleasure as he filled you completely. He continued to fuck you softly, his hands cradling your face, until you peaked with a long, shuddering moan, completely satiated and exhausted.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

It was a Tuesday afternoon. Michael was simply heading out to the studio for a few hours to polish a track. He was halfway out the door, his keys in hand, when the first sob broke through the silence. "You're really leaving?" you asked, your lip trembling violently. "Just like that? You don't even care that I'm sad?" Michael stopped and turned around, looking at you with an expression of pure disbelief mixed with affection. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Mama, I am going downstairs to the studio. I'll be back for dinner."

"But the room feels so empty when you're not here!" you cried, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor in a heap of dramatic despair. He walked back to you, kneeling down and kissing your forehead.

"You are the most dramatic woman I have ever known," he whispered, giggling softly. He gave you one last, deep kiss that tasted of peppermint and longing.

"Stay put, be a good girl, and I'll bring you a treat on my way back up. I love you, girl."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

You had spent the entire evening sulking on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, your eyes red and puffy. Michael had only been gone for four hours to a high-profile gala, but to you, it felt like abandonment. You hadn't moved since the door clicked shut.

When the front door finally opened, you didn't even look up, letting out a loud, dramatic sniffle.

Michael stepped into the living room, still dressed in his sharp tuxedo. He saw you curled in a ball and chuckled softly. "Still sulking, mama? I was gone for one evening."

"You left me alone!" you sobbed, throwing a pillow across the room.

Michael didn't argue. He walked over, grabbed your ankles, and dragged you across the sofa toward him. He didn't even bother taking off his jacket before he pushed your clothes aside. He flipped you over, pressing your chest into the cushions and hiking your hips up.

"You need to be reminded who you belong to," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He slid his hard cock into your ass with one firm thrust, making you gasp and arch your back. He fucked you hard and fast, the friction of his tuxedo trousers against your skin adding to the intensity. He gripped your hips tight, pounding into you until your sulking turned into loud, needy screams of pleasure, leaving you breathless and shaking.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The tension had been building for an hour. You had started the fight over something trivial, perhaps he had spent too much time on a dance routine or hadn't noticed a new dress, but you had spiraled, turning it into a grand tragedy of neglect.

"You just don't understand me! You're always in your own world!" you shouted, though your voice was already cracking.

"I am trying to listen, but you're not making sense!" Michael replied, his voice rising slightly in frustration.

The moment he raised his voice, the dam broke. You burst into loud, heaving sobs, covering your face with your hands. "See! Now you're yelling at me! You're mean to me!"

Michael immediately froze. The anger vanished, replaced by instant guilt. He stepped forward, pulling your hands away from your face. "Oh, mama... I'm not being mean. I'm just frustrated."

"You are!" you wailed, leaning into him even as you complained.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around you and rocking you back and forth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for raising my voice. Please stop crying, my sweet girl." He kissed your eyelids, soothing the storm you had created. "I can't stand it when you cry, even when you're the one who started this mess. Come here, let me take care of 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.

You had done everything you could for the possibility of catching your crush’s eye. Wearing the prettiest dresses and accessories. Doing your own secret research of what he enjoyed and involving yourself within those things. Throwing yourself around any way you could to make him notice you. This, that, and the fucking third, and you still weren’t seen. 

To make it worse, you’d caught him out and about with his new girl. He carried her on his arm like a trophy, and you were still stuck on square one. Unnoticed, undesired. 

It’s embarrassing having to call the only friend you can think of in these hard times. The very friend who’d been whispering in your ear not to waste your time. 

Having to tell Michael that he was right, like always, was an equally embarrassing and nice experience. Michael did not use mean words or tough love. He’d simply invite you over, shielding you from his curious brothers until you both were in the large seclusion of his bedroom. 

A plethora of memories were created here, but you knew there would be more. 

Especially since Michael had a different approach when it came to affection and comfort. 

‘Friends can help each other behind closed doors, too.’ He would reassure you while his hands wandered to places they shouldn’t. Michael was always so curious when it came to you. His once simple brush of fingers over your arm turned to tugging down your shirt collars, caressing your behind, and even a slight flip of your skirt if he was feeling playful. 

It had gone on for so long that you were conditioned to find it…normal. Michael loved to touch, he loved to tease, but it inevitably escalated to more. 

The flip of your skirt soon turned into bold fondles on your ass underneath it. The pulling on your top turned to having it yanked to expose your breasts entirely. The hugs he so desperately begged for turned into him feeling you up like you were a lover. 

You could barely voice your hurt this time but you knew Michael didn’t want to hear it. A simple, I told you so, and the urgent press of his hand on your chest got you to shut up. 

What you can vocalize is your pleasure. Through weeks of previous practice, you’re now able to keep up with the sensual flicker of his tongue over yours. The simple act of kissing was enough to send a wet hot rush through you. Meanwhile your best friend happily eats up your tiny whimpers as you tongue each other down. 

