The year prior the questions from reporters were varied — When was your next album? Would there be a single released soon? What new music was being produced as of recent weeks? And maybe, if they were feeling nosey, they’d ask about your lover.

The lover they only care to hear about now that he’s an ex.

It was no secret that every news channel, magazine and radio station was milking your separation for everything it was worth — earning every dime off of your heartache. You’d been cornered and screamed at by reporters over the past few months over your break-up from the worldwide superstar Michael Jackson more times than for any music you’d put out.

So, you knew tonight would be no different.

Your manager had already warned you about keeping any responses to questions about Michael to a polite minimum to prevent bad press — but when every single reporter was asking the same thing, your irritation began to rise to the surface.

"Michael Jackson, your recent ex-husband, has just arrived here at the Grammy’s, he’s nominated for 12 awards — is there any resentment towards him now you’ve spilt as you’re only nominated for 2?"

Bitch.

You bit your inner cheek so hard you almost cried out as you forced down a nasty insult, but faked a smile and grit your teeth, "Not at all. He’s a talented man who worked hard for each nomination." You started, "But, I have also worked hard myself for my nominations which I am proud of if I win or not."

"And when will the divorce be final?"

Swallowing thickly, your breath shook as you exhaled gaining composure, "As of right now, there has been no divorce settlement papers drafted. We are just split up."

"So, technically, you’re still together?"

"No." You snapped, a forced smile still on your face, "We are split up." You repeated, trying not to sound too agitated.

"So,—"

"Thank you for your time." You cut off, picking up your dress and walking away.

You knew there’d be a story about that in the morning, but you didn’t care. It was either that or you screamed at her — and that certainly wouldn’t get you a Grammy.

You rushed through each interview, declining questions about Michael which only spurred the reporters on to press you about why you were saying no to questions about him. The inside of your mouth was practically red raw from how often you were biting down to force the agitation back down your throat.

Luckily, the ceremony was a blissful, magical experience — all memories of your ex-lover had been washed away, for the time being, as you watched each of your fellow singers and stars win their awards. A good friend of yours, country singer, Debbie Allen, had just won her award for Best Female Country Vocal Performance for her single ‘Baby I Lied’, who thanked her loved ones & producers, and rushed back down to the table you shared for the night.

"Well done, honey!" You beamed, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as you embraced in a hug, "So proud of you."

"Thank you, baby." She whispered, "How you been tonight? I hope those reporters haven’t been giving you too much trouble."

You scoffed, taking a sip of your Martini, "They couldn’t have given me more trouble, Deb."’

"Oh, Lord." She sighed, "I’m so sorry, honey, I know this must be real hard for you."

You huffed in defeat, shrugging, signifying you knew there wasn’t anything you could do about the situation. You and Michael hadn’t spoken since you moved out of your shared house, Hayvenhurst in Encino, and back to your own personal home. Since then, the media have spun lies and rumours, only forcing you further apart and building the awkward tension.

You quietened down as the presenters at the stage began talking, "This award is for Record of the Year, where many talented musicians have displayed some of their best work yet." One started, "The nominees are ‘Every Breath you Take’ by The Police," They read names and applause sounded throughout the room as each one was read, "'Flashdance… What a Feeling’ by Irene Cara, and ‘Beat it’ by Michael Jackson."

Your breath caught in your throat at the mention of his name and his smiling face on the screen in front of you. You refrained a gasp from slipping past your lips at his attire — Goodness, he looked good. His bedazzled suit, glove and signature sunglasses made him look like a true king. You were barely paying any attention as your heart hammered in your chest at the mere mention of his name. You hated how he still had an effect on you after all this time.

"And the Record of the Year goes to.." The silence was deafening as you held your breath,

“Michael Jackson ‘Beat it’!"

The room erupted into screams of adoration and loud applause as they all stood to congratulate him. Your heart thumped in your throat — part of you wanted to stand with a proud smile for the familiar lover, but the other half didn’t know whether it was worth the tabloids rumours.

In the heat of the moment, just as you were about to stand, a soft smile creeping on your face, you halted in your tracks.

Michael, your ex-husband of a mere few weeks, turned to his fellow nominee, Irene Cara, who was smiling sweetly at him, and kissed her.

Not once — but twice.

Air was knocked out of you as your mouth fell ajar as you watched him approach the stand to accept the award. Your mouth went swiftly dry and your eyes threatened to well up with tears, but you could feel the eyes on you, and soon the cameras too. So, a fake smile was forced onto your face as you stood to clap — ignoring the people around you glancing at you dramatically, as if waiting for your reaction.

Michael took the stage with his Producer Quincy Jones, who hugged him tightly, then jumped for joy at Michael’s second win of the night. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you watched the stage, your heart shattering as he stood at the stand — a smug smirk on his face while he held his two awards.

"I love all the girls in the balcony." Michael spoke, lifting his bedazzled hands in the air to point at the screaming fans beyond the stage.

Double homicide.

A sick, disgusted feeling crawled into your stomach as you listened to him talk. You honestly couldn’t believe what you were hearing — the man who devoted his life to you a few months ago, promised you children and a future, stability and love till the end of time, was now kissing women backstage at the Grammy’s and thanking his aroused, infatuated female fans. You were mortified.

You zoned out as he thanked his family, and Quincy took the stand to thank Michael and the editors to the album again. Your mind was in shambles as Debbie reached over to place a comforting hand on your arm, offering a sympathetic smile. You pursed your lips at her — trying to ignore Michael’s voice thanking the girls in the balcony once more before he exited the stage.

You swallowed thickly — you were in shock and disgust at the man you thought you knew. He clearly got a taste for being single and had his ego stroked too many times tonight, and decided to act a fool in front of everyone.

Embarrassment was an understatement.

"Men are pigs, sweetie. Don’t let him get to you. You’ve got a Grammy to win." Debbie whispered, squeezing your hand encouragingly.

You breathed out a laugh, smiling weakly at her as thoughts raced through your brain. Despite all the anger, sadness and disgust you felt right now, the most prominent emotion that was infesting your body right now was jealousy. You were sick with envy at Irene Cara — being able to stand up there and kiss your ex-man twice on stage. It made you violently jealous.

"The next award is for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance." The next presenters spoke, their voices pulling you out of your train of thought.

This was your nomination.

Your heart drummed with anxiety once more — the cocktail of emotions in your body knocking you sick as you waited.

"And the nominees are, ‘Flashdance…What a Feeling.’ by Irene Cara,"

Oh, now the competition was really on.

You hated that you secretly felt as though you were competing for Michael, but you couldn’t help but want nothing more than to win against her.

Your name was read last — the camera turning to you as a smirk crept onto your face, waving sweetly into the camera lense, attempting to look as unbothered as possible.

