#michael jackson

your home, once scented tobacco, smells of musk and skin when michael enters sapped, and from afar, bleary.

the click of the door lock pulls your attention from the tv to his beat face, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead and back, clinging to his white tee, creating transparent patches and the faithful impression of how weary he is.

you grab onto the back of the couch as you twist your torso to earn a better view, and at that moment, his tired gaze makes its way to you.

previously half-lidded, his eyes ever so slightly widen at the sight of you clad in nothing but an oversized shirt and panties, because in all sincerity: you didn’t expect him to arrive home so early. it’s usually early mornings to past midnight with michael's schedules, yet it’s only 8 pm.

rising to your feet, your brows crease in worry as he walks over to the couch. “baby,” you breathe, hands reaching out to help him. as he moves closer, his panting grows more evident as well as the scent of sweat and the faint smell of his lingering perfume. only then did your nose take in the scent. “what—”

he nears and takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together and gently squeezing as he collapses himself onto the plush cushions and pillows of the couch, pulling you down with him, though with a lighter landing.

a content sigh escapes him as if he only just revived his memory to breathe. leaning closer, you can hear faint sounds of him panting through his headache; the way it catches in his throat and he has to swallow to breathe properly again; one breath being light, and the other grows heavy to then heavy again and so on; the way he expels a low moan during lighter exhales.

his previously stiffened body finally releases the tension he’s been unknowingly holding all day. he finds comfort in the bolsters of the couch, the welcoming warmth of his home, the quiet dialogue from the television, and most importantly, the presence of you. heck, his head was pounding in his skull before he even came through the door, however, now the first wave of ease washes over his head for the first time in hours as he feels his heartbeat slowing in his chest.

picking himself up, he lays his hands on the cushions, one balled into a fist, and pushes himself toward you. it happened so fast. his head lowers as his fist spreads to hold onto your waist, his other hand reaching for the back of your neck, something you can’t feel until his thumb begins to trace circles against your nape. glancing down, the hand gripping your waist trembles as he caresses your side. he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“baby, ‘m so tired,” michael sighs into your skin as you feel his sweat adhere to you. his breath is hot against your neck, and you shudder as you try to strain a sentence out of your newly stubborn throat.

“i couldn't tell,” you somehow manage, voice seeping through quivering at first before you could find your poise as you give a languid nod. he lets out a pfft with a laugh despite his exhaustion, still able to muster up strength to laugh with you, and a smile tugs on your lips.

and then you feel it. though it’s feather light, he presses a kiss to your neck. and another. as though it were instinct, your hand makes its way to his curls, lightly scratching at the back of his scalp as his hands twitch from the touch. as they pile up, a giggle bubbles from your throat. “mike—”

“shh,” he chuckles sluggishly, grinning against your skin, “i wanna kiss you.” he intervenes with another kiss, humming into your neck. a hot flush you can’t swallow overwhelms your cheeks as it spreads down to your neck with a shudder, seeking to pass it off as merely tepidity radiating from michael—as if that makes the spin of your mind any better.

you don’t know why this feels different.

your eyes narrow as you gander down and scan his face. his cheeks have grown a little rosy—you’re unsure whether it’s from his exhaustion or if he even walked in with that tint on him at all. his styled edges are visibly a bit soaked from his sweat, regarding the droplets of it, and a faint grin sneaking itself through his kisses, yet the only thing distracting you is how his lips feel on your skin.

they aren’t even on your mouth, you shouldn’t be so affected by it.

and yet, to make it worse, he starts to suck crudely along your neck, a wave of heat hitting your body with embarrassing haste, and your eyes inadvertently shut. your fingers twine with his curls once more, yet this time, it seems as though he tries to stifle something like a groan—something you feel you shouldn’t have caught. the action heedlessly pushes him closer, and he doesn’t pass his chance to mark the rest of your skin accessible to him, kissing you almost ardently, like he got excited from the new reach. your stomach churns.

despite it, you bat your eyes back open. the awareness of how eager he came to be hits him, and with a flush to his cheeks, he reluctantly slows his kisses, suckling gently on your neck, and he splays his quivering hand on your nape. that's when you feel your lungs still, and you belatedly call attention for yourself to take a breath.

michael tightens his grip on your waist, the hand to your nape sliding down to hold your hip with waiting intention unbeknownst to you. his hands snake around your stomach and make their way around your waist until his arms are full of you, so unsought that your gaze instantaneously travels down to his arms around you, and looking back, it leads to your eyes searching him again.

a blemish near his cheekbone, a sweet, lasting mark from his bygone acne as your interest flickers to the tip of his nose retreating with each tender kiss. he tilts his head and settles into the backrest, every so often altering with each new area he covers just to rest back there again; as he does so, the dim light from the television grazes over his skin, and though brisk, you catch sight of the excess beads of sweat sitting on his forehead.

firmly, with his strikingly risqué hold on your waist, he hoists you onto his lap, an almost inaudible gasp leaving your mouth—a sound his ear giddily perks at.

michael lets a low simper make off at your hand in his hair wincing before harking back to your side and onto his wrist, a fleet sound that wriggles its way into your spine and down to your lower back, your stomach stirring anew.

it should’ve been cute; you assume it oughta, but as he digs his face back into your neck and litters wet kisses against your skin, the air around grows someway bawdier than it already was.

his self restraint is unmistakable. he's trying to save his kisses gentle, you can feel it, and yet, his efforts prove in vain as he drifts further from what little control he has in his allegedly tired body. his tongue grazes your skin between a kiss, and michael feels you shudder in his hold.

the television is practically inaudible now—twofold when you’re so drawn to each wet noise he makes when he stops sucking on your skin, and every soft sound that escapes his lips when he leaves another kiss on you.

you can smell him—the faint damp and tangy scent from his sudor, the smell of the vanillas in his shampoo laying just underneath, the airy amber from his perfume, and the raw, musky moisture from his skin that for whatever reason, affects you drastically as your thighs clamp together before you can even have a say in your actions.

michael's heart is hammering against his ribcage. he feels heat bleeding into his cheeks, and as a way to ground himself, he gives a light squeeze to your hip every few kisses, and spoilers, it’s forlorn.

he can't keep ignoring this forever. he needs you so, so madly right now, and the tension in the room only coils in his stomach and bullies his composure (which is something he’s surprised he even has at the moment).

and then it slips.

it starts when his lips caress your earlobe, lightly nipping it with his teeth, and he stops for a heartbeat too slow. his breath stutters in your ear, airy and hot with desire.

and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re merely wearing panties when a pool of heat reaches your lower back.

he presses his lips together, a little wet from his own saliva, and tries to stabilise his breathing (to no avail). he moves down, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses near your nape, then the dip of your neck, to near your collarbone, until abruptly, he finds the sensitive bit of skin on you, to which you suck in a breath and curl your lips inwards as a sound begged to be let out of your throat. as his teeth nip the area, it prompts your head to tilt averse onto the back of the couch, and michael grows dizzy with pure want.

his hands seep their way into your shirt and caress your sides as he drags his lips, teeth grazing your skin as his breath sends another wave of heat through you.

it was so sudden. both of you didn’t pre-empt it, and it shows when he rolls his hips into you, and a mewl knocks itself out of your throat as michael lets out an audible gasp.

“baby—baby, i'm so sorry. is… is this okay?” his words are strangled as he pulls away from your neck, lips parted. turning your head, your eyes meet his.

they’re wide and hazed, laced with need. his brows are high and drawn together as his last effort to hold back.

and with that, you cracked.

your lips crash onto his, hot and messy, hips grinding against the growing bulge in his slacks as you do so, and michael groans into your mouth. almost immediately, his hands grasp back onto your waist to spin you around, breaking the kiss before settling you onto his lap again, a choked moan leaving his lips at the contact, pressing his lips back on yours as he tilts his head.

painfully, you haul yourself along the thick ridge of his tent, a moan leaving your mouth to which michael eagerly swallows. he pulls away to catch his breath.

he pants lightly against your lips with hooded eyes, yet he can’t manage to keep them off you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and peppering more down to your jaw, lips wet from you.

you rock down on him, the friction so delicious, yet not enough to satiate. his head promptly drops, forehead sticking to the side of your neck a whimper spills from him, trickling with hunger, and he’s not trying to hide it, either.

his lips find their way back to yours, pure, full-blown desire woven into it as you feel your panties soaking, clenching around nothing, and likely leaving a wet patch on michael's pants.

“mikey, please,” your voice comes wrecked as you force yourself away from him just enough for you to speak, and the sound of you begging alone gets a groan out of him.

he rubs up against you, lightly nipping your bottom lip as an unstable gasp shakes out of you. “yes, pretty?” his words hit firm and teasing, a smile creeping onto his face, one hand sliding from your waist to your thigh, gently squeezing your skin to egg you on.