His is more experienced, had always been more experienced than you given his early stardom and exposure to the adult world. You, on the other hand, lived a more quieter, sheltered young life. This left a very simple dynamic between the two of you now; he lead, and you followed. 

Michael pulls away from the kiss briefly, unashamed in the way he eyes your exposed breasts. They sit so pretty over your thin top, the fabric pulled down by his sneaky fingers while he’d been kissing you. 

His eyes flit around, taking in the scene before him. You panting, your lips swollen and parted, your chin wet with saliva. You always looked so ready for ruin when he’d get you alone. 

“Can’t see ya…” He murmurs, ignoring your protest as he gently but firmly forces you to remove your top. “It’s okay, pretty baby. Jus’ gotta get you naked so we can kiss better…” 

It made no sense but you knew better than to argue with your best friend, unless you wanted to be cut off for two months. Instead, you help him remove the last of your clothing until you’re bare for his gaze. He hums his approval and steps closer to you. 

“Stick that tongue out f’ me…” 

You do so with a backward tilt of your head, aware of the new pulsing in your cunt as he resumes circling his tongue over yours. It’s strangely hot this way, being as naked as the day you were born while he’s still dressed in jeans and a crimson colored silk shirt. Your fingers crease the fabric as you hold onto him, because if you didn’t, you knew you’d fall over from how he begins to touch you. 

His hands are so large on you, eagerly cupping the fat of your tits to massage them. He maps out what he can reach, all the way down to your ass, and your eyes widen when he spreads you apart with a little wet squelch to follow. 

Michael hears it too, withdrawing his tongue to smile down at you. Heat rushes through your face as he spreads you a bit more, exposing your wet pussy to the cool air of his bedroom. 

“Sound like she needs kisses too, yeah?” Michael says kindly, walking you backwards until you fall onto his bed. Truthfully you would’ve liked to French kiss him for a while longer, but you blink, and he’s already kneeling before you and taking his spot between your thighs. 

From here you see so much. The little gold glint of his chain partially hidden by his silk collar. His chest rising and falling with excitement. His tongue involuntarily moistening his lips as if they weren’t already slicked over. The mustache that he’d been growing in, the little curls falling over his forehead, the innocent glitter in his doe eyes when he was about to do doing anything but. 

Holding your gaze, his tongue slips out to give your center one drawn out lick before flickering over your clit. It’s practically muscle memory for him. 

For you, it’s pure bliss. That tongue always made you forget everything, even your own name. All you know is Michael. 

He loved how sensitive you were, how your virgin pussy drooled and pulsed for his tongue, how you tasted. Since the first time —after a little wine in your system and a skirt so cute he couldn’t resist sneaking his head underneath and licking you through your panties— he’s made sure to get his fill whenever you were alone. 

Clearly you love it too, your head falling back at his relentless tongue on your clit. 

“Mike-!” You gasp, body confused between wanting to tense into the pleasure or melt from it. Michael groans quietly and suckles you into his mouth, switching between firm, broad licks and tiny flickers. 

The wet sounds of his mouth on you fill the short silence before your desperate whimpers follow. And underneath that, there’s the unmistakable clink of his belt buckle, then the low purr of his fly. His mouth doesn’t spare your pussy for a second as he reaches to idly stroke himself out of sight. 

It never took much to make you come…or, maybe, Michael was just so fucking good at what he does. Either way his tongue has you shuddering hard in two minutes maximum, a pitiful wail echoing throughout his room. Your hips lift in attempts to shove the entirety of your cunt in his mouth as he drinks you in. 

You’re still clawing at the sheets and gasping for air when he pulls away with a wet sounding suckle to speak. 

“Wanna see it?” His question is quiet and rhetorical, because he stands up before you have the opportunity to think words, exposing himself to your gaze. 

Where did all that come from? The question rings through your skull as you admire your best friend’s erection. How heavy it looks, slightly bobbing with every aroused twitch. The thickness of him, much thicker than your wrist, the head peeking shyly from the veined skin that covers it. The cherry on top being the curly dark patch of hair surrounding the thick root of him. 

Yeah, he’s beautiful. You only express your awe with a soft, girlish sound. 

He climbs on the bed and finds his way between your legs with ease. Just in time for his dick to drool, a drop of his precum wanting to be seen in a clear string. 

You can’t admire it for long. With a desperate groan he grabs himself to press against your bare pussy, the weight of his dick just as heavy as you imagined. 

“Oh!” 

“Mmmmm…”

Michael spares his hands to fold behind your head, resting his body weight completely on top of you. From here you feel every throb, every pulse of blood rushing to his heavy dick. He keeps your frame snug and spread open underneath his, all the while his hips begin to work their magic against you.

“Y-yes! Yeah!” You gasp out, the warmth in your belly already churning despite your previous orgasm. 

“Yeah? ‘s good?” He sounds smug above you, his hands tightening the hold around the back of your neck and forcing you to look down where your bodies meet. No other choice but to watch him rub his hard dick against your wet pussy. The head of him catches your clit every so often, making your thighs tremor. 