"And the winner is.."

Cheers erupted into the room as your name echoed in your ears, Debbie practically screaming beside you as she clapped feverishly.

You had won.

A wicked thought crept into your brain as you stood up, walking towards the stage with a dangerous grin on your face. This was going to get him back in every possible way. And her.

The applause died down as you were handed the award, which weighed your arms down, as you kissed the female presenter on the cheek. You leant the award on the stand as you approached the microphone.

"Firstly, I’d like to thank my Producer, who sadly couldn’t be here tonight, but gives his own personal thanks to all the editors and executive producers who helped us with this song that I’m beyond proud of." You started, smiling sweetly, catching the eyes of familiar faces in the crowd as you spoke.

"I also wanted to say that I am particularly proud of myself for this song as, I’m sure all of you are aware, these past few weeks have been difficult for me." You stated, whispers and shocked glances were shared across the room, "But, regardless, I’m here tonight, winning an award, feeling beautiful and happy to be alive." A round of applause was instigated as you laughed, "You will also know that despite common belief, when a separation occurs between man and wife — they are still, by law and under the word of God, still married. Which means no matter how many people you kiss on stage, I’ll still be your wife, Michael. And, I will always be, if you know you know, the Lady in his Life."

Flashing your wedding ring to the crowd that you still wore, you laughed loudly as the crowd went berserk, before exiting the stage. Screams of joy and shock erupted in the room as people sat near to Michael whispered to him, whose face himself was sporting a playful, shy smile, ignoring Quincy Jones laughing loudly next to him.

The rest of the night, where Michael went on to win 6 more awards, failing to address your call out of his stunt on stage, you were praised by many familiar stars — who claimed your speech was the best they’d heard in years. Unfortunately, you only won the one award, but you didn’t care — as the way you had outed Michael elicited a better feeling than any award could.

The end of the ceremony soon came around, and the after parties were beginning to start. Debbie had dragged you to one before you even got chance to decline, but you wanted to bask in your glory for a little longer before heading home.

Debbie had wondered off somewhere, claiming she needed to talk to Lionel Richie, and scurried off into the crowd — leaving you alone with your 4th Martini of the night.

"Nice little speech you gave earlier."

The familiar soft voice that sounded behind you sent shivers up your spine as you turned around to face the one man you’d wanted to ignore and be close to at the same time all night.

"Thank you." You smiled, "I thought it was fitting."

Michael hummed, nodding as the corner of his mouth threatened to curve into a smile, "I always admired your honesty." He spoke, "Congratulations by the way."

You chuckled softly, "Flattery won’t save you now, Michael."

"What? I can’t compliment my beautiful wife, as you say you are yourself."

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, "I am when you’re kissing other women in public in front of me, I’m not when you want something from me now you realised you’ve fucked up."

Michael chuckled, taking a step closer to you, the waft of his cologne filling your nostrils — a sickly sweet reminder of his stunning scent that you once had smothered on your bedsheets and in your hair after a night of ecstasy. The thought of your late night love during your marriage sent a wave of uncontrollable arousal throughout your body as you looked up at him.

"I don’t think God would approve of you denying yourself as my wife whenever you please."

"That’s rich coming from you." You scoffed, furrowing your eyebrows, "You were borderline adulterous tonight."

"I would only be adulterous if you were still officially my girl. Yes, you’re legally my wife. But, the last I knew, we were ‘separated’" He teased, taking another step closer, your chests nearly touching as your breathing quickened, "So, unless you’re saying you want me back?"

You scoffed, avoiding the question as you looked away from, not wanting to be the one to admit you missed him, "In your dreams, Michael."

"Sure is."

Your mouth fell agape at his words, trying not to interpret it as sexual — but your already aroused brain instantly went there, eliciting a flush of heat through you.

"You can’t pick and choose when you want me, Michael." You stood strong, ignoring the small waver in your voice, "I’m either your wife or I’ll have the divorce papers drafted for Monday morning."

Michael didn’t speak — just stared at you through his sunglasses, his lips pressed together calmly as he eyed you. Your chest rose and fell quicker as you grew more and more impatient for his response, your lips forming an irritated pout, which you subconsciously forgot he loved as a smirk grew on his face.

"What’s so funny? I’m being seri—“

"Come with me."

Without having a second to comprehend what was happening, Michael grasped your hand tightly and began exiting the party. Your mouth fell open in confusion as his fingers laced through yours while leading you through the crowd, earning a few confused glances from other stars as you rushed past.

The cold February air hit you sharply as Michael guided you outside, the instant intense flash of cameras blazing your eyesight as he smiled at the cameras, squeezing your hand as a push to do the same. You forced a smile as he ushered you into the back of a car, jumping in with you and shutting the door.

"Where to, Sir?" The driver questioned.

"To our home — Hayvenhurst, please." Michael spoke softly, as he always did, your ears perking at the use of the word ‘our’, "And take the long route."

You turned to face the superstar as the partition closed, silence filling the car. Michael was already looking at you, his glasses had been taken off, and sporting a small smile.

"Don’t give me that look. I meant what I said, Michael." You sassed, crossing your arms.

"I know you did." He agreed, "I’m sorry for how I behaved tonight. A man without the support of his beautiful wife is a lost man who makes stupid choices."

You eyed him as he spoke, attempting to not fall for the flattery, which proved to be difficult as he met you with his classic puppy dog eyes.

"Like you said, I wrote that song just for you. That one among many. You are the only lady in my life — you inspire all of my love songs. You are the reason my heart swells with such passion to sing about love."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words — pink flushing your cheeks at the sweet confession as he smiled softly at you. He knew exactly how to play you to get what he wanted.

"Come on, baby, didn’t I make you happy?"

"Michael." You warned, eyeing his smirk as he shuffled closer to you.

"I know I did." He whispered, suddenly as close as he was at the after party, forcing your breath to catch in your throat, "I made you smile, and laugh, and feel content with your life and our future." His hand crept up to your knee, your breathing increasing ever so slightly at the sudden touch, "But, more importantly, I made you feel good, didn’t I?" He mewled, his hand sliding up your dress to caress your thigh.

"Michael." You sighed, arousal building between your legs at his tender touch.

"Admit it. I made you feel so good when I made sweet love to you every night." Michael teased, his hand now snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his warm body, a gasp ripping from your throat in surprise, "I knew exactly how to pleasure my sweet, beautiful lady."

"Yes — God, yes, you did." You breathed, your chest heaving in pure arousal as your hands clung to his chest and around his neck, finally giving in to him, "Please."