“need you…” you gulp back a gasp, running words through your head, nitpicking ones you find too vulgar or dirty and scrambling them in frantic obscurity, “make love to me, pl-ease,” you finish meekly. your hands grab onto his shoulders, dipping your head down gingerly in a flustered haze, primarily because you have never done this with him, let alone said such a thing, and the tremble of his hands on you says so much with so little. he connects your lips again, nodding into it as a sign of approval.

his shaky hands move to the backs of your upper thighs, keeping a strong grip as he warily lifts you up. by instinct, your legs wrap around his waist as your arms did around his neck, and he grins into the kiss.

he brings you to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and coming to a halt when his knees hit the mattress, settling you down onto the sheets as if you were a delicacy.

michael wastes no time in peppering kisses down your body—your jaw, neck, your collarbones for a moment too long before moving to your inner thighs.

your panties are so embarrassingly damp from your arousal, and his bottom lip quivers as his breath hitches from the mere sight of you soaked.  

he leaves a burning, wet trail of kisses up your thigh up until he feels a hand in his hair, upping his head to avert his attention to you. and suddenly, his eyes slightly widen as he grows meek at his actions, a red tint bleeding up to the tips of his ears.

almost instantly, you clamp your thighs together. “w-wait,” you squeak, and your mouth goes dry. never in your life have you felt more self-conscious, and even more when you feel as though you’ve fissured the moment. humiliation bounds around your muscles and renders you stiff.

the cognisance roots itself into his skin in prickles. his eyes change into something gentler, his brows fleetly lifting before pressing together lightly. he scans your face, looking for an ounce of jest in your expression, because frankly, he can’t wrap his head around how the woman he loves most, the woman who is so incredibly perfect in his eyes, could be thinking negatively about herself. and yet, he finds none.

hand leisurely settling on your thigh, he caresses your skin so tenderly it almost burns, radiating into your chest and down to your core. “mama, you’re so perfect,” he coos, and there’s nothing but pure sincerity dowsed in his voice, your cheeks growing so hot you think he can see it. “i hope you see yourself as i see you. i'll make you feel so, so right, just—please… let me please you. i want to feel like i deserve you, let me—just,” his breath trembles, voice breaking just slightly, so devoutly and longingly you could only take a pause.

and then he glances up.

his eyes glimmer and practically pleads, brows creasing up, and so incredibly desirous it messes with your head. you take your bottom lip amidst your teeth.

barely through your nod, michael's eyes go wide and pries your legs back open, diving down between them and sweetly kissing your inner thighs as a finger twirls around the cotton of the only thing keeping your pretty pussy away from him. the shudder of your breath only urges him further, only cutting short when he reaches too closely, taking another glimpse of you to make certain it’s alright.

rather than a nod, or even a simple yes, he receives your hands tangling themselves in his hair, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.

he slides off your panties almost frantically, precariously pulling ‘til they fall neatly on the hardwood of the floor, raising your leg over his shoulder as the other locks your leg down in a meek, yet firm grip. michael revels in the sight of you all soaked for him so pretty, tentatively staring before a slight tug of his hair spurs him on, shyly dropping his head between your thighs.

he leaves a soft kiss to you, something experimental as his hot breath fans your cunt, fingertips digging into the back of your knee more so for himself. and without thinking, he licks a long, tantalising stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and your mouth gapes, slipping a whimper from your throat. “m-mikey, th-that feels so good—” you scarcely manage, words jumbling in your head as you struggle to make them coherent.

your flavour on his tastebuds intoxicate him and cloud his mind, nose bumping against your bud and savouring your taste as he licks up greedily, humming against you, inducing a choked noise out of your mouth. wrapping his lips around your clit, you pull on his hair with a whine.

“you sound so pretty.” he smiles into your cunt as his tongue probes you. “taste s’sweet—” he cuts himself off like he can’t keep away from your taste for long, hungrily burying himself back into you and swirling his tongue around your clit.

it doesn’t take long for his narrowly reserved pace to speed up as he eats you like he’s been starved of this for far too long, moans muffling against you as your body jolts at the pleasure. his tongue pushes past your folds, messily fucking you with his tongue, barely acknowledging the saliva running down his chin. every little sound of his vibrates up your spine, mewling at each one.

generously, your juices coat his lips and the surrounding skin, legs almost buckling if not for his hold on you. your breath catches in your throat before you choke out a cry of his name, and his ears instantly perk.

he craves to hear it again.

without thought, or even with him regarding it, he brings two digits to you and buries them in the warmth of your cunt, a sob almost immediately ripping through your throat. he laps at you as if it’s the only thing he knows how, nose harshly pushing your clit upward before giving it a suck again.

all he can think about is you—your smell suffocating him so sweetly, your essence all over his face, how responsive you are, all of it driving further and fogging his head. you have not the slightest clue of what you do to him. he wants so badly for you to fall apart right on his tongue, and he’s gonna have it. his tongue enters you again, and you can feel how it drives deeper and deeper, walls fluttering around his muscle as he relishes in your aroma and taste as he loses himself further in you. lewd, filthy noises of him slurping stills in the air, your pants and moans drowning it as your back arches off the mattress, his hand travelling under your thighs to hold your hips down, and your leg instantly closes around his head, only pushing him deeper as his groan hits right to your clit.

his fingers curl inside you again, his eyebrows drawn taut with immersion, eliciting a strangled mix of a whine and a sob from your mouth, quietly gasping reiterates of his name. “baby,” he muffles, refusing to stray from your taste, “wan’ hear you…”

a vulgar string of drawn-out whimpers fall from your lips before his name slips again in a loud moan, squeezing at your hip as he groans in pure satisfaction, pumping his fingers increasingly hastier, the squelch of your walls hitting his ears so obscene he begins to rock against the mattress.

“mikey—please, mh, i think i’m g-gonna…” you barely shove the words out of your mouth as you pant out, legs shaking around his head, waves of pleasure threatening to crash over you with each waking second.

you didn’t have to forewarn him in the slightest. not when he can taste and feel you so undeniably in his mouth—how the band of your lower tummy tightens as your walls succeed, back fighting to arch off the bed, nails digging into his scalp and tugging on his curls.

“i know, pretty… let go f’me, please, baby. need to taste you—mm, wan’ try something,” he mutters breathlessly, pulling away fleetly to take his digits out of you, tentatively pressing his thumb down on your clit as you writhe at the sensation, ecstacy overwhelming your senses as your orgasm ripples through your body, and michael is quick to attach his mouth back on you to lap at your juices.

“mmpfh—mh, taste as good as y’sound—oh,” he moans as he completely engulfs himself into your taste, thumb beginning to lazily draw circles on your bundle of nerves as his tongue plunges into you as if you’re the only thing that’ll quench his perennial thirst, and you pull at his hair, eliciting an elated sound from him.

“t-too much!” you cry, voice increasing in pitch as your trembling legs unwillingly wrap him into you nearer, contrasting as you wholly try to push him away.

withdrawing himself from you pains him more than he can feel.

but when he does, his eyes meet yours, pupils dilated and swallowing the brown of his iris, and with a brief glance down, his lips gleam in the dim light, drenched in you, chin dripping with your arousal, the sight immediately rushing heat up your neck and into your cheeks.

then his eyes flash with guilt. “baby,” he says, voice is trickling with urgency as his tongue darts out to taste yourself on his lips, still covetous even as he apologises, “i’m so sorry, pretty, i should’ve stopped—‘m sorry, are you okay?” his large hand caresses your quivering inner thigh and kneads the skin there, free hand finding perch on the plush of the bed next to your other thigh, propping himself up as the mattress dips with the weight of his knee. his other knee settles beside your hip, the hand that assisted him in climbing on the bed landing on the sheets behind you, his disparate hand never halting motion on your skin.

michael’s eyes flicker between yours, big and hazy, glutted with concern as though he’d done something unable to be pardoned. you can only scoff, the tip of your index tracing his jaw without a thought, and you take in the sight of his eyes briefly splaying as your finger wipes your arousal off his jaw. his breath stutters once you reach his chin, flicking your finger off and cupping his cheek as fast as you jerked your finger, gently coaxing him in before your lips meet again in a tender kiss.

he melts into it instantly, the hand rubbing your thigh flying to hold the small of your back. drawing averse, he pants as he murmurs a hot string of babbles of how he adores your taste, a breath-width away from your lips before he delves back, pushing his tongue in your mouth to help you taste your flavour. “y’taste like a dream,” he sighs into your mouth, smiling against your lips with gratitude more than anything. the flavour of your essence mingled with michael’s own taste is enough to take a precedent swelling moan out of you and into his ears, to which he drinks with the same indebtedness.