You’re soaked, coating his length further with your arousal. He rocks onto you with intent, panting and moaning under his breath. The creak of the bed with his effort adds to the eroticism. 

“Mike-“ you gasp, his response being to grind against you faster. “M-Mikey-!” 

“Thas me,” Michael drawls, a sexy mixture of a grunt and sigh cutting him off for a moment. “Wonderin’ why you keep running off when you got it so good right here, girl…” 

You don’t respond with words, but a part of you does wonder the same. The answer is very simple really. 

You and Michael were best friends. Best friends who explored intimacy sometimes, but that was it. 

Dwelling on it further is useless. His dick and the mesmerizing sway of his lithe frame commands attention. You watch him work you, mewling and shivering with every thrust. Your clit swells at the sweet friction and Michael’s soft moans. It’s so damn intimate, all of this. Part of you wishes he’d would stop teasing and fill you up with that dick. 

The thought alone stirs the heat in your belly to a boiling point. Your pussy clenches rhythmically around nothing, a long, shaky cry of relief leaving your open mouth for the second time. 

“Think I care?” Michael whispers to you, hips bucking wildly. “Y’ think I’mma stop just cause you’re cumming?” 

His hips fight your orgasmic shuddering and bucking, but your pussy is so fucking wet he’s practicing slipping off. He persists long enough to get you through your second orgasm, then sits back on his knees with a huff. 

His slender fingers grab onto his thickness and get to work, the strokes short and quick. The tip of him is now fully exposed and glistening with the combination of your milky white arousal and his precum. 

“Mmmm-“ He strokes six more times, his brow furrowed and head tilting back a little. “Gonna come…gonna come…gonna come-“ 

His whispers choke off as he goes rigid. 

Thick, white heat splatters over your puffy pussy and you gasp. Michael shudders above you, milking his dick for everything it was worth with breathy moans and grunts. You watch your friend lose himself to orgasmic pleasure, mouth falling open, hips unsteady as he messily slaps his dick over the mess he’s made on your center. 

A few more moments pass of shaky limbs and labored breaths.

“Mikey…” you’re the first to break the silence with a pout. 

“Mm.” With a new laziness he slinks off the bed and, to your surprise, kneels down to put his face in between your legs. You squirm with the soft laps of his tongue as he cleans up his messes.

“All gone,” he re-emerges from your thighs, no evidence of your arousal or his spend in sight. The slick gloss over his plump lips is the only clue. 

“Don’t want you pregnant.” He says with a smile. “You feelin’ better?” 

“Yeah…thank you.” With extra caution you close your legs, sitting up in search of your clothes. Michael has them already in his hands, approaching you with the gentle care you’ve always known him for. 

“Maybe you’ll be more careful next time.” There it is, the passive jab at your bad decisions and false hopes. “But if not, you know I’m here.” 

You say nothing, glancing up at your best friend and the glimmer in his eyes. It’s clear that he expects you to fall for another random. And like always, you’ll come running for his attention when it doesn’t work out. 

Like Michael once said, it’s what best friends were for, and you should always be grateful. 

@𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 $𝟮𝟬𝟬

“big dick, how are you today?”

you flash a stunning smile at the lens of the webcam, because that's how they like it.

@loverboy: when will you show the titties?

@dfff232: you're so sexy wtf.

@loverboy: wanna fuck you so bad.

@lonelystranger: shake that fat ass for me.

@𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 $300

you turn your ass toward the webcam—and feel the rhythm of the beat. slowly moving your hips, just enough to tease @lonelystranger.

“if you want more, you need to pay!” you give a pretty smile to the camera, blinking your eyes as if you were a sweet girl.

@𝗺𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗺𝗽𝟱𝟴 𝗷𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺

he's here.

actually, he's there.

well, finally. he made you wait longer than usual. it's not like you were expecting his presence, nor that you missed him. it's just that you're not used to waiting. besides that, talking to all these weirdos is boring.

“hi, baby! how are you today?”

@mrthepimp58: Hello, princess. I'm better now.

you're also feeling so much better—but for your own sake, you just nod in recognition. your stomach is already turning with excitement; you want to talk only to him.

but you don't end your livestream, not yet.

you refuse to give him—this person whose name you don't even know—some control over you.

it's all for the money.

he waits three hours for you.

michael jackson can't even believe all of this, but when he sees you through the lens, his sanity slips away. you're beautiful. sexy, charming. the girl of his dreams.

“bye bye, my sweeties! i’ll be back tomorrow! wait for me.”

you end the livestream.

@𝗺𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗺𝗽𝟱𝟴 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝘁

you change into a pink bra. you're wearing a short skirt with no panties, and you reapply the pink gloss.

perfect for him.

you accept the invitation.

mrthepimp58: Turn the camera on, princess.

you obey him.

mrthepimp58: You look so pretty. Did you like my last gift?

“thank you, i did my lashes. did you notice? and about your gift, i haven't opened it yet. i was waiting to open it with you!”

mrthepimp58: No, I didn't notice, baby. But you look pretty as always. Please, open the present. I really want to see your reaction!

it was a small velvet box that looked fancy—and you opened it. it was a pink anal plug, made of metal. so cute!

mrthepimp58: From your reaction, I think you really liked it, hahahaha.