Michael didn’t need to tease and wind you up tonight — he knew you needed each other so badly it would’ve physically hurt to deny each other one another for any longer. His hands around your waist pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, another residing on your red hot cheek as he pressed his eager lips to yours in a feverish kiss.

You instantly hummed in pleasure at the feeling of his warm, soft mouth against yours — your hands flying to tangle in his curls as you moved over to straddle his hips. Michael groaned into your mouth as his hands slid down your exposed back, pressing your body into his as he slipped his eager tongue into your mouth — desperate to taste you everywhere.

His excitable kisses edged down from your jawline to your neck, to your chest, your heartbeat hammering against his lips — love bites being littered across your skin.

"Baby, please."

Michael groaned at the sound of your desperate, aroused plea — his achingly hard cock twitching beneath his slacks.

"Let me make it up to you, darling." Michael started, moving to lay you down on the back seat, and kissing slowly down your body as you whined beneath him impatiently, "Let me taste your perfect pussy — make you feel good."

"Yes — God, yes, please."

Michael didn’t waste a second as the whiny, breathy words of desperation left your lips — bunching your dress around your hips. Michael let out a shaky breath at the sight of your drenched panties — your puffy pussy drooling for him even after the whole ordeal.

He hooked two fingers into your waistband and shimmied the soaked pink cloth off your cunt, the bare sight of your pretty pussy on show for him. He let out a sigh of pure adoration as he admired you, pushing your legs apart.

"Gosh, this pussy is beautiful — so wet for me."

You whined beneath him, bucking your hips in despair as your hole clenched around nothing, begging to be touched. Michael took this as a sign to slide his two fingers between your slit, a loud gasp ripping from your throat as he nudged your sensitive clit, collecting your essence on his digits. Pushing your legs back further, Michael slid his lubricated fingers towards your quivering hole, teasing the outside, earning a loud cry of irritation as you silently begged for him to fill you.

"Be a good girl now — let me make you feel better." He ordered, pressing a soft kiss to your elevated ankle as he slid two fingers inside you, an erotic moan leaving your lips, "Mm, that’s it, baby, let me hear you."

He knew exactly how to take you, how you liked to be pleased and what made you cum instantly. You felt as though even though he was making it up to you, he was also getting off on this. He pumped his fingers in and out of your tight cunt — the squelching of your juices and the sound of your delicious moans filled the car, Michael’s cock throbbing beneath his clothes at the pornographic noises entering his ears.

"Such a sweet, good girl for me. And I’m such a bad husband, aren’t I? But, I’m gonna make it all better, hm?"

"N-No, you’re p-perfect, Mike." You forced out, your voice wavering as he pleasured you.

But, Michael knew exactly what was going to make you forgive him. Leaning down in between your legs, he littered your thighs in kisses before attaching his lips around your throbbing clit. His fingers still curling to hit that spongy spot inside you had your back arching off the seat, your cries reaching their loudest as your built up sexual frustration for your husband came to its peak.

"O-oh— Michael, God, I-I’m gon—gonn—“

"Cum for me, baby, give it to me." He egged on, his lips never leaving your clit, as his fingers sped up inside you to help push you over the edge.

You came with a scream, your hand flying to his curls to tug on while your legs clamped around his head — his name flooding from your mouth as you shook around his head, his tongue lapping up your juices as they leaked from your abused hole.

Michael didn’t waste any time after you came down from your high, perching up on his knees to free himself from his slacks and boxers, shoving them down his thighs to let his painfully hard cock spring free. You hummed in arousing anticipation as he spat a dollop of his saliva onto his hand and slicking his cock in the natural lubricant — pumping himself a few times with a hiss before positioning himself by your shaking cunt. He slid his cock between your slick folds — nudging your swollen, sensitive clit, earning a pathetic cry as you grasped his bicep.

"Ready to feel how sorry I am, sweet thing?"

You nodded with a whine as he pushed your knees closer to your chest in a brutal mating press — before pushing his tip into your tight walls. Both of you let out intense cries of pleasure at the feeling of one another’s genitalia after so long — the sexual frustration melting away as he slid in further and further. You always struggled to take his thick, heavy dick — but tonight you didn’t care. You were so caught up in your emotions that the burn and stretch of his fat cock didn’t phase you tonight. You just needed him to take you over and over again to prove his apology and how much he loved you.

Michael bottomed out with a groan, "Oh." He shivered, "I’ve missed this perfect pussy, Jesus." He leant down to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss, tongues and teeth banging together as he pulled out all the way, to slam back into you. Both of your explicit noises filled the car mixed with the stench of pure sex as he fucked you into the seat.

"M-Michael!" You whined, your hand reaching up to touch his face as his pelvis rubbed against your pathetically sensitive clit — that and the feeling of the tip of his cock abusing your G-Spot had you seeing stars and threatening to cum again already.

Michael, lost in the pure ecstasy of your weeping cunt, had words failing him as he slammed into you repeatedly — pure excitement flooding his veins at the feeling of you squeezing him in as you reached your climax once again.

"M-Michael, Michael, I’m there — I’m cumming!"

Michael cursed under his breath as his flopped forward, his face nuzzling into your neck as you arched your back into his chest, your fingers curled in his hair as you tightened around his aching cock — cumming with a loud cry against him.

Michael wasn’t far behind at the feeling of your pussy clenching him so hard as you finished — milking him for all he’s worth. He came with a growl into your neck, your name and little moans of pure pleasure whined from his lips as he stuffed you full of his load.

Michael flopped against you as his orgasm feathered away, being careful not to crush you under his weight. His legs shook as he slipped out of you with a hiss and a curse under his breath — the feeling of his warm cum trickling out of you had you whining quietly.

Michael leaned down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss — this one now delicate and tender, compared to the intense one prior. He took time with your lips, a soft hand on your neck as he lovingly pecked your lips.

"I love you so much, baby. I don’t wanna be without my wife any longer. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done — please don’t leave me again." He admitted, pressing his sticky forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut.

Your heart swelled at his gentle, kind words, suddenly feeling so full of love and purpose once more.

"I love you too, Michael.” You breathed, a shaky hand coming up to stroke his cheek, "And I’m sorry for embarrassing you tonight. I won’t ever leave your side again."’

Michael smiled against you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before sitting up to tuck his softened cock back into his boxers. He then assisted you back into your underwear, fixed your dress and smoothed your hair for you, before calling out to the driver to tell him to head towards home.

"Does this mean you’re my official girl, wife, everything again?" Michael whispered, wrapping an arm around your sleepy frame as you slumped against him.

You nodded weakly, "Yes, Mike, I’m your everything again."

"You always were, my darling."

There was one thing Michael Jackson still hated admitting.

He got lonely easily.

Especially in that weird in-between stage of his life where everything felt like it was changing too fast.