heedlessly sliding your heel toward you, your knee lifts and catches itself when it makes the slightest contact with the aching tent in michael’s slacks he’d been desperately trying to disregard, a whimper leaving him as quick as his head dips in the crook of your neck, hand holding back from squeezing your skin in a fit of self-restraint. he’d been holding back. “mike,” you mutter just loud enough to reach his ears as he barely manages to lift his head, eyes locking to yours with a critical aching need consumed in his gaze—something you can’t bear to pay no heed to. “let me take you.”

who are you not to repay him?

your words come sheepish, timid, yet to him it hits with a newfangled ripple of unadulterated need searing ardently through his veins. you gesture to the edge of the bed with a tilt of your chin. he knows better than to ask how despite his struggle to credit the prospect of you taking him in any of the perverted ways that is on his mind. he heaves himself away from you. jointly, you find your way to the contrasting cold of the floorboards from the warmth of his sheets. the cold almost instantly dissipates under the contact of your knees as michael seats himself on the outskirt of the mattress with untrained eyes indulging in how your eyes look under the dim light as your attention flickers to his trousers.

and a rush of deep red amasses into his cheeks, mouth parted, yet producing no sound as he catches his breath at the fleeting recognition. “oh—wait,” he says, his usual soft tone welling with uncertainty as well as a faint, almost eager undercurrent—which he can’t veil when your eyes find their way to his once more.

“i can’t…” he takes a deep swallow, “no, i can’t let you do that, pretty, you shouldn’t be down there doin’ somethin’ like… that,” he speaks already as though he floundered to make something articulate.

“you’ve helped me, haven't you? can’t i do the same?”

he stammers as his head tries to conjure a valid reason against yours. “let me, baby.” your hand taps his knee, a smile playing at his lips like it always does when you call him that, yet an unfamiliar, almost heated shiver wriggles up his spine at the tap of your finger. “i want to.”

his dire need garners and gluts his senses as the allure of your glim unwavering causes his reason to fail him, both mingling into something he’s impotent to reject. he parts his lips, though not without reluctance. “you’re sure?” he asks, however, by this time, your leisure taps move into full-on caresses, and his limbs draw themselves tense. and before you could answer, your unplanned touch ignites a feeling that travels through his veins with haste. “ah- ah, it’s… why is it— why does… okay, okay,” he qualms as the emergent bulge beneath his pants begins to sore like he’s never felt before, his lower abdomen burning. is it supposed to feel like this? he didn’t know it could get this bad, and embarrassment seeps through his bones.

with his wince and agreement, briskly, you tug on his pants as he lifts himself from the sheets so you can slide them off, the fabric leaving his skin also leaving a fire with them as ardour hums everywhere in his body. and as your hands make contact with the waistband of his underwear, an unmistakable wet patch that formed a while ago from his generous amount of precum visible to you, his mind, as well as his heart, racing.

his hands aviate to cover his face when you free him from the confinements of his briefs. as soon as the cold air hits him, his mind races a slew of protests.

you’re too pretty to be down there. this is so dirty. on your knees is so, so dirty—as if he didn’t just eat you out and would do it for hours if you just let him. what if you think it’s… i dunno, ugly? you shouldn’t be doin’ something like this. he shouldn’t have accepted, but how could he not when desire settles and rattles his bones? the words weigh on his tongue until he can’t carry it any longer, lips parting to give way to his protest.

with such tenderness his heart aches, your plush lips wrap around his mauve tip, previously coated in precum with now your saliva, and the words lodge in his throat almost violently as a hearty wail ousts it. your eyes flick up just in time to view the hands shielding his face trembling and moving down, revealing his crimson-painted cheeks with his brows creased and oh, what a sight it is. his hands descend to steal a glimpse of your mouth around his length, and from the mere gander, a whimper slips his throat.

you have never thought of such about him when you finally viewed him. tip slick with so much precum, the mere sight already soaking you again, veins running prettily along his length. if he’d been looking at you earlier, he’d see the way you were gaping him with such awe. as if he couldn’t get any more perfect, this sure solidified it.

you give him initially shy kitten licks on his tip, whimpers already spilling out of his mouth before you start lapping, savouring the taste of his leaking slit before moving down—though not without taking a hefty inhale first—his big hands finding purchase in your locks.

the sight is so filthy to see. how you meld to him, engulfing his dick and letting him feel the warmth of your mouth, dim light shimmering in the shade of tears stilling in your waterline. his hands twine themselves in your hair and gently tugs as your hands wrap around the area you can’t reach with solely your mouth. lifting your head up and off of him, your tongue traces along his prominent vein, applying pressure with which his head starts to swirl at as his hips jerk without his say. he’s grateful he didn’t do that while he was in your mouth—until it happens.

your lips envelop him, bringing him back into the warmth of your mouth, swallowing him as your hand experimentally squeezes his base. before you could ask if that felt okay, his hips thrust up into your mouth again, and he’s immediately spewing apologies. he loves it so much, and you’ll do it again if it means eliciting that mewl out of him again. you pull yourself up from him with a pop, hands working his shaft to replace the absence of your mouth.

“i didn’t mean to… oh, ‘m s’sorry,” his words slur as your hand unwavers, and he’s sneaking his bottom lip between his teeth as you finding leverage on his shirt, yanking him toward you and colliding your lips together in a hot, muddled kiss, interjecting his effort to suppress the noises slipping from his lips so he could speak. his slick on your tongue transferring to his tastebuds spins his mind as a hand to your hair moves to your cheek.

your arm wraps around his neck, hand tugging on his shirt as he sets out a whimper to your mouth before complying, breaking off the kiss so he can lift his shirt up and over his head only to reattach your lips to his just as quickly as he hurls the fabric to who-knows-where in the room. you break it off once more. “stop apologizing,” you whisper, squeezing as you pump him, thumb rubbing along his prominent vein glossed in your spit, and a cry tears through him as he pulls himself back with his hands tangling in your hair again. licking a long stripe, your hands settle back near his base anew before you have him back in your mouth, unconsciously humming against him as vibrations shoot up his spine expels itself as a moan.

“th-that… that feels weird, mgh, do it again… please,” he mutters breathlessly. your cheeks hollow, and his head throws back as his oozing tip brushes the hind of your throat, his bottom lip quivering when you bob your earnestly. oh, you look perfect like this—hair tussled from his tugs, lips moulded to his shaft, eyes glossy and cheeks flushed a rosy tint, peeking through your eyelashes to glance at his expression, eyes falling to his abs coated in a light sheen of sweat before shutting your eyes again—something he doesn’t fail to miss.

“y-you have such a pretty mouth—ah, feels so—” he blabs, cut short by his own whimper. his hips stutter at the feel of you rotating your wrist, one hand moving down from your scalp to caress your cheek, tracing along your jaw with gentle, yet jagged lines as he strains to keep his head steady. as his tip hits the back of your throat once more, you ardently fight your gag reflex, throat tightening around him as he fills with concern. “can you—ngh,” he cries, “breathe? o-oh, baby—” his hand draws taut in your hair, and when you peek up, tears are stinging his waterline. “baby, please,” he pleads, voice cracking, “i can’t… i don’t wanna c-cum like this,” he divulges, gripping the sheets with his hand formerly on your cheek with a firm hold.

michael’s arm, placed precariously behind him with his hand outward and grasping the sheets for poise, collapses as his strength leaves him, his elbow hitting the mattress. and generously, craving to fulfill his desires, you climb on the bed and move to the left of him as he discerns you with impressive haste, pushing himself back so his legs won’t dangle out of the mattress anymore.

propping your knees to either side of him, you hover your sopping cunt above his waiting dick as tenderly, he kneads the side of the small of your back—more so for himself. and when he finally regards what you’re about to do, his object is cut short by his tip prodding your entrance, and your whimpers mingle with the burning aroma of the space.

gradually, sorely, you sink down into him, both of his hands flying to your lower back, nails digging divots into your skin as his cock twitches inside of you, forcing a whine from your throat. he’s filling you up, head falling low as whimpers leave you in strings. your hands head for his shoulders as gently, he brings you in until you embrace, tilting his head and whispering tenderly in your ear. “y’r doin’ so well, ma… jus’ a little— m-ore,” he coos, sighing barely through the latter, unable to mask the garbled moans that escape his mouth.