“i did, baby! thank you soooooooo much. it's so so sooooo pretty!!”

mrthepimp58: Cute.

that’s it. that simple 'cute' made you tingle down there, and he knew it—he knew what he was doing.

“what, just cute?”

mrthepimp58: Very cute.

mrthepimp58: I want you to show me how cute it looks inside your pretty ass.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

you can feel how wet you are as you slowly hump against the chair you're sitting on. you need relief—you turn the webcam toward your lap, and you slowly open your legs.

you want him to find you absurdly sexy.

mrthepimp58: So pretty. I missed seeing your cunt. I wish I could taste you.

mrthepimp58: I want you wide open for me, baby.

mrthepimp58: Trace a finger on your pretty button. Yes, like that, go slowly. Is it good, huh? Look at that, you're dripping wet. My pretty girl.

mrthepimp58: I want you to use the little gift. Let me see how well you can take it.

oh—you don't know how just words could turn you on so badly. you don't wait for him to send any more messages; it feels so good rubbing your clit and thinking about him. you do as he says, you open the lubricant that is on your vanity table, and you apply it to your butthole. the pink jewel is right there, close to you. you don't hesitate, you calmly press it into yourself while you feel your walls pressing against the cold metal.

mrthepimp58: Fuck, look at that. It's so fucking hot.

mrthepimp58: I love how you do everything just as I say. You're my good girl.

mrthepimp58: This is driving me crazy. Look how well you can take it. You're so perfect, baby.

mrthepimp58: Pink looks so good on you.

mrthepimp58: I want you to fuck your cunt now. Put two fingers in.

it's too much, you won't take long to cum. you're so close; the feeling you need is right there. the wet sounds you're making every time you hit your sweet spot—and the knowledge that he's watching you searching for your own pleasure—all of it brings you to climax.

“are you seeing this? how hard i just came for you?”

mrthepimp58: Yes, I am. I love hearing you cum. So pretty. I have to go now. See you soon, dear.

@𝗺𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗺𝗽𝟱𝟴 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 $𝟯𝟬,𝟬𝟬𝟬

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You hadn’t spent more than a full day with him since July, and finally knowing he doesn’t have to catch a bus in the morning is enough to leave your head reeling as he twists you in his hold with a laugh.

(Summer without him was a fucking bore. Sure, you and your friends had plenty of fun, swimming and drinking and going skating. You went to the movies more times you can realistically count, munching on stale buttery popcorn and chatting with the ticket cashier because she’d seen you so many times she just had to say hello. Sometimes Janet called you up too, and you’d go with her.

You also got to focus more on your portfolio; tried some different techniques with the airbrush, experimented with materials you never had before. But the days just kept on dragging, and you’d missed him! Knowing he was dancing and singing his ass off without you there to cheer left a big gaping hole in your chest every time the home phone would ring.)

All that’s over now. And, what do you know? Your house is all nice and empty, courtesy of your uncle’s wedding halfway across the state. Hey, third time’s the charm, right?

Well, even if it isn’t, you sure as hell feel grateful.

“Mike, M–Mike, Mike, Mi—”

He’s going fucking crazy. Like an animal in heat. He could hardly keep his hands to himself in the back of Bill’s car as he drove you both to your house, and you’d catch Bill sneaking teasing looks from the rearview mirror. You’d taken a breath, slapped Michael’s hand away, and looked out the window at the passing blur of LA as your ears burned.

And then you reached the house, fumbling blindly for the keys with his kisses bruising your neck, his body one lean curve against your back, air-dried curls tickling your skin.

And now, you’re here. Sprawled on your parents’ queen sized bed, because yours is still just a teensy twin mattress. In the beginning, all you could shamefully think about is how nasty you are for doing it on their bed. How you’d have to change the sheets without your mother badgering you about it for the next two weeks.

But, now? Now… All you can think about is a random string of incoherence that sounds all-too similar to Michael’s name.

“I missed you so much, pretty baby,” he sighs against the plushness of your thigh. His lips are pursed in concentration, wide eyes staring a hole through you. You faintly register him grinding on the sheets, but you can’t focus for more than a minute on anything other than his slender fingers; the two he’s driving in and out of you, the five that are buried in your thigh.

It never feels the same when you’re pleasuring yourself. The angle is always just a bit off, your fingers not long enough, your wrist cramping too quickly. You love his hands so much…

A hiccup gets stuck in your throat, whiny and half-broken. “A–ah–I missed you, t–too–oh—!”

He’s kissing you. Right where you need him most, lips cutely fumbling a bit to find your clit, and you can see he’s nervous about it by the way he’s looking at you beneath his lashes. When he finds it, his lips curl around it, wet and hot and downright filthy, giving it a kiss before he asks: “Here?”

“Yeah,” you punch out. Nodding shakily, your eyes clench because you think you might explode. “Yeah, i–it’s there, it’s—”

He’s curling it around the very tip of his tongue, the hot muscle washing over your nerves like a tsunami. His fingers have not once let up, just the way you’ve shown him feels good. You feel so full.