Off the Wall had exploded.

People looked at him differently now.

The pressure was bigger.

The expectations louder.

And somehow the house in Encino felt emptier because of it.

Tonight was supposed to help.

Michael had spent an embarrassingly long time setting up Twister in the living room because he’d convinced himself his brothers would actually play with him for once.

“C’mon,” he tried again, holding up the box dramatically while his brothers grabbed jackets near the front door. “Just one game.”

“We already got plans, Mike.”

“We’re late.”

“We’ll play another time.”

Michael’s shoulders slumped slightly.

“But you said—”

“Another night, man.”

The front door shut behind them.

Silence.

Michael stared at the bright Twister mat spread across the carpet for a second too long before quietly sitting down beside it.

From the kitchen, Katherine Jackson looked over sympathetically.

“Oh baby…”

“I’m fine,” Michael muttered immediately.

Which meant he absolutely wasn’t.

Meanwhile, from his armchair, Joe Jackson barely glanced up from the television.

“You too old to be sulking over games.”

Katherine shot him a sharp look immediately.

Michael just looked down at the mat.

And then the doorbell rang.

Katherine moved to answer it, and seconds later a familiar voice drifted through the hallway.

“Mrs. Jackson, my mom said you forgot your baking dish again—”

Then Y/N L/N appeared in the living room doorway and stopped mid-sentence.

Because spread across the floor was Twister.

Her entire face lit up instantly.

“Oh my God.”

Michael looked up slowly.

Y/N pointed aggressively at the mat.

“Are we playing Twister?”

Michael blinked once.

“…You wanna play?”

“Michael.” She looked genuinely offended. “I love Twister.”

And just like that, something heavy in his chest loosened instantly.

Because Y/N always did this somehow.

She was the Jacksons’ neighbor in Encino. Loud, funny, dramatic Y/N who showed up unexpectedly and filled rooms without even trying.

Katherine adored her.

Joe absolutely did not.

“She distracts him,” he always grumbled whenever she came around.

Which honestly? Only became more true with time.

Because Michael looked at Y/N differently than he looked at everybody else.

Like he could breathe easier around her.

Even if neither of them fully realized why yet.

Y/N dropped onto the floor beside the mat dramatically.

“Set it up.”

Michael laughed softly for the first time all evening.

“It’s already set up.”

“Oh.” Y/N crossed her legs. “So this is serious.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Twister turned out to be a horrible idea immediately.

Mostly because Y/N cheated constantly.

“You moved your foot!”

“I adjusted it.”

“That’s cheating.”

“It’s called strategy.”

Michael laughed so hard he nearly collapsed onto the mat.

God, He needed this.

Needed someone who didn’t treat him like a celebrity or a machine or the future of music.

Just Michael.

At one point Y/N got completely tangled beneath his arm and burst into helpless laughter.

“We’re stuck.”

“Move your hand.”

“I literally can’t.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Yeah, well, you like that about me.”

Michael opened his mouth automatically.

Paused.

Then smiled shyly instead. “I actually do.”

Y/N blinked at him for half a second too long before immediately looking away.

Because sometimes Michael smiled at her and her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a moment.

Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.

Meanwhile Katherine watched the entire thing from the kitchen trying not to smile too obviously.

Joe, unfortunately, noticed too. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Because Michael had spent all week locked in the studio obsessing over demos and rehearsals and choreography. Focused. Disciplined.

Then Y/N showed up and suddenly he was sprawled across the floor laughing over Twister like the weight of the world wasn’t sitting on his shoulders anymore.

Joe frowned.

“Boy’s distracted.”

Katherine looked at him flatly.

“Boy’s happy.”

Joe didn’t answer.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Eventually the game dissolved into complete chaos because Y/N stopped following the rules entirely.

Then somehow they ended up on the couch with multiple cartons of ice cream spread across the coffee table while an old black-and-white movie played softly in the background.

Y/N sat curled into the corner beneath a fuzzy blanket she’d stolen from Michael’s room earlier.

“This,” she declared seriously around a spoonful of strawberry ice cream, “is the peak human existence.”

Michael laughed softly beside her.

“You say that about everything.”

“Only because I appreciate the beauty in life.”

“You said mozzarella sticks changed your life last week.”

“But they did, Mikey!”

Michael shook his head fondly.

She was absolutely ridiculous.

But tonight something warm settled quietly in his chest every time she made him laugh. Because earlier she’d noticed he was upset immediately.

And instead of brushing it off or teasing him, she stayed. Like his feelings mattered.

Like he mattered.

And Michael didn’t realize how badly he needed that until now.

The movie played softly.

The lights stayed low.

Y/N’s voice slowly got quieter and quieter while she rambled about how old movies needed ‘better kissing scenes.’

Then, eventually, silence.

Michael glanced sideways and froze slightly.

Because Y/N had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

Still holding the spoon.

Michael smiled instantly.

Carefully, trying not to wake her, he adjusted the blanket higher around her shoulders.

And for a second he just sat there looking at her.

At the way her hair spilled against his arm.

The faint remains of eyeliner beneath her eyes.

The tiny pout she always got when she slept.

Something in Michael’s chest ached suddenly, warm in a way he didn’t fully understand yet.

A few minutes later Katherine walked into the living room and immediately stopped.

Because there they were.

Michael sitting perfectly still so Y/N could sleep comfortably against him.

The empty ice cream cartons abandoned everywhere.

The old movie flickering softly across both their faces.

Katherine’s expression melted instantly.

“Oh,” she whispered softly.

Then Joe appeared behind her.

And immediately frowned.

“There she goes again,” he muttered. “Distracting him.”

Katherine looked ready to argue until Michael glanced up briefly.

And the look on his face stopped her. Because her son looked peaceful.

Not exhausted. Not pressured. Not overwhelmed.

Just happy. Safe, even.

Like for one evening he got to simply be a young man sitting on the couch with his best friend instead of carrying the weight of becoming Michael Jackson.

Katherine smiled quietly to herself.

Meanwhile Michael looked back down at Y/N sleeping against him and smiled too.

Small.

Private.

Completely gone for her.

Even if he didn’t know it yet.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

A few days after the Twister episode, the California heat had turned the Jackson backyard into something straight out of a magazine ad.

The pool shimmered bright blue beneath the sun.

Music drifted softly from outdoor speakers.

And floating lazily in the middle of the water was Michael Jackson with a notebook balanced against his bare chest, completely lost inside his own head.

One arm dangled into the water while he scribbled lyrics messily across the page, humming little melodies beneath his breath every few seconds.

His dark curls were slightly damp from the heat already, and his aviator sunglasses rested low on his nose while he concentrated so hard he barely noticed anything else around him.