“o-oh my—mike,” you choke out, shaking with each inch you descend as your grip on his shoulders grow firm, then weak again. his arms tremble as they assist you in falling into him, whining dulcet in your ear as the feeling of being stuffed overwhelms your system before you’re to the hilt. you pant against his chest as he does your head, his hand tracing leisure, consoling circles to your skin.

the moment you finally pull off him, the sweat coating his torso clings to your shirt before you fully asunder. the hold you have on his shoulders linger as you begin to move, his breaths coming ragged and in a medley of bursts and drags. “hoh, you…” he swallows deeply, “y’feel s’ warm, so tight… oh, you’re s’tight—didn’t know it felt like this, oh,” he cries, and when your head lifts, tears are threatening to fall and lacquer a watery line down his cheeks. the sight alone makes you clench down on him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest and sending searing flurries of heat through his veins as you find your rhythm.

his hands work to guide your hips, bucking his up with every pummel he ushers from you, clit brutally bumping against his pelvis with each. his name falls from you, breathy and mingled with his plethora of babbles as your nails bore crescents in his shoulders, your eyelids fluttering shut and back open just to see the blissed out expression adorned on his comely face. his thumb caressing your inner hip falters when you roll your hips on him without his guidance, his hands tightening around you and rocking you down, and with it, a tear that was stilled in his eyes finally founders and leaves a line of salty liquid as it falls, then another—but that one mixes in his sweat. the feeling of your walls suffocating him leaves him delirious, but the notion of you exhausting yourself up there pains him, and oh, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep still. and it doesn’t at all take long for him to act.

his hands grasp stiff and unyielding to your hips, flipping you both and stealing you of your breath as he snaps his hips and rips a lewd sound that lands somewhere between a mewl and a cry from your achy throat. he grabs firm to your shirt and briskly pulls it up and over your head and off to somewhere in the room as swiftly as he had flipped you.

he gapes at you from this newfound angle of being on top of you, and it knocks a strained grunt out of his parted lips as he begins to move. “mikey, w-what—ah! mh, ke-keep going, please…” you sob as his dick drags in your gummied walls, melding each ridge and vein of him into you and stretching you impossibly more than you already have been. eyes ripping from yours, his burning stare is pulled to where you two join, and michael ogles at how his cock continuously buries and disappears into the warmth of your sweet cunt. each thrust forms a frothy ring of his precum and your arousal at his base, his eyes eagerly drinking up the sight before his fixation moves just slightly up.

his pupils blow wide when they land on the swell outline of his dick in your tummy, and from the sight alone he chokes out a strangled moan. “am…” he pants as his hands move near your navel, “am i doin’ that?” he presses lightly on your abdomen as he bucks his hips a tad harsher than intended, and your body quivers, back arching off the sheets as his tip dotingly kisses your cervix, letting his head fall as well as his jaw.

with the shift in your positions, the feverish newfound angle has his cock hitting deep into the sponge tissue of your sex, and your mouth gapes. “th-there! right there, mikey, please…” your whimpers are drowned by the lewd noises of his pelvis slamming against your moist skin as his pace grows relentless at your spur.

all that consumes him is how your hot cunt sucks him in and the filthy squelch that comes with it. his dewy eyes dart between your disheveled face and the curve of his dick bulging from your stomach, and when your walls clamp down on him again, he shuts his eyes, the salty droplets that had settled in the rim of his eyes rolling down his rouge tinted cheeks and falling from his chin. “you’re… y’r squeezin’ me—hoh,” he moans, head reeling as his hands hastily shrithe to envelope your torso, slogging to refrain from collapsing on you as he lowers until you’re wholly flush against his clammy chest. he strains a throaty mix of a huff and a whine against your cheek before smashing his lips onto yours in a searing kiss, his hand caressing your side and leaving heat where it was once placed.

each snap of his hips have him continuously ramming into and abusing the sweet dip in the inlay of your womb. the bedframe gashing the paint off the wall with every rock accompanies the wet plaps of skin slapping skin and the descants of your fused moans—sounds that send tingles through michael’s body—sounds he’s eager to devour. his swollen lips trails wet kisses down to your lower lip, your chin, and to your jaw, and you let your head fall back only for michael to capture your lips in his again, your raised head only deepening the sloppy motions of your mouth against his, and you squirm as you struggle to keep up, for each buck of his hips swirls your head absurdly further.

his head falls into the dip of your neck, panting against your skin, your pussy pulsing around his length as your abdomen twists. “mh, mikey, hoh! ‘m s-sssso close,” you choke, hands clutching at his shoulders and the flesh of his upper arms as you clamp around him, suctioning his girth deliciously as he brings a hand to return to your belly, the pressure from his wring reducing your mind to a haze of nothing but him.

“i-i’m close too, ohmy— oh, wh-where should i… do i do it—” he’s cut short by his own cry and swallow, “inside? wan’ me to pull out?”

you claw at his back, only mustering a frantic shake of your head, holding him firm in place, his large hand once on your belly trembling as he takes a soft hold to your cheek. the rhythmic pace of his thrusts grow sloppy, overbrimming with primal need, to which your sight distorts ‘til you’re convinced the whites clouding your vision are clusters of stars.

the hot coil in your lower abdomen snaps when he fills you to the hilt again, your body falling limp, cunt throbbing around him as ripples of pleasure glut your being, creaming his dick and gushing on the sheets as he helps you ride out your orgasm. michael’s mouth hangs open, slurring a series of moans and incohesive blabs as he soaks in every contortion of your face, the bucking of his hips turning desperate. he buries himself in you wholly when his warm seed spills and earnestly coats your velvety walls in white, filling you so full with his release it shows with a mere glance at your tummy.

the both of you stay like this for a little while—panting against each other’s skin as he stills inside of you, the dripping of cum spilling out your sopping cunt and droplets running down his length eliciting quivers out of you two until he slowly drags his leaking cock out of the warmth of your sex. “are… are you okay?” he breathes before raising his head from the comfort of the curve of your neck, meeting your dazed eyes as his thumb grazes your cheekbone. 

his curls cling to the clammy skin of his forehead, eyes hazy and pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen. “mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as a smile adorns his elated face. with one last peck to your lips, he heaves himself up and off the mattress, heading to his restroom and back with a cloth before he settles himself between your aching thighs again. his cheeks flush a deep red upon the sight, shyly swiping the cloth to wipe away the mingled essences of the both of you, and as he progresses closer to your core, your body flinches and some of his seed seeps further out of you, and his teeth tug on his lower lip as he can’t seem to pull his eyes away.

when he finishes up, he plants a tender kiss to your inner thigh. he then waits outside the door of the restroom as you use the toilet a few minutes later. by this time, you two are dressed back up, although hodieral in pyjama attire.

the moment he hears the twist of the doorknob and you swinging the door open, he’s already on you—lips crashing onto yours in a messy, yet gentle kiss as he devours each of your laughs, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he backs you into the bed and sends the both of you collapsing onto the plush pillows.

the final thing you’re able to recall is how his lips travel to your cheek, leaving sweet pecks in between ‘thank you’s before your eyelids give out on you.

　　　　　　　　　© doemj.

neverland ranch, july 27th 1995

“michael you can’t be serious.” you say, watching the way your now fiancée is pacing right in front of you.

he stops his pacing, looking at you like you just told him to go fuck himself.

“i am serious, baby.” he starts, “what part of me askin’ for us to make our relationship public to the media and you moving in with me is a joke?”

you sigh. “mikey, i love you. and i want to marry you, i do. but im just not ready for my face to be revealed on every single newspaper or magazine yet. or for i don’t know,” you throw your hands in the air, “your crazy fans harassing me all because im getting married to their celebrity sweetheart.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose, like this whole talk you’re having with him is raising his blood pressure. “okay let me ask you this one thing.” he says.

you nod.

“you knew what you were getting into when we first started dating, right?”

“well yeah, but—”

“let me finish.” he snaps, holding up a singular finger.

you let out a scoff in disbelief, at the snappiness of his tone.

he’s never spoke to you like that before.

“when we started dating, i told you what it would be like dating someone like me. i even refused many many times because i never wanted you to have to deal with the media or the tabloids. but it was you that was persistent. it was you that wanted me so bad to the point you never cared about what anyone else thought. it was me who decided to keep the relationship secret because i didn’t want you to get hurt. i didn’t want you to have to deal with all of that pressure. and now because i’d rather let the world know who my wife is on my terms instead of the media leaking it, it’s a problem?”

“no, no of course it’s not baby, but—”

“but what?”

you close your mouth at his words, not even attempting to speak. michael is normally a calm and collected person who seems to have a lot of patience. but now at this moment, he’s giving you no grace at all.

“okay listen.” you start, speaking slowly. you’re trying not to say the wrong thing because one thing you’ll hate to do is make this situation even bigger than it needs to be. “i love you. i want to marry you. i hope to someday start a family with you, but when i said all those things about the media finding out about us, yes i still don’t care what they think because my love for you outweighs all of that worry. but it doesn’t erase the fact that im scared. im scared of what people will think because it’s not like im just a girl that you’re sleeping with, or your date to an award show. i’m going to become your wife soon and that’s, michael that’s a crazy jump. and damn me for wanting to enjoy the buildup of us getting married without the unnecessary stress of people finding out about us.”

you take in a lungful of air, after spilling out everything you’ve been bottling up since michael has made it known that he wanted to make you guys’ relationship public.