Kiss, swirl, peck, in-and-out. His jaw is clenched tight; you can see it for the second you open your eyes, and the eye-contact is enough to have your head falling back with a cry. His moves are nervous and unsure, but they more than make up for it in fervor.

Only when his hand on your thigh suddenly shoots forward your brain jumpstarts back into a hazy short of focus, because it lands right above your mound. His pretty fingers absentmindedly swirl your soft tufts of hair, his eyes now shut tight, lost in you completely. Sighing and drooling into you, sloppy and hot and, fuck.

That’s not the only reason your consciousness has cut through the cloudy bliss.

(See, the thing is, being backstage for one of Michael’s shows means you’re on your feet a lot. Under the shade, yes, but in the heat for hours before the actual show starts. Sitting in the dressing room with everyone, cooling yourself off with one of Katherine’s hand fans, drinking water because there’s not much else to do. No time for too many bathroom breaks because suddenly it’s show time, and you haven’t seen your boyfriend perform in months, and then you’re ushered beside Janet, and then the show’s over and you’ve only gone to the bathroom once.)

His hand pushes down on you. And at first it feels… Fuck, fuck, it feels so insanely good. His tongue is wet and hot right where your nerves all meet, fingers making you feel all snug and warm and loved. And, because he’s so focused and lost in it, he keeps on pushing on your mound. It has you shaking.

You went to the bathroom and hadn’t had anything to drink after, that tiny enabling devil on your shoulder whispers, so you push the anxiety away to focus on your boy again.

He’s so gorgeous. Brows scrunched, hips grinding as he moans into your slick. Your hips are moving against him now, muscles almost cramping. There’s something deep building inside you, heavy under your skin, a sudden blooming warmth that makes you moan and bite your fist. It almost hurts but it feels so good.

And then, you feel it.

What the fuck, what the fuck, you have to—

“Mike!” you screech, spit getting caught in your throat. It’s no use. “Mike, Mike-Mike-Mike—!” you’re clutching at his curls, his head lifting and detaching from your clit with an audible pop, doe-eyes glazed over and fingers still going. “I–I’m, I’m gonna—”

Wrong choice of words. Because it has his eyes glinting, body shooting up so quick you’re reminded exactly how many tireless hours he puts into rehearsing. He’s kissing you and smiling so wide his pearly whites are on full display, and he has no idea what the fuck he’s just done.

It’s a sudden, all-encompassing, rhythmic release. 

You sob into his mouth. For about ten blissed-out seconds, it feels like the best orgasm of your life. Your chest caves in from the inside out, all air evaporating until you’re swimming under each wave of muscle twitch that leaves your legs shaking. Drowning in that white-hot pulsing of your clit that spreads from your belly into every limb.

That’s when you feel it. A small gush of hotness, trickling down your sensitive slick and onto Michael’s unsuspecting hand that’s still working you. 

Your eyes pop open like champagne corks.

Michael’s looking back. Mouth shaped into an ‘O’, brows shot up, eyes equally wide before they fall on where you’re connecting and staring at you like it holds the answers. He looks starstruck.

Oh, you’re going to kill yourself.

You scream so loud you’re sure your neighbors will wake up and come knocking, trembling hands pushing Mike away like he’s burned you. Or you’ve burned him.

“Did you just make me piss myself?!”

“What?” he hisses back, voice high and in disbelief. His hand softly encloses your knee, but you slap it away in shame. He looks more hurt by that rather than the fact that you just peed on him.

The tears gather quickly and without your say, a red-hot knot twisting in your throat. You’ve never been more mortified in your entire life. Covering your face with both palms, your voice quivers out: “OhmyGod, Mike, whatthefuck—”

“Baby, baby, no, nonono, it’s not that,” he quickly amends. “Don’t cry, c’mon, listen. Will you look at me?” He stands up suddenly, like he’s remembered something. “Let me get a towel, baby, stop cryin’—”

He’s back in a flash, two fresh baby blue towels in his hands. He’s shoving one under the top sheet so it doesn’t seep into the mattress. He uses the other to wipe you up in soft brushes, shushing your hiccups with his clean hand on your cheek, thumb caressing you softly.

You can’t look at him. You’d rather jump off a cliff. You just might.

“Will you open your eyes?” he asks, voice soft.

“No,” you huff out. It’s muffled under your palms, now resting on your knees as you sit up.

“I keep tryna tell you it wasn’t piss! Won’t you just look at me, girl?”

“What the fuck else can it be, Mike?” you mumble around a heavy exhale, throat still sensitive.

“Don’t know how it’s called, exactly, but—”

“Ohhh, my God—” you brokenly moan.

“But! I’ve heard about it.”

You finally look at him, peeking over your fingers, voice an exasperated wheeze as you squeal: “Where?!”

He stutters: “Uh, places!”

Your brows furrow so deeply, tears gather again. “Mike,” you plead.