Michael always got like this while writing.

Tunnel vision.

Obsessive.

Like the song became the only thing existing in the world.

Which was exactly why his brothers chose that moment to interrupt him.

“What are you doing?” Jermaine asked while stepping outside with Marlon and Tito trailing behind him.

Michael barely glanced up from the notebook.

“Working.”

Jermaine stared flatly at the inflatable raft.

“You’re writing music in a pool.”

“I’m thinking.”

“You look ridiculous.”

Michael ignored him completely, scribbling something down quickly before muttering the melody beneath his breath again.

Tito leaned closer.

“What’s got you acting possessed now?”

Michael finally sat up slightly, curls falling into his face while he pointed the pencil toward them dramatically.

“I gotta finish this.”

“You’re at the pool, Mike.”

Michael sighed heavily.

“If I don’t finish it, God’s gonna give it to Prince.”

His brothers exploded laughing immediately.

“That is not how music works!”

“Yes it is.”

“You are insane.”

Michael pointed accusingly at them.

“You laugh now but when Prince releases this six months later don’t come crying to me.”

Jermaine cried-laughed.

And then the back door slid open.

Michael looked up automatically. Big mistake.

Because Y/N L/N stepped outside.

And every coherent thought immediately left his body.

She looked like actual summer personified, wearing a tiny red-and-white checkered bikini tied at her hips with little bows, her hair piled messily on top of her head while oversized aviator sunglasses sat on her nose.

Michael’s aviator sunglasses.

The realization hit him instantly.

“Oh my God,” Jermaine whispered-yelled beside him immediately. “She stole your glasses.”

Michael barely heard anything.

Because Y/N was already walking barefoot toward the pool, sunlight glowing against her skin while the sunglasses practically swallowed half her face.

And somehow the fact she was casually wearing his things made the situation ten times worse for him.

“Oh!” Y/N smiled brightly when she spotted everyone. “Hi boys.”

Brutal silence. Jermaine slowly turned toward Michael.

And immediately started grinning.

Because Michael looked absolutely doomed.

Not subtle at all.

His eyes widened slightly before darting downward toward the notebook in his lap like he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be pretending to work.

“Ohhhhh,” Marlon whispered delightedly.

Michael snapped back to reality instantly.

“What?”

Tito crossed his arms trying not to laugh.

“Nothing.”

Meanwhile Y/N finally looked properly toward Michael.

And she froze.

Because Michael was shirtless.

And somehow her brain had never fully processed that possibility before.

Which now actually felt medically concerning.

The sunlight reflected against the water onto his skin while he sat stretched across the float in black swim trunks, curls messy from the heat, lean chest lightly glistening beneath the afternoon sun.

Y/N actually forgot what she was doing for a second.

“Oh my God,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You’re shirtless.”

One of his brothers made a strangled noise immediately, trying to suppress a laugh.

Michael blinked once.

“…Yeah?”

“I’ve literally never seen that before.”

Michael sat up straighter automatically. Which somehow only made everything worse.

Because now Y/N got an even better look at him.

And Michael got a very clear look at Y/N staring.

“Oh this is bad,” Marlon whispered gleefully.

Michael tried looking back down at the notebook again pretending very hard to focus.

Unfortunately his body had already betrayed him.

Because Y/N kept walking closer to the edge of the pool adjusting his sunglasses and smiling at him in that absentmindedly sweet way she always did.

Michael shifted awkwardly against the float.

Immediately realizing the problem.

Oh.

Oh, no, He thought.

Actual panic flashed across his face for half a second. Because now Y/N was kneeling beside the pool and Michael suddenly became very aware that his swim trunks were doing absolutely nothing to hide the situation developing in real time.

Jermaine noticed instantly.

And the grin spreading across his face became genuinely evil.

“Oh my GOD.”

Michael snapped his head toward him immediately.

“Shut up.”

“You are fighting for your life right now, aren’t you?”

“I hate you.”

Y/N looked between them suspiciously.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing!” Michael answered way too fast and his brothers nearly collapsed laughing.

Meanwhile Y/N narrowed her eyes briefly before shrugging.

“Anyway…”

And before anyone could react, she jumped directly into the deep end of the pool.

Then immediately regretted it.

“Oh my God WAIT—”

Y/N resurfaced flailing dramatically because she was way too short to comfortably touch the bottom.

“Y/N—" Michael started, but she launched herself at him without hesitation.

Michael barely steadied the float in time before Y/N practically climbed onto him in panic, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders while she tried to keep herself above water.

The float tipped dangerously sideways beneath them.

And suddenly Y/N was pressed directly against him.

Chest to chest.

Legs tangled beneath the water.

Her thighs brushing his waist while she clung to him breathlessly.

Michael stopped breathing entirely.

Because this was already catastrophic before Y/N accidentally shifted against his lap trying to stabilize herself.

Michael sucked in a sharp breath.

His brothers turned away screaming laughing.

“Mikey is done.”

Michael wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

Because now he was painfully aware of everything.

The water dripping slowly down Y/N’s skin.

The coconut sunscreen smell surrounding her.

The fact she was wearing his sunglasses.

And most importantly: the very obvious problem he was desperately trying to hide while Y/N clung to him in the middle of the pool.

Michael grabbed her waist quickly to keep both of them from tipping over.

“You okay?” he asked, voice noticeably strained.

Y/N nodded breathlessly.

“I hate this stupid deep pool.”

Michael laughed weakly.

Except now Y/N noticed something too.

Not the full situation.

But definitely the tension.

The way his hands tightened carefully at her waist.

The way he kept avoiding eye contact.

The fact his entire face was pink now.

And honestly? Y/N wasn’t doing much better herself.

Because Michael this close felt genuinely unfair.

His chest warm beneath her hands.

His curls damp and falling into his eyes.

His arms flexing slightly every time he steadied her in the water.

And the way he looked at her completely flustered and overwhelmed and trying so hard to stay respectful despite very obviously malfunctioning.

Y/N suddenly became very aware of how close their faces were.

“Huh,” she said softly before she could stop herself.

Michael blinked.

“…What?”

“You look really pretty like this.”

Michael nearly short-circuited on the spot.

Jermaine collapsed into one of the lounge chairs laughing while Tito slapped the table dramatically.

Michael groaned quietly, dropping his forehead briefly against Y/N’s shoulder in complete defeat while she laughed helplessly against him.

And somehow neither of them made any effort to move apart.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

The sun was beginning to soften by the time they left the pool.

Everything felt warm and lazy in that golden late afternoon way California summers always did.

Music still drifted faintly from somewhere inside the house while the grass stayed hot beneath bare feet and the air smelled like sunscreen and chlorine.