“mikey, please say something.” you whisper, when you see him take a seat at the other side of the couch. he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at the ground.

“there’s nothing to say.” he shrugs. “you’re not ready so im going to have to accept that.”

“what does that mean?” you ask.

“it means, come back to me when you’ve made up your mind.” he gets up from the couch, walking to the phone on the other side of the room.

“what do you mean, ‘come back to me’ like i work for you or something?” you snap, your tempter starting to rise.

you’ve been so calm throughout this whole conversation but now you just feel angry.

it’s like he can’t understand that you need time. you need time so you can mentally prepare yourself for your life to be completely turned around.

he stays silent, jamming his finger into the numbers before he lifts up the phone and puts it to his ear.

“michael are you even listening to me?” you stand up walking towards him so you two are face to face.

well not exactly face to face since he’s a couple inches taller than you.

he looks down at you and the look on his face makes you take in a deep breath without realising it.

it’s not the normal, loving look he gives you all the time. i mean of course, you can tell that he still loves you a lot because otherwise he would’ve never been so angry. but the look that is pointed right now at you is somehow distant. like he’s looking straight through you, and closing himself in a tiny box.

he’s secluding himself from you already and you both are still together in the same room, inches away from each other.

the person on the other side of the phone seems to pick up because he looks away from you and focuses on something above your head. “hi, yes i need you to send a car up, immediately.”

you gasp, grabbing his arm. he’s sending that car to come and get you.

“michael don’t do this.” you plead. tightening your hold on his wrist but he doesn’t even move an inch. he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence anymore.

he’s shut you out.

“baby we can talk about this. we’re engaged remember. all im asking for is some time to think but this is too much. don’t hide from me.” you beg, your lip starting to quiver at the thought of him dismissing you so quickly without giving you a chance.

“okay, thank you.” he says, hanging up the phone and placing it back where it was. “the car should be here in a second to take you home.” he mutters, shrugging off your hold on his wrist and walking past you towards the spacious kitchen.

you follow him, tears springing to your eyes. you ignore the chef who’s at the stove cooking, and go to michael who’s opening the fridge, and taking out a carton of orange juice.

“michael.” you whimper, your chest starting to feel tight.

he ignores you, opening the cabinet and taking out a fresh glass.

“michael why are you doing this?” you say. “what happened to talking about things? why can’t you have a civil conversation without shutting people out whenever they don’t agree with you?” at this point tears are already starting to fall freely down your face, messing up your makeup.

you’re hurt. you’re hurt that he’s angry at you all because you want to protect yourself.

he should be able to understand. he should be able to see how terrified you are about the world finding out about you.

“michael!” you shout, openly sobbing in the kitchen and not giving a fuck about the chef staring at you like you’re insane.

you hate it when he does this. he does this every time he’s upset or angry. he just stops talking, stops acknowledging your presence. it’s like in his world, you don’t exist.

and you hate that he’s doing this to you. the woman that he went down on one knee to propose to a couple days ago. the woman that he says everyday is the love of his life. the woman that he wants to have kids with.

at that thought, you put your hands over your face, sobbing into your palms.

“the car should be here now.” you hear him say over your sobs.

you sniff, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “okay.” you whimper. you turn to leave, because no matter how much you plead, or beg for him to just listen to you, you know that he won’t. once he’s made up his mind, no one is changing it.

“i love you mikey. ill never stop loving you okay.” you stand there in the kitchen, waiting. waiting to see if there’s a change in his expression or even if he’s going to tell you that it’s all a big fat joke and you can still stay the night like you were meant to.

but no.

he says nothing, in fact he even turns his back on you so the only thing you can see is the back of his head.

with one final glance his way, you walk out of neverland ranch, hoping and praying that you’ll get to come back.

17th august, 1995

it’s been three weeks.

three weeks of voicemails, and you trying everything in your power to get michael to pick up the damn phone.

you never thought he’ll take it this far.

and to make matters worse, the times you’ve tried to visit the ranch, he hasn’t been there.

it’s like he’s actively, avoiding you.

the only times you’ve been able to catch a glimpse of him is from the screen of your television or from the tabloids.

and from the looks of it, he’s living his best life out there.

from the moments you’ve seen, he doesn’t look sad, he doesn’t look miserable. he looks… happy to mingle with his fans. and definitely happy to not be in your presence.

you feel sick. you feel absolutely disgusted with yourself for trying to grasp just a pinch of his attention just for him to prance around and act like you don’t exist.

this is the longest you guys have ever spent apart since you both started dating a year and a half ago.

it’s either you would spend a couple nights at the ranch with him or he’ll come and stay at your apartment.

even when he would go on his tours, you’ll always be there in the audience, making your appearance known.

hell, even his family know who you are, and they seem to love you.

you remember when you first started dating michael and you both tried to keep it under wraps but his family found out in mere weeks.

you’ve even been at their home in havenhurst a couple times.

just the thought, that you’ll probably never go back there and see sweet katherine again, has your stomach forming a knot.

but unfortunately you can’t let yourself go on like this. at the end of the day you are a woman before anything else and you can’t be sitting here being stringed along by a man.

even if that man is michael jackson.

31st august, 1995

it’s been two more weeks and at this point you don’t give a single fuck.

a couple weeks ago, you were still calling his landline, crying when the machine told you to leave a message all because you missed him, and all you wanted was for him to hold you in his arms and tell you it’ll be okay.

but now… fuck him.

honestly, fuck michael jackson.

at first you were calling him so he could just hear you out, and so you guys could fix whatever problems you both seemed to have but now the calls starting turning more serious.

you’re calling him so he can come and take the ring back.

it’s been five weeks of him ignoring your calls, or him refusing to be home when you try and visit him and all you’ve been doing inbetween, apart from crying your eyes out, is looking down at your left hand and seeing the big, 10 carat ring that is sitting comfortably on your finger.

if ghosting his fiancée is the new thing for breaking off an engagement then so be it.

because you’re not going to be here looking so goddamn stupid, when he’s there enjoying his life without you.

and to think all of this was because you wanted to wait just a couple more months before exposing your relationship to the world.

and that’s why you decided to do what you’re about to do.

you never wanted to get his sister involved. or anyone else involved, but at this point you’re desperate.

you’ve even tried to reach out to bill, quincy and even some of the staff at neverland and they’ve all told you the same thing.

“michael is busy.”

busy.

busy doing what? torturing your whole being with his silence?

and now you’ve sought out his baby sister because if it’s anyone that can get michael to talk to you so he can take back the ring, it’ll be her.

“hello.” janet’s voice immediately flows through the phone.

you bite your lip, tears starting to form because for the past five weeks, all you’ve wanted was to hear the warmth of michael’s voice and janet, she just sounds so similar to him.

janet says your name, causing you to clear out your throat so she doesn’t know that you’re fighting back tears right now.

“sorry.” you sniff. “um i just wanted to ask if you know where i can find michael because he’s been ignoring me… for so long and i-i need to give him back the ring.”

silence.

just pure silence on the other side of the phone.

you didn’t hear the click to indicate that she hung up on you so she should still be on the phone. why isn’t she saying anything?

“janet?” you ask.

“im sorry.” she clears her throat. “what do you mean you need to give him back the ring? what on earth has happened?”

you start to tell janet about everything, from the beginning where you and michael started arguing at the ranch five weeks ago, till when he practically told you to leave his home and has been ignoring your calls and visits ever since. at this point you couldn’t even hide the fact that you were crying.

“…i didnt even realise he was going to go this far janet. all i-i wanted was for us to talk about it and come to some sort of conclusion, as couples should do.” you sob.

“oh honey, im so sorry. if he wasn’t in new york right now ill go and kick his fuckin’ ass.”

you laugh at her words, despite the fact your nose is all snotty and your mascara is damaged from your endless tears.

you’ve never cried so much in your life ever. these five weeks have made you feel like all you do is cry.

but then you realise what she actually just said. “wait he’s in new york?” you ask.

“yeah, he flew over there early for a couple of press conferences, and signings before the mtv awards. him and i both got nominations for our music video ‘scream’.”

“oh my god, congratulations!” you say.

you’re only congratulating janet, it’s just unfortunate that michael is nominated as well. it’s such a horrible thought since you can’t help but love him so very much. but you’re hurting. just the thought of him makes your heart clench in your chest.

“well i hope you win,” you smile, emphasising on her winning. “but whenever you see michael just tell him from me that he needs to come and get his ring back.” your smile drops, at that thought.

because giving him the ring back is the last thing you want to do.

but you’ve been waiting for weeks just to hear a simple ‘hi’ from him and you’ve got nothing.

and you have to have some sort of respect for yourself.