He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “My brothers. And, um,” teeth on his lip, twisting it, “some magazines, and stuff…” You breathe out, and it feels like a sucker punch. His thumb is rubbing your shoulder, touch featherlight. He’s only in his boxers and you’re completely naked, and suddenly a shiver trails down your back. “C’mere,” he prompts warmly, opening his arms.

Despite everything else, you still trust him. He’s still your Mike. And he seems earnest, so you push through the humiliation to crawl into his open arms. You’re so sensitive, and down there feels like the aftermath of a balloon pop, muscles numb and achy. You feel disgusting. He’s sitting criss-cross applesauce, and you wedge yourself sideways onto his lap.

“Are you tellin’ me the truth?” you murmur, closing in on yourself.

“I’m telling you,” he whines, “it happens! Some sorta, uh, female e–ejaculation or something? I don’t remember… Baby, would I ever lie to you?” He kisses your temple, breathing you in.

“I don’t know. Maybe if I pissed on you and you didn’t wanna make me feel bad…”

His laugh shakes both your frames, and you let out a wet and tired giggle, sniffling. He takes the chance to meet your red-rimmed eyes, brushing a finger on your salty cheek, mirroring your pout before kissing it away.

“If you don’t believe me, well, it doesn’t even smell like piss!”

His words catch you by surprise so hard you choke around a laugh. “Mike, ew—!”

“Baby,” he grabs you by the shoulders, bottom lip lodged tight under his teeth in a bright smile. “That was amazing.”

“I don’t even know what it was.”

One hand sneaks around your waist, pushing you closer. It has your stomach fluttering again. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Well… It did feel incredible. And Mike swears it wasn’t anything nasty. Yeah, he doesn’t have any more hands-on experience than you do, but you trust him. He’s looking at you like you’re holding up every star in the sky, and you’re almost curious enough to know what the hell he heard from his brothers. But then you remember they’re the same people you interact with on a daily basis and not some disjointed forms of endless knowledge, and you sour before shaking the thought away.

“How ‘bout a shower?” you offer, palm sneaking up his nape, gently twirling his curls. “Y’know… together?”

Bambi eyes shining, he untangles himself from you and jumps off the bed like a spring. “I’ll check the water!” Pausing by the doorway, turning his torso in place and leaning his side against the frame, he asks: “Movie after?”

You smile, eyes drooping. “West Side Story?”

He nods, smile wide, jogging down your hallway. All you can think about as you hear the shower spraying in the distance—head dropping in your palms again, flushed and embarrassed and in love—is how the hell you’ll manage to clean your parents’ sheets.

3leni © 2026 — i do not consent to my work being republished on other platforms or put into ai. do not copy or plagiarize.

"Right foot on red it says." Michael laughs from his awkward crab-like position, one hand keeping him balanced as he spins the wheel for you.

"Oh my god, i'm gonna fall aren't I."

You stretch your right leg over his stomach and place it on the red circle. Your left with both your legs on either side of him spread out so much it burns your inner thighs. You're bent forward with one of your hands next to his head.

"I cant hold myself!" You shake.

Your legs start to slide on the mat, and Michael lets out his classic little giggle as you try to stay upright. "Thats the whole point!" he snickers, all 32 teeth showing from how much he's amused by your struggling. You glare down at him.

You and Michael have been childhood best friends for as long as you can remember. You recall visiting the Jackson's house during the weekends when you were little. The weekends were the only time all the brothers including little Michael, weren't being rehearsed to death by Joseph. You saw the way he treated at them even when they weren't rehearsing, so you made sure to never get in his way. You and Michael would always run straight to the backyard and play. It's the only place Joseph could keep an eye on him. You knew all the brothers before they even made it as the Jackson 5, so it's been a very long time. Your mother is a close friend of Katherine, they were the glue keeping the visits a constant routine.

And when the Jackson 5 did make it, you'd come home from school and sit in front of your little box TV as you watched them perform. However you'd always watch Michael, you'd watch the way he sung ABC, and the sheer talent of his vocals. A part of you felt proud knowing that was your best friend, famous. You wanted to tell everyone you knew — Michael Jackson is my best friend.

Weekends after that felt a bit superficial. Less magical. You were getting older, they were getting older, and most of all; they were getting bigger and bigger. Before you knew it, Michael was 20 years old and releasing his first solo album: Off the wall. However, neither of you never let his fame tamper with your friendship, you loved each other.

"No seriously Michael," you laughed nervously, struggling to keep your balance above him, "Im gonna fall on you."

"No you wont! Come on keep going," he dragged out through laughter, still awkwardly balanced in his crab position as he reached for the spinner beside the mat in attempt to keep playing; torturing yourselves even more.

"Michael!—" the second your legs slipped his eyes widened.

"WAIT—" he yelps, instinctively he covers himself with both arms just as you collapse onto him, the two of you falling into a messy tangled pile of limbs and laughter across the mat.

You laugh into his shoulder, "I told you." He prys his hands out from underneath you and gently places them around your back. "You could've kept going!" he says, unaware of his arms around you.