And somewhere across the backyard, Y/N L/N was currently losing her mind over a llama. Specifically Louie.

Michael sat on the back steps with a towel around his shoulders and watched in helpless amusement while his best friend ran dramatically across the grass trying to feed Louie strawberries.

“Louie!” she gasped. “Save the drama for you llama!”

Louie stared blankly at her.

Michael laughed softly under his breath.

She really did talk to animals like they were people.

Y/N held another strawberry out toward the llama carefully.

“You just get me emotionally, don’t you?”

Louie sneezed directly in her face. Y/N did not move an inch.

Michael laughed really hard at that.

“Oh my God!”

Y/N wiped her cheek dramatically while glaring at the llama in betrayal.

“I thought we had something special going on, Louie.”

Her laughter echoed across the yard a second later anyway.

Bright. Contagious.

Real enough that Michael found himself smiling before he even realized it.

Because Y/N laughed with her whole body. Throwing her head back. Clutching her stomach. Nearly stumbling over herself every single time.

And Michael loved making her laugh more than almost anything.

Which was maybe a problem. A very big problem.

“You got it bad, don’t you?”

Michael startled slightly.

Bill stood beside the porch railing holding a soda, watching Y/N chase Louie around the yard with open amusement.

Michael immediately looked back toward the grass.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bill snorted.

“Michael.”

Across the lawn Y/N was now attempting to braid flowers into the llama’s fur.

Louie looked deeply exhausted by her existence already.

Michael smiled again without meaning to.

Bill noticed immediately.

“Mm-hm.”

Michael realized too late he’d done it again.

Done the stupid soft smile.

The one everybody kept noticing lately whenever Y/N was around.

Michael cleared his throat awkwardly.

“She’s just funny.”

Bill looked at him flatly.

“Boy.”

Michael groaned quietly, dragging one hand down his face.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“The talk.”

Bill burst out laughing.

“The talk?”

“Yes.”

“You twenty something old scared of a conversation?”

Michael looked genuinely distressed. “Yes.”

Meanwhile Y/N finally succeeded in placing one flower crookedly behind Louie’s ear.

“Oh my God,” she whispered to the llama. “You’re gorgeous.”

Michael chuckled at her, feeling helpless again.

Bill crossed his arms.

“You look happier around her.”

Michael’s smile faded slightly at that. Not entirely, just enough to become softer. Because the annoying part was that Bill was right.

Michael looked back toward the yard quietly while Y/N rammed dramatically into Louie’s side trying to hug him.

“She’s different,” Michael admitted softly.

Bill hummed knowingly.

“How?”

Michael took a second to answer. Because truth be told? He didn’t even fully know himself.

“She doesn’t…” He paused. “She doesn’t look at me like everybody else does.”

Bill stayed quiet.

So Michael kept going.

“She just comes over and steals my food and makes fun of my clothes and talks during movies.” He smiled to himself faintly. “And when I’m around her I don’t gotta think so hard.”

Bill’s expression softened at that and he clicked his tongue.

Because Michael spent most of his life thinking too hard.

Overworking.

Overanalyzing.

Overperforming.

But around Y/N? He looked light. Young again.

Like the fame disappeared for a little while.

Bill glanced toward the backyard where Y/N was now laying in the grass beside Louie dramatically.

“She likes you too, you know.”

Michael nearly choked.

“What?” He blurted out desperately and ridiculously fast.

Bill looked amused now.

“Michael,”

“No no no.” Michael sat up straighter immediately. “We’re friends.”

“Mhm.”

“We are.”

Bill took one sip of his soda.

“She wears your sunglasses.”

Michael froze. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“She nearly drowned looking at you shirtless.”

Michael turned bright red instantly, feeling his cheeks warming up. “Well, that was an accident!”

Bill snorted. “And you almost passed out when she climbed on top of you in the pool.”

Michael buried his face into the towel he held immediately.

“Oh my God.” He let out, his voice muffled.

“Son, everybody sees this except you two.”

Michael groaned dramatically into the towel.

Because unfortunately he knew Bill was right.

He did feel different around Y/N.

Too aware of her all the time.

Too happy whenever she showed up unexpectedly.

Too nervous whenever she looked pretty.

And today? It had been particularly catastrophic for him.

Especially the pool.

Especially Y/N wearing his glasses and clinging to him in the water with her legs wrapped around his waist while he fought for his actual life.

Michael groaned, face still in the towel. “Bill, I think I’m dying.”

Bill burst out laughing.

“No, son. I think you just got feelings.” He added between laughs.

Michael looked genuinely horrified by the concept.

Before he could answer though—

“MICHAEL!”

Both of them looked up.

Y/N stood halfway across the lawn waving excitedly while Louie wandered behind her aimlessly.

“Your llama likes me more than you now!”

Michael smiled automatically.

Completely helpless.

Bill watched him for exactly one second before laughing quietly to himself and walking away.

Because yeah.

That boy was falling hard.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Taglist:

you didn't care if he knew it was an act. you just wanted him to notice you – to feel a fraction of the ache you’ve been feeling.

tonight was supposed to be the same, but you lost track of time.

you meant to be upstairs before he got home. but after spending the afternoon getting your hair done and soaking in a long bath, you end up curled on the living room couch with a book. your skin still smelled faintly of your favourite lotion, and a short slip silk dress clung softly to your body underneath your matching robe.

you were so absorbed in your book that you didn't even hear the front door open.

“good book?”

you startled, your head snapping up.

michael leaned against the archway, his jacket slung over his shoulder as he watched you. his eyes took in the gleam of your skin and the way the silk clung to you. he looked exhausted, but his gaze was piercing.

you didn't answer.

michael pushed himself from the archway and took a step toward the couch.

but you were stubborn, so by his second step, you snapped the book shut and stood up, pulling your robe tightly around yourself as you walked right past him toward the stairs.

michael didn't try to stop you. his eyes dropped to the hem of your dress, which rode up just above the swell of your ass as you moved. he closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let out a heavy sigh, lingering for a moment before following after you.

by the time you hit the master bedroom, his steady footsteps were right behind you. you reached for the door to shut it, but he was already there, pushing it open and stepping inside.

“baby, don’t do this,” he sighed.

you ignored him, walking over to drop your book onto the vanity. "i'm tired, michael. i'm going to sleep."

"you weren't tired downstairs," his voice stayed calm as he shut the bedroom door behind him with a firm click. 

he rolled his sleeves up his forearms, keeping his eyes on your reflection.

"you’ve been playing this game for days. turning your back on me. pretending you’re asleep whenever i get home.”

you crossed your arms, looking at him through the mirror.