“why don’t you come to the award show?” janet says, causing your mouth to drop.

“oh no—”

“yes! you have to come. you can fly with me and i can easily get you a seat in the front row. you know what yes, you’re coming. let me add you onto my list right now.”

“janet—”

she cuts you off, saying your name in such a tone that has you clamping your lips shut.

“you’re coming. pack a couple of clothes, we will be flying out in a couple of days. ill send you a car to pick you up and take you to the private airport.”

“janet, you really don’t have to.” she scoffs on the other side of the phone.

“no but i want to. and also i want you to be there when i give my brother a piece of my mind. because one thing you’re not going to is disrespect a woman, not just any woman, his fiancée.”

you go to argue with her again but you stop yourself. you’re so tired, so fucking tired of battling this all by yourself that it feels so relieving having someone take your side. even if that person is his sister.

“thank you. janet, thank you so much.”

“you don’t have to thank me. we’re going to be sisters soon, see you in a couple days.” as soon as she uttered those words, she hangs up the phone.

you didn’t even have enough time to tell her that you’re still giving michael back his ring and there would be no wedding for you both to be sister in laws.

NYC, september 7th 1995

you feel like you’re about to be sick.

this is the first time you will be seeing michael in six goddamn weeks and you feel like you’re going to throw up in your seat.

and to make matters worse, you’re sitting next to some a lister celebrity that keeps on giving you looks and wondering how the hell you even got a ticket, and especially one for the first row.

you swallow, your eyes shifting to the empty seat beside you that michael will be sitting in after he finishes performing.

just the thought of you watching him on stage, knowing that you’re about to hand him back the ring afterwards is another reason why you just may throw up.

the night has already been going on for quite some time, and you’ve been shifting nervously wearing a beautiful black dress, with a slit in the thigh.

it just so happens that it was michael who bought you that dress, the night he proposed to you.

after the first half of awards were presented, the curtain starts to lower and the whole place goes pitch black. the audience starts to scream when the curtain starts to rise and michael. your michael, steps onto stage.

you gasp, because he just looks so beautiful and majestic, which he has no right to be because you’re so very mad at him.

and it’s so hard being mad, when the first thought that entered your mind after not seeing him for six weeks was that you can’t wait to fuck him. even though you know that you’re never going to feel him inside you again.

damn him for making you feel this way.

you look down at your left hand and play with your ring nervously, watching the way the mixtapes of his music hit and how he immediately came alive on stage.

you sit there, staring in admiration at the way he floats around the stage like he owns it.

after about five minutes of his performance, he stops and everyone claps, congratulating him.

i mean you may want to strangle him or fuck him or both. but you can’t deny that he did amazing on that stage tonight.

“thank you.” he says in the mic.

“thank you so much.”

“i love you.” he points to a screaming fan in the audience.

you clench your eyes shut when he says that, wishing that you could hear him say that to you just one more time.

“some of us… likes to play it safe. and take each day as it comes.” he starts. “some of us like to take that crazy walk on the wild side.” you hear a couple of people scream when he says that.

“so… for those of us who like living dangerously. this one’s for you.” and with that he runs to the back of the stage, as dancers start filtering on, distracting us from him switching outfits.

you shake your head, letting out a small laugh at the fact that you thought he was done performing. your laugh immediately stops when his dancers reveal him wearing a suit and tie, with a black hat on.

he starts performing this part of the performance and it’s honestly like he’s trying to seduce you from the stage.

you cross your legs over each other, squeezing your thighs to try and get some sort of friction because there’s no way he’s there humping the air, grabbing his crotch and running his hands down his chest with orgasm worthy expressions on his face, without you getting turned on.

you let out a breath when the music stops and he grabs a mic saying his thanks to the crowd. you don’t think you would’ve been able to take any more of his dirty dancing without at least losing your mind.

this whole time, he still hasn’t noticed you and you’re glad. you’ll probably burst into tears if he locks eyes with you and acknowledges your presence.

“thank you. and for those of you, who made this record number one, i dedicate this to you.”

when the music hits, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt, that’s when you knew it was a huge mistake coming to this award show.

you should’ve stood your ground and told janet no.

because this is your favourite song from michael and he loves to sing it to you all the time, so just hearing him singing this song on stage infront of thousands of people makes your heart lurch in your chest.

as the song goes on, there’s already tears swarming your vision. he walks to the edge of the stage, taking in the audience as he’s singing, and that’s when his eyes fall on you.

“though we’re far apart…” you let a few tears drop when you see him point straight at you when he sings the words with a raise of his brow and a small smirk.

you scoff, wiping your tears with the pad of your finger. how dare he find this amusing after he’s just literally broken your heart, and made you experience twenty different emotions in the span of his fifteen minute performance.

after that song finishes, everyone including you stand up to give him a round of applause.

he smiles on the stage, giving everyone a bow. his eyes lock with yours again, but this time instead of holding the eye contact, you look down at the ground.

you hate that he has you feeling this way. at this point you just may hate him.

the awards continue on as normal and you start to feel more comfortable, watching all these artists get their awards.

you were a bit too comfortable that you forgot about the empty seat beside you until you smelt that familiar cologne.

you look up, your eyes widening when you take in michael wearing a black leather biker jacket with his collars popped out, and a matching pair of black trousers. oh and let’s not forget the signature sunglasses that he always wears.

he sits down silently in the chair beside you, getting comfortable with his legs spread so wide, you’re surprised they didn’t bump into yours.

you clear your throat awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest and focusing on the two celebrities who are making their way onto the stage.

they start to read out the award and the nominees and you hear ‘scream’ get mentioned. everyone starts to clap including you, and that’s when you see the camera pan to michael who you didn’t notice was staring right at you. he saves himself by pointing to the camera with a shit eating grin.

the camera was already able to catch your face but you still decide to look in the other direction.

“and the winner is,” the announcer calls, “michael jackson and janet jackson.” you start clapping hard when you hear janet’s name get mentioned.

yes you’re that petty.

michael gets up and starts walking to the stage, but stops and waits for janet who was sitting in the front row on the other side.

both of them walk onto the stage together and embrace in a hug. you see janet whisper something into michael’s ear which causes him to give her a terrified look.

they both take turns, saying their thanks to friends, family, producers etc, before they walk off stage holding their awards.

you can’t help but notice that michael is more rigid when he sits back down, instead of his laid back version that you saw before he got up to collect his award.

you still refuse to look at him, keeping your body pushed to the other side of your seat.

at this point, you have no interest in speaking to him at all tonight. at first you wanted to at least do the dramatic ring toss to the chest and then walk out on him but you feel like the only thing you’ll be able to do is cry and beg him to fuck you from the back.

maybe it’s possible to mail him the ring. yeah that sounds like a good idea.

you sigh, when there’s another commercial break and you decide to get up to go to the bathroom. this award show has been going on for hours.

you’re tired, heartbroken, horny and all you want to do is go home.

once you’ve finished in the bathroom, you fix your dress and start to make your walk back to the main room so you can sit back in your seat before the break is done, but you get interrupted by a hand on your arm.

you look up seeing michael, with his eyes still covered by his sunglasses.

“what are you doing?” you blurt out, when he starts to drag you down a long hallway.

“michael let go.” you hiss. trying to pull your arm out of his grip.

he ignores you, the same way he’s been doing for the last six weeks and just keeps on walking.

“michael joseph jackson, let me go before i scream.” you say, still trying to break his grip. but his hand is wrapped around your wrist so tight, that you won’t be surprised if there isn’t already a bruise forming.

you’re still trying to get him to let go of you when michael shoves open a door, that you’re assuming is his dressing room.

“what are you doing?” you yell. “are you— mmphh” your words are swallowed when michael crashes his lips against yours, pushing you up against the door.

at first you start to enjoy the feeling of his slightly chapped lips against yours, tasting just a hint of orange juice but then you remember how he had you leave neverland over a month ago, and didn’t speak to you since.

you push against his chest, panting.

“what. is. your. problem?” you shout, smacking him in the chest.

“you are actually more insane than i thought.” you scoff. “how dare you ignore me for six fucking weeks straight, and then have the audacity to drag me here just to kiss me? have you lost your damn mind?” you can’t stop shouting. after all these weeks of you bottling up your emotions, you can’t help but get it out.

“and,” you let out a dry laugh, “and it was all because i disagreed with you on one thing. not even disagreed, i just asked if we could wait a little more longer and you embarrassed me. you embarrassed me in front of your staff. you embarrassed me in front of quincy and bill when i asked them about you and you told them that you were too busy. yeah right, too fucking busy to check in on your fiancée!”

you didn’t even realise that the whole time you were shouting in his face, michael has been standing there with his hands behind his back with his head down.

he lifts his head up, removing his dark shades.