You don't reply, instead you start to revel in the comfort of your head in his neck area. He smelt like soap and clean laundry, warm and familiar enough to make your stomach twist and your skin warm up. You inhale a little, your lids feeling heavy. You feel a slight inclination that you should stop, sit up, but you don't stop yourself, he's like home.

You both stay there for a second too long, sprawled across Michaels chest while the game lay forgotten beneath you. You open your eyes from your little guilty pleasure and start to lift your head from his neck.

Your eyes met for a moment, then another, and suddenly you were painfully aware of how close you two were. You could feel the short exhales of his minty breath hitting your face a little.

'Good game right?' He says barely above a whisper with a simple smile, his voice still sweet, trying to thin the air that became too thick.

You could tell how nervous Michael was, it's classic. You cant tell if it's nervousness, anticipation, or something else you cant decipher.

"Yeah, good game. Sorry I should—" you started awkwardly, beggning to push yourself up. But before you could move, his hands instinctively tighten against your back before you could get up. Not enough force for you to stay but also just enough to keep you there; an invitation. All you can do is look at him, the motion made your stomach flip so bad you can't do anything else. Your bodies starting to feel too hot all of a sudden.

Michael looked just as startled by his own actions as you felt, his wide eyes searching for any signs you don't wanna be this close. His dark curls fall messily across his forehead as his breathing steadied beneath you. He looked shy suddenly, almost uncertain. But he still didn't let you go, not even a little bit.

"Um..." he started quietly and softly, his voice softer now.

His thumbs brushed slightly against your back before stopping like he's starting to realise what he's doing. "I like you here, is that okay?"

You pause for a second, just looking at him still shaken by the sudden shift in boundaries between you two. "Yes, yes," your voice also quieter than before. "It's okay."

Neither of you moved, his hands stay warm around your back, careful like he was scared you'd reject his embrace. The room feels too quiet & small, you feel suffocated. The game is now completely abandoned, the rain tapping softly against the windows. You see Michael’s adam apple bob up & down.

You let your eyes flicker down to his lips for the briefest moment before quickly lifting back to his eyes again. He noticed it, his cheeks becoming a little pink and subtle glow to his skin. His lips parted in response, "You're really close now." He says slowly, his eyes darting frantically from your eyes to your lips. Your inner thighs start to tingle and you feel your head start to lean forward, like something is pushing it.

Michael's eyes stay fixed on yours, slightly frantic with adrenaline, but also full of something soft and fuzzy. He doesn't lean in, "We probably shouldn't do this," he murmured quietly, though his hands don't leave your back, his chest rises and falls.

"Do what?" you whispered.

His throat bobbed nervously as he swallowed again. "...This" he says. The room was choking you now, your faces only inches apart.

"What if Joseph comes upstairs to talk to me?" he asked suddenly, voice hushed like the thought alone just terrifies him. However you can tell he's willing to risk it; he wants too.

"Michael..." you breath out, looking around the room for a few seconds before bringing your gaze back. His eyes relaxed suddenly, like something clicked in his brain, maybe he's realised he's an adult now, or he hates his father.

"Tell me to stop, please." he whispered, but instead you shook your head and leaned closer, white noise in your brain as every other thought that's not him is somewhere else right now.

You've always secretly known you've had a thing for Michael that was more than friendship. You always thought as a young girl that thats how friendship is, feeling that close to someone. But to see him acting the same way, it debunks every thought you've ever had of your feelings being requited. It feels beautiful. You don't wanna be anywhere else but here.

The space between you and him disappeared so slowly it hurt. He hesitated at first like he was still giving you the chance to pull away, his eyes flickering between yours one last time before finally closing as he softly parted his lips. It was gentle and careful, it evoked a feeling inside of you you've never felt before. Every inch of your body, every limb felt weightless. He tasted minty, with a slight note of strawberry ice cream you guys were eating earlier.

Soft breaths mingled between you as one of his hands left your back and tangled softly into your scalp, pulling you impossibly closer into the kiss. His desperation for touch arouses you more than you want to admit. You remember all the times he'd tell you about his brothers and how they'd kiss their girlfriends right in front of him with no care in the world.

"It made me so jealous, I still feel like a kid y'know." He'd tell you.

Little did you know he'd imagined doing it to you.

You pressed your lips against him harder, something in you letting go, you want to give this to him, and hell you want it too — so bad. A quiet groan escaped him as his lips moved against yours, less careful, just sweet desperation. Your hands tangled into his curls while he moved his hands to grip your waist gently, you could barely even feel it. You feel him starting to gently jut & grind his hips a little under you, the feeling so new to him he doesn’t know what to do with it. The sensation of him pressing against your core makes your eyes squeeze shut.

"God-" You feebly whisper into his lips, automatically trying to match the rhythm of his grinding.

His hands slid carefully along your sides as he shifted above you, turning you over until your back pressed softly against the Twister mat, all crinkled and forgotten. The spinner clicked quietly somewhere beside you as Michael leans over you, his curls falling into his eyes, breathing completely uneven as he kissed you harder, the spur of the moment sending adrenaline through the both of you. You place both your hands on his back, slightly under his flannel shirt. His skin is so hot it's like he has a fever. His head falls from the sensation as he breaks the kiss.