"maybe i'm just saving you the trouble of talking to me,” you muttered. “since you're so busy."

michael let out a low chuckle that sent a chill down your spine.

he wasn’t arguing with you, which was even more concerning.

instead, he stepped closer, his large hands settling on your shoulders. the warmth of his palms against the cool silk of your robe made you shudder.

he leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin under your ear, his breath warm against your neck.

"is that what you think?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "you really think you're saving me trouble, baby?"

you swallowed hard, staring at your reflection.

you tried to shrug him off, but michael’s fingers drifted down your shoulders, trailing along your bare arms. goosebumps rose instantly across your skin.

in the mirror, his eyes were hooded and fixed on you. your knees weakened.

still, you refused to give in.

“i don’t know, you tell me,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “seeing as you practically live at the studio now, i’m surprised you even remember what i look like.”

“you can be as sarcastic as you want, baby,” he murmured, his tone still soft. his thumbs rubbed light circles into your skin.

he didn’t give you the argument you were practically begging for.

the familiar scent of his cologne was completely clouding your head, and after days of barely touching him, the feeling of his hands on you was enough to turn you to mush. you found yourself subconsciously leaning back, melting into his chest.

but then you caught yourself, forcing your spine rigid.

he had been so mean for ignoring you all week, completely neglecting your needs and leaving you alone in that giant bed, and you weren't about to just give in that easily.

he let out a soft hum as his thumbs traced along your collarbone.

"y’missed me? that it?" he whispered, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly in the reflection.

a faint smile tugged at his mouth. “your whole body is shaking."

his hand slid down to the front of your robe, catching the silk belt.

with one quick tug, he undid the knot.

he parted the fabric, pushing it off your shoulders until it pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing there in just the slip dress.

he admired the view for a moment, his hands lingering on your hips before he let go. 

“you can stand there and act as stubborn as y’want,” he murmured. “but you’re not gonna get what y’want by bein’ a brat.”

you bit your inner cheek as you tried to hold his gaze in the glass. 

the silence stretched.

and the longer it did, the more you realized he was right.

you wanted his attention so bad, but now that he’s giving it to you, you were still pushing him away.

"step back f’me," his voice was soft as he nodded toward the bed behind you.

you bit your lip, the sudden loss of his touch making you dizzy. you backed up until the back of your thighs hit the mattress.

to your surprise, michael didn't follow.

instead, he crossed over to the armchair in the corner of the room, turning it so it faced the bed.

he sat down, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, looking completely at ease.

"sit down," he said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

"touch y'self."

your jaw dropped slightly. "michael–"

"shh," he interrupted, lifting a finger to his lips before resting his jaw in his hand. "y’wanted my attention so bad, sweetheart. y’have it now.”

his eyes never left yours. “all of it.”

he leaned back in the chair. “but since y’couldn’t even be bothered to talk to me… let’s see how well y’do on your own."

“go on, show me how much y’missed me.”

the sheer audacity of him sitting there and watching you made heat creep up your neck.

you wanted to refuse and hold your ground, but you couldn't.

it hit you all at once that the quiet war you’d been waging all week was finally over.

the truth was, you’d missed him.

after days of feeling invisible, having his full attention on you made your knees weak. you were too starved for it to care about your pride anymore. 

slowly, you sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling shy under the unblinking intensity of his gaze.

as you shifted, the thin strap of your dress slipped down your shoulder, exposing a sliver of bare skin to the cool air.

michael’s eyes immediately dropped, burning through the small patch before tracking back up to your face. 

with trembling fingers, you slowly worked the silk hem of your dress up your thighs. 

the fabric bunched higher until your little lacy panties came into view.

michael swallowed hard.

you leaned back onto your hands slightly, your legs parting just a fraction under the weight of his stare.

in the center of your panties, a dark patch of dampness was clearly visible, ruining any excuse you had of being indifferent to him.

michael’s jaw tightened. a soft, breathy "fuck..." escaped his lips before his eyes snapped back up to meet yours.

"take 'em off," he murmured. "let me see your cute lil’ pussy... look how wet you are."

the contrast between his soft voice and the filthy words sent a shiver down your spine.

your hands shook so badly you could barely catch the edge of your panties, but you managed to wiggle the lace down your hips. as the fabric cleared your thighs, a thin, slick string of your arousal clung to the lace, stretching against your skin before finally snapping. you kicked them off until they pooled on the carpet.

"such a good girl when y’listen," he breathed, a faint smile touching his lips as his eyes locked on your bare center. "now touch y'self. right there. let me see."

your heart hammered against your ribs as you slid your finger down, parting your own slick warmth. 

god, you were so wet already, practically dripping. the moment your fingers made contact, a thick, messy heat coated your hand. a soft gasp escaped your lips at the friction. 

"keep your eyes on me while y’do it," michael said softly.

you forced yourself to hold his gaze as your fingers settled into a slow rhythm. you slipped two fingers inside your slick entrance, stretching yourself open under his unblinking gaze. 

all you could hear was the wet, squelching sound of your own desire filling the quiet room along with your breathy gasps.

having him watch you like this, combined with the fullness of your own fingers, had you unraveling fast. your hips twitched against the mattress, your breath hitching into short, ragged pants as the pleasure steadily built.

"ah... michael," you whimpered, your head tipping back before his soft voice pulled you right back.

"no, look at me," he murmured, his tone gentle but firm. “show me how good my girl takes it.”

your breath hitched, your vision blurring as your pace quickened. you were so close, your body trembling as you chased the edge.

and looking at him wasn’t helping.

the way he was watching you made your head spin. it didn't even feel like a punishment anymore.

you just felt dizzy with how bad you wanted to please him.

your attention drifted over him as your hand kept moving.

he looked so fucking good sitting there – long legs crossed, dark hair slightly mussed around his face. there was a quiet hunger in his expression that made your stomach flip.

you couldn’t seem to look away.

your body trembled harder, your hips rocking helplessly against your fingers.

you were a filthy sight for him.

your arousal squelched loudly with every stroke, drenching your thighs and dripping onto the sheets below you. 

but it all felt wrong. you wished so badly it was his hands on you instead – craving the heat of his palms and those long, slender fingers. your mind raced with every memory of how beautiful his hands were, the subtle map of his veins tracing over his skin, and how perfectly they’d always fit inside you.

your own touch was just a miserable substitute for his. 

you could nearly feel the memory of him driving you crazy. the way he’d slide his fingers deep inside and hook them upward, relentlessly hitting your sweet spot until you were a sobbing, shaking mess–

"stop."

a frustrated sob almost tore from your throat, but you swallowed it down before it could escape.

anger rushed in to take its place.

you froze, your fingers trembling against yourself as you glared at him across the room, your chest heaving.

michael didn't say a word. he seemed completely unfazed by the daggers you were throwing at him.

he uncrossed his long legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. his dark hair fell forward over his sharp jawline as he stared at you.