“you’re not breaking the engagement.” he says, his voice ten octaves deeper than his normal pitch.

you throw your hands up in frustration. “so after all i said, that’s what you have to say? after six fucking weeks of you not speaking to me, that’s what you decide to say to me?” you laugh, in disbelief. “michael i actually can’t believe you. but yes, yes we are done.” you start to twist your ring off of your finger but michael’s hand quickly reaches out to grab onto your wrist.

he pulls you towards him, so you’re flush against his chest.

you look up at him, your eyes filling with tears.

you blink them away, refusing to cry in front of him again.

“well i don’t want us to be done.” he mumbles, pushing your ring back down onto your finger. “i was mad. i was upset because i just wanted the world to see the amazing woman that i want to spend the rest of my life with. so im sorry for shutting you out, and im sorry that i took it out on you without communicating, but one thing i’m not going to allow you to do is walk away from me.”

you try and snatch yourself out of his grip because that was the most shittiest apology you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“baby.” michael says, pulling you back into his chest. “i said i was sorry.”

“i don’t care. you hurt me. you hurt me in the worst way possible and you think that stupid apology is going to work?” you scoff at his ridiculousness.

“i was angry and i just needed time to think.” he says, his grip loosening which gives you a chance to step back from his hold.

“time?” you say, your eyes narrowing. “one night is considered ‘time’. maybe a couple days, but six weeks michael? i called you every single day and you refused to answer. i cried myself to sleep every night, thinking that you hated me. i even called you on your birthday.” your lip quivers at the thought, and nothing could’ve stopped the tears that now start to fall down your cheek.

you start to openly sob, your heart clenching so tight that you’re convinced death would be a better feeling than what you’re feeling right now.

michael steps forward to embrace you in his arms and you hate yourself for the way you clutch onto his jacket, crying into his chest.

“shhh.” michael whispers into your ear, his hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “i’m so fucking sorry for leaving it this long.”

“you hurt me so bad.” you cry.

“i know.”

“i hate you.”

“i know.”

“i hate that i still miss you every single day. even when you hurt me.” you hiccup, pulling away from his hold so you’re looking straight into his eyes.

“i missed you too. it’s just, after i got over the fact that maybe you were right to wait a bit before we realised our relationship to the media, i just got told that me and janet got nominated for scream and… and i got so busy with the multiple interviews and the rehearsals for my performance that if i did try and reach out to you it would’ve gave us away.”

you shake your head, your makeup probably a hot mess from your tears. “if you really wanted to fix things with me you would’ve found a way to contact me without the media detecting us.” you sniff.

“i know. and ill make it up to you, i promise baby. it wasn’t meant to happen like this.”

you shrug, stepping back from his embrace again. “i’m still hurt mikey, and just because i love you that doesn’t mean the wounds aren’t still open.”

“i know.” he says softly, stepping forward. “but just give me this one chance to make it up to you. i don’t care if it takes a month, a year or ten years from now. i just don’t want us to be apart for that long again.”

you look up at him, taking in the utter beauty on his face. the tears that are threatening to fall from his eyes and his hands clenched tight like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing onto you again.

you bite your lip, hating the fact that you’re about to fold after weeks of telling yourself that you’re going to hand him back the ring and move on with your life but you can’t help the way your heart yearns for michael.

“okay.” you nod.

“okay?” he questions, probably shocked that you didn’t try and argue with him.

“okay.” you shrug. “i forgive you but i sure as hell won’t forget and if you ever,” you take a step forward so you finger is pressed to his chest. “ignore me for that long again then i just may cut off your dick and feed it to you.”

michael’s hand instinctively goes to cover his groin.

“i won’t do that again, i promise.” he says, before letting out a loud sigh. “and also because janet basically threatened me when we were on stage.”

you laugh at his words. “good. you deserved it.”

“i know.” he sighs, dropping his head in defeat.

you grab the collar of his jacket. “now come here.” you say, before you pull his lips to yours.

michael doesn’t waste anytime, pushing you against the door and bunching your dress up around your waist.

“i missed this.” michael says against your lips, lifting your leg up so it’s wrapped around his waist.

“you could’ve had this if you didn’t ghost your fiancée.” he smashes his lips against yours as soon as the words leave your mouth. you moan when you feel his hand rub your cunt through your thong.

“im sorry. im so fuckin sorry baby.” he whispers, peppering kisses down your neck as he pushes your thong to the side and slips a finger inside of you.

“shitttt, you’re so fucking tight.” you hold the back of his head, letting out a whine at the thickness of his finger inside of you.

“it’s been so long.” you pant.

“i know. i need to stretch my baby out so ill be able to fit.” he pushes another finger inside of you, curling them so they hit that one sensitive spot.

“ahh— fuck. that feels so good.” you moan, pulling his lips back onto yours. you let out another high pitched moan, when you feel him add a third finger.

he uses his thumb to rub tight circles on your clit, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure.

“im gonna cum.” you grab onto his shoulder, not caring that you’re probably scrunching up the material of his expensive jacket.

“no.” you whine, when he pulls out his fingers and places them into his mouth. he groans at the taste, “fuck baby, you taste so good.”

you pout, undoing his pants just far enough so you can free his cock. “you didn’t let me cum.” you say, when he hitches your leg back around his waist and lines himself up with your entrance.

“baby i need to feel you cum around my cock.” he lets out a deep, guttural groan when he pushes inside of you.

“fuck. ive missed this. ive missed this so much.” he pulls down your dress just far enough so he can suck onto your boob.

you moan, when he starts moving his hips hard against yours.

“you’re so big.” you cry out, wrapping both of your arms around his neck.

“jump.” michael says, letting go of your leg. you jump, wrapping both legs around his waist as both of his hands settle on your ass. he pushes you against the wall, still pounding into you with quick, efficient thrusts.

at this point you’re a blubbering mess as you feel your orgasm build up low in your stomach.

“fuck fuck fuckkkk.” you scream, from the intense pleasure.

“tell me you’re going to cum.” he growls, his hands tightening on your ass so he can manhandle your body to drop you down onto his whole length.

you can’t form words so all you do is nod. you clench, feeling the overwhelming pleasure of your realise.

“shit, im about to cum baby.” michael moans, dropping you down even faster. you hide your face in his neck, as you just let him fuck you like you’re his own personal fuck toy. at this point, you’d love to be.

“godddd— fuckkkk.” you hear michael groan in your ear, pushing you down on his whole length as you feel his cock pulse inside you and the feeling of his seed filling your womb.

you both pant against each other, refusing to break apart.

“that was… the best sex… we’ve ever had.” you pant.

michael places his hand on the door, using it as an anchor to keep him standing.

he sets you down on the ground gently, as you immediately look around his dressing room for some tissues so you can clean yourself up.

you can’t believe you’ve just had sex when there’s literally celebrities right next door.

“i can’t believe we just had sex in public.” you laugh, wiping yourself with tissue and making sure that there’s no bodily fluids on your dress.

“neither can i.” michael scoffs, buttoning up his pants.

just as you two got yourself somewhat presentable, the door bursts open, revealing janet.

“oh my god, there you two are. i was looking for you everywhere.” she says.

you and michael stand there completely frozen. you have never been so grateful in your whole damn life, because if you and michael took any longer, his own sister would’ve walked into you guys having sex.

“are you guys okay? did you sort out everything?” she asks, leaning against the door.

you cover your face in embarrassment. janet has no idea that she is standing in the exact place, her brother just fucked you at.

“we’re fine.” michael says quickly.

“okay.” janet nods. “well just to tell you that the award show is over now and everyone’s starting to go to the after party.” she closes the door but not without giving you a weird glance.

oh she knows.

she definitely fucking knows.

“oh my god.” you say, looking up at michael with wide eyes. “we nearly got caught.”

michael lets out a loud laugh. “it’s okay. we didn’t get caught.”

“yeah but we nearly did.” you sigh, placing a hand on your beating heart.

“anyways,” you start. “i need to go to my hotel room and change so we can head to the after party.” you start to walk out, even though your legs are a bit shaky from the brutal fucking you just endured but you freeze when you realise michael is not behind you.

“what?” you ask.

“you want to go to the after party? together?”

you give him a smile, “yeah.” you nod. “i think it’s time to let all these women know that you’re a taken man.”

michael bites his lip, looking you up and down like he wants to fuck you again.

“i’m never letting you out of my sight again.” he says, grabbing you by the waist, and placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“you better not.” you laugh. “because i won’t be so forgiving next time.”

and with that you both leave the dressing room hand in hand, preparing for your future of being in the spotlight as michael jackson’s soon to be wife.

sequel - running up that hill

extra AN: guys im sorry if the smut is shit or if i forgot to tag anyone. this is the longest fic ive ever done and mama is tired.