"You're killing me here," He smiles, “God.." he plants a hand on your face as he continues the kiss again.

Michael kissed like he was overwhelmed by you, like he didn't know where to put his hands or how to breathe right, his eyes squeezed shut in pure pleasure as he deepens the kiss without realising it. The moment your tongue brushed against his, a quiet whimper escaped him, almost embarrassed by how quickly he responded. You let out a whimper just from hearing him, both of you producing sweet little sounds.

You were just about to undo the 4th button of Michaels shirt to open it when the sounds of footsteps suddenly echoed from downstairs. Both of you froze instantly, Michael pulling back so fast he nearly hit his head on the wall, eyes frantic in panic.

"Joesph," he whispered harshly.

"Oh my god."

You shoved at his shoulders as you scrambled upright, the Twister mat crinkling loudly beneath you. Michael buttoned up his flannel in a hurry. You combed out your hair with your fingers, completely messed up from all the grabbing and caressing.

"Copy me," he muttered, getting into the fakest twister position known to man. "Just pretend, okay?”

You did as he said and got on all fours pretending to play. You almost let out a laugh from how pathetic it all was.

The bedroom door creaked open just as Michael aggressively spun the wheel with shaking hands, "Left hand blue," he announced way to loudly trying to plead not guilty.

Joseph stood in the doorway for a long second, his suit fresh & grey, terrifying as per usual. He was clearly suspicious as he looked between the two of you sprawled across the mat both breathing too hard for a simple game of Twister.

"...What'cha yall doing?" He questioned.

"Twister Joseph." He answered immediately, voice cracking a little.

The room was filled with silence, your arms started to shake from trying to keep your body up. He just stood there as you peered up giving him a glance and a friendly smile.

"Just keep it down, boy."

Next thing you knew he was gone with a slight slam to the door, you swear he likes to intimidate people for no reason but his own ego. The second he walks away you collapse on your butt & into laughter.

"That was so cl—" you were cut off with Michael grabbing your face with both hands before kissing you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, quickly adapting to the kiss once again. You break it, and begin unbuttoning his flannel shirt again, exposing a slither of his taught and tanned chest.

"Quickly, before he comes again!" You loudly whisper, frantically undoing the rest.

Michael smiles like a Chester cat as he covers his face with his hands. He then catches your wrist gently before you reach the last button, laughing breathlessly as he looked at you.

"We nearly just got caught, Joseph nearly saw us!"

You smiled innocently, pushing his shirt completely open anyway revealing his lean torso.

"Then I guess you should kiss me quicker before somebody walks in again."

You both chuckle as you scramble your way towards his bed, a more comfortable option; though Twister had definitely done it's job.

michael loves to record you. there’s something very beautiful, he says, about getting to rewatch that look in your eyes when you cum. the way your eyes flutter, the way you bite your lip, it excites him- why wouldn’t he want to hold onto that feeling forever?

eye contact during sex is very important to him (especially thriller/ bad era). michael adores the vulnerability of it, and the way you get flustered when you have to stare him in the eyes. when your gaze falters, he stops moving. its excruciating with the mix of embarrassment and pleasure.

michael gets absolutely enamored by watching you dryhump him. your desperation, pathetic attempt to get some sort of relief. he likes to let you use him, all the while praising you on how beautiful you are. “y’like that princess?” “so close, aren’t you,” holding your waist and tracing circles into your side with his thumbs.

he can’t help it but enjoy bladder control (especially mature era) it’s such an innocent way to have power over you, as humiliating as it is. there’s nothing like watching you struggle in public to hold it all in. you don’t even realize when you’re out, the amount of drinks he buys you… and then somehow never knowing where a restroom is…

he definitely bites during sex. he’s taken it upon himself to learn all of your sweet spots, where you like to be kissed- bitten, everything. it’s a primary part of foreplay.

michael is absolutely phenomenal at dirty talk, perhaps he gets it from his songwriting. he can be such a dom, commanding you to do things you couldn’t even think of doing if it weren’t coming out of his filthy mouth.

keeping quiet is a fun challenge for the both of you. he respects his image too much to ever do anything fully in public, but if there are people home? he loves to test the waters. you’re so loud during sex, and he’s so fucking big. he can’t help himself sometimes, he just rams into you- and then teases you “shh shh, is it too much, baby?”

while michael is often away, especially after album releases, every now and then, you two have phone sex. neither of you can go without each other for that long. this is where his dirty talk skills come in handy, and also listening to his moans will never not turn you on.

michael loves overstimulation, giving and receiving. he loves the way your bodies twitch together, like harmonies working together to create a beautiful song. he melts under the vulnerability, the way you both whine each others name. but, he also loves when it’s just you… slapping your cunt and watching your whole body shake in response. when you yelp, squeeze your thighs closer. it’s beautiful, really.