"d’you want t’cum?" he asked.

you stared at him in disbelief.

you couldn't believe he was asking you such a ridiculous question.

so you kept silent because if you opened your mouth, something mean would come out.

"use your words, baby," michael murmured, failing to hide the hint of a smile as he bit his bottom lip.

the ache between your thighs was a screaming throb that was driving you crazy.

so, biting down on your pride, you looked away from his intense gaze and muttered a barely audible, "yes."

michael tilted his head slightly. "can't hear you."

your eyes snapped back to him, your glare returning in full force.

you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you could taste copper, your eyes stung with a mix of frustration and arousal. but your need for him outweighed everything else. 

"yes," you said, your voice a bit louder this time, the word trembling but clear.

instead of answering, michael lifted a hand from his knee. his fingers curled inward in a beckoning motion, whispering a “c’mere.”

a heavy silence hung in the room. you weren't just going to blindly give in and let him have all the control. if he wanted you to come to him, then fine – you could play along.

but that didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for him. you knew he wanted you just as bad. and if you were going to give him what he wanted, you could at least have a little fun with it first.

slowly, your furious stare melted into something much more calculated. you slid off the edge of the mattress, letting your knees sink into the soft carpet. you kept your head tilted low but turned your gaze up, looking right at him through your lashes, fluttering them deliberately.

you leaned your weight forward onto your hands, arching your back just enough for the low neckline of your dress to dip. 

with your eyes locked onto his, you put on a little show, beginning to move across the small distance between the bed and his chair. with every forward shift of your palms, you subtly swayed your hips.

michael didn't blink. his jaw tightened while his eyes tracked the roll of your hips.

by the time you settled between his open legs, your face was only inches from his. 

his hand slowly came up, his large palm resting against your jaw to cup your face.

"such a pretty thing," he murmured, his voice so low and soft it sent a shiver down your spine.

your heart hammered against your ribs.

the heat radiating off him completely enveloped you as his thumb brushed lazily over your cheek before trailing down to your lips.

he pressed the pad of his thumb against your mouth, dragging your lower lip down for a moment before letting it slip back into place.

you didn't back down.

holding his gaze, you lowered your head slightly and caught the tip of his thumb between your lips.

slowly, you parted your lips and drew his thumb into your mouth.

michael’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening slightly against your jaw as your lips closed around him.

you swirled your tongue right against the sensitive pad of his finger, tasting him, before hollowing out your cheeks to create a tight suction.

michael inhaled sharply, his jaw going slack at the sight of you.

he stared down at your face, completely transfixed as your eyes stayed pinned to his, your head slowly bobbing as you slid your mouth along his thumb.

you bit back a smile, loving that you were affecting him like this. you knew he was thinking of a million ways to fuck you right now. it was written all over his face.

he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop, his eyes still locked on yours.

"stand up," he murmured.

he rose to his feet with you, completely towering over you. his hands gripped your hips and turned you around in one quick motion, facing you away from him. he guided you forward, pushing your upper body down until your hands caught the arms of the chair. your dress rustled as he hitched the fabric past your thighs, his body crowding over yours from behind.

"you're so perfect f’me," he breathed against your ear. "jus’ like this, baby."

his fingers found your sopping heat, slipping deep inside. he pumped them in a slow cadence, stretching you out until your knees felt weak. you buried your face in your arms with a loud gasp, but he just pressed closer, his lips moving against your neck to whisper praises, telling you how good you felt – how much he missed this.

he kept up the steady pace, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit until you were completely breathless and clinging to the seat. just as you neared your peak, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you aching and gasping for air.

before you could protest, he gripped your waist and pulled you off the chair. he walked you backward to the bed, pushing your upper body flat against the mattress, hitching your hips high.

he wasted no time unbuckling his belt and pulling his zipper down. freeing his length, he guided it straight to your opening 

he drove all the way inside you in one long stroke. your breath hitched sharply. 

he thrust a few deep, hard hits that had you lifting off the mattress to meet him.

he began to drill into you, pounding into you so deep that you could feel him in your lungs. you felt full.

every thrust hit all the right spots, forcing you to scream into the sheets. michael reached down, grabbing your arms and pulling them back, trapping your body flush against his chest as he ruthlessly pounded into you from behind.

"look at you taking it so good f’me," he panted against your ear. "such a good girl, taking all of it. look how tight y’are around my dick."

his words only made you wetter, your hips rolling back against every hit. but michael wanted more. gripping your hips, he flipped you over onto your back, pinning your thighs wide. he loved seeing your face when he fucked you.

his eyes locked on yours as he drove back in, hammering into your slick warmth.

the friction was building too fast, having had you near your climax twice now. you whined, your voice cracking as you cried out. your hands were clawing at his back as your hips started to twitch, desperate to chase the climax.

michael slowed his pace, drawing almost all the way out until just the head of his dick was teasing your opening.

"michael, no please," you gasped, arching into him to urge him back, but he held your thighs down, keeping you still.

"uh-uh," he panted, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. "you gotta promise me you're done actin' like brat. no more of this silent treatment."

"i promise," you whined. "i promise, michael, jus' please–"

"say it," he said lowly. his thumb rubbing just once against your clit before pulling away. "say y'gonna stop."

"i-i'll stop," you cried out. "i'll stop being a brat. please, please just fuck me."

he rewarded you with a kiss on the cheek, driving back in all at once, burying himself to the hilt, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

"god– missed this pussy so much," he groaned as the brutal force of his pace picked right back up. "i missed you so much, sweetheart. ‘m sorry– shit, i'm sorry f'leavin' you alone all week, baby.”

you whined high in your throat, your voice cracking as you rocked up against his thick length.

"i missed you so bad, michael–" you cried out, your breath hitching as he slammed into you again.

you wrapped your arms tightly around him, pulling him down to bridge the last of the distance.

michael leaned down and caught your mouth, his tongue sliding past your lips in a sweet, passionate kiss that completely took your breath away.

you came hard. your pussy was clenching around him, practically milking him. michael groaned into your mouth, his body stiffening as his dick pulsed, emptying deep into your core.

he stayed buried inside you, his chest heaving against yours as his breathing slowly leveled out.

after a long moment, he reached up, using the pad of his thumb to gently graze your cheek before cupping your jaw.

"'m sorry, baby," he murmured. "should've talked t'you. shouldn't have left y'feelin' like that." he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "next time, tell me, alright? don't sit there hurtin' all by y'self."

you reached up, cupping his jaw as your thumb brushed across his cheekbone.

"i will," you whispered.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───