You shut the book in your hands, gently setting it down in your lap. The words on the weathered pages started to lose their meaning as you finally gave up on reading.

Repetitive melodies and the quiet murmuring of lyrics from the man sitting a few feet away made it nearly impossible to focus.

He had assured you it wouldn’t be too loud in the studio tonight as he practically begged you to come sit with him while he worked on new music.

Michael made a habit of it— asking you to join him for brainstorming sessions. He once teased that you were his greatest muse.

He was extremely private, never directly involving you in his writing or recording process. Most of the time you would simply sit in the room with him while he worked. You’d thumb through a book and let the incomplete tracks and rhythmic tune of his voice act as background music to your reading.

Tonight was no different. He was focused on the notebook in front of him; sticky notes and scribbles littered the pages. The same melody filled the air over and over again as he hummed along with different words, each one acting as a piece to the never ending puzzle of his next album.

The weight of your book sunk into your lap as you let your back rest against the cushion behind you. Your lids felt heavy and your mind was foggy with sleep as you began dozing off.

“Sleepyhead.”

The familiar voice carried to your side of the room, lulling you out of your slumber before you could completely drift off.

You opened your eyes just enough to see Michael turned around in his chair, facing you with a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“Well forgive me, I didn’t realize you’d be working well into the early morning hours when you invited me to tag along.” Your sarcasm only made his grin widen.

He watched you for a minute, a small giggle fighting its way past his lips.

“C’mere” He motioned you over to him with a slight tilt of his head toward his notebook.

“I need your opinion on something.”

His voice was soft against the quiet of the room, and a smile still stained his lips as he turned back around to face the array of sticky notes plastered on the surface in front of him.

You stretched from the couch, closing the distance between you and Michael in sleepy strides.

You stood next to him, following his gaze to the words written on the notebook below.

He sat in his chair, fingers tracing the lines of lyrics in front of him.

“Which do you like better?”

Without even looking at you, he began playing the unfinished track that you’d been hearing all night.

You listened to his voice as he sang the first string of lyrics written in his notebook, watching as the written words flowed so effortlessly off the paper and into the room to the tune of his voice.

He played it twice, each time singing a different set of lyrics, both similar yet somehow entirely different.

You leaned down, peering at the two different options written on the page, Michael still humming softly next to you.

As you studied them, you felt the warmth of his palm rest at the base of your spine.

Michael was no stranger to physical touch— not with you.

He was obsessed with having his hands on you, even in the most innocent ways.

He was constantly reaching for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his; always wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer.

“I think I like the first one.” Your stare was still fixed on the notebook below, as your body angled further over his.

“It feels right.” Your mind was still sleepy as you gave your final verdict.

The room fell silent for just a few seconds, and you felt his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your lower back— tender and soothing.

“It feels right.” His voice was a delicate chuckle as he repeated your words into the nearly empty room.

“First one it is.” His words still held a subtle giggle.

With one hand on your back, the other reached for a pen as he wrote a few more words in his notebook.

He looked up at you, admiration in his gaze and that same sweet grin on his lips, “Thank you.”

His hushed words were simple, yet laced with an abundance of gratitude and love.

The gentle devotion in his voice and the careful touch of his fingertips along your spine sent you leaning down further as you placed the softest kiss on his cheek.

“Anything for you.” Your response met him with the same adoration.

You lingered like that, staring at one another. Smitten smiles nestled into your cheekbones, faces only inches a part.

“Yeah, you mean that?”

Michael’s tone shifted ever so slightly. There was a certain playfulness in the way he spoke; the question tucked behind a veil of mischief.

You loved this side of him; when his quiet, gentle demeanor was replaced with something more light hearted and whimsical.

You murmured a quiet, “mhmm” nodding your head and leaning in even closer, this time just barely pressing your lips against his.

It was a quick, gentle kiss, but it was enough to cause Michael’s hand that was once at your back to snake around your body, lightly grabbing your waist and pulling you against him.

Your body responded to his touch, sinking down into his lap, your legs straddling his and your hands cupping his jaw.

This time the kiss shared between you was much deeper, and it was impossible to miss the way he smiled ever so slightly against your lips.

His hands gripped your waist pulling you completely against him. Your lips moved in harmony; a whirlwind of hunger and affection as you melted further into his touch.

You began trailing kisses toward his jaw, under his ear, down his neck…

Each touch of your lips on his skin was determined and methodical— your actions ruminating in the passion radiating between you.

Soft hums fell from his lips as his fingertips tightened at your waist, fighting the urge to guide your hips against his.

You continued peppering kisses to his skin

down

down

down—

Your mouth was dangerously close to his collar bone when you felt one of his hands loosen from your hip.

He was reaching behind you, grabbing the pen from beside his notebook and jotting something down on one of the ink filled pages while your lips were busy on his neck.

“michael…” you sighed in defeat as your face fell into his shoulder.

“Hold on, hold on,” his words were a breathless hush as they spilled from his lips.

You buried your head deeper into the crook of his neck, your giggle muffled against his skin.

You sat there for a moment soaking in the warmth of his chest against yours. Letting him scrawl out whatever idea just came to him.

it started with the long nights at the studio and the quiet afternoons at the jackson estate. being the daughter of someone as loyal as bill meant your life was naturally woven into theirs. while your father was busy ensuring the family’s safety and logistics, you were usually tucked away in a corner of the living room with a book, or more often than not, trailing behind michael.

you two had been inseparable since the move to la. you were the one person who didn’t want anything from him other than his company, and for michael, that was everything. you knew him before the world truly claimed him—before the glitter of the off the wall era really took flight. to you, he was just mike: the boy who loved magic tricks, old movies, and feeding the deer on the property.

the dynamic was always lively, to say the least. living—or at least spending most of your waking hours—around five brothers meant there was never a dull moment. but lately, the air felt different.

jermaine would always find a reason to lean against the doorframe when you walked by, flashing a slow, charming smile that lingered just a bit too long. jackie started making jokes about how "stunning" you were becoming, playfully nudging you whenever you sat down for dinner. marlon was constantly "accidentally" brushing his shoulder against yours or finding excuses to hold your hand while showing you a new dance step.

you, being as oblivious as you were loyal, just brushed it off as them being their usual, boisterous selves. they were like family, right?

michael saw it all. he watched from the shadows of the hallway, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. he knew his brothers' "tactics" better than anyone, and seeing them turn that charm on you made his chest tighten in a way he couldn't quite explain yet.

you were sitting on the edge of the fountain out front, waiting for your father to finish up a meeting, when michael finally stepped out. he didn't look like a global superstar in his simple corduroy trousers and a soft sweater, but his eyes held a weight you hadn't seen before.

"they're doing it again, you know," he murmured, sitting down beside you, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the splashing water.

"doing what, mike?" you asked, tilting your head.

he let out a soft, frustrated huff, looking at his shoes. "flirting with you. my brothers. they think they're being subtle, but they're not. and it's driving me crazy because they don't know you like i do."

you blinked, looking from michael back toward the house where the light was spilling out from the kitchen windows. you could see the shadows of his brothers moving around inside, laughing and jostling each other.

"mike, you’re overthinking it," you said softly, reaching out to pat his knee. "they’re just being playful. you know how they are—always joking, always trying to get a reaction. they don't mean anything by it. i'm just bill's daughter to them, the girl who’s always been around."

michael didn't look convinced. he shifted closer to you on the edge of the stone fountain, the sound of the water filling the silence between you. "it’s not just jokes, and you know it. when jermaine 'happens' to be in the hallway every time you leave the room, or when marlon tries to teach you those dance moves just so he can hold your waist... that’s not just being a family friend."

you laughed, a light sound that usually made him smile, but his expression stayed serious. "well, even if they are being a little extra lately, it doesn't matter. i don't see them that way at all. it’s actually kind of funny that you’re the one getting worked up about it. i’m fine, really. i can handle a few cheesy lines from jackie."

"i just don't like it," he muttered, his voice sounding small. he picked at a loose thread on his sweater, refusing to meet your eyes. "it feels different now. everything is changing so fast. the music, the move to la, the way people look at us... i just wanted one thing to stay the same. i wanted us to stay the same."

you tilted your head, trying to catch his gaze. "nothing is changing between us, mike. i'm still me, and you're still the only one i actually want to spend my afternoons with. who cares if your brothers are being flirty? they’ll get bored and move on to the next girl who actually falls for it."

michael finally looked up, his big brown eyes searching yours. he looked like he wanted to say something else—something much heavier—but he held it back. he just bit his lip and nodded slowly.

"i hope you're right," he whispered, though the way he was looking at you made it clear he didn't think his brothers were the only ones whose feelings were shifting. "just... be careful. they can be pretty persistent when they want something."

"i'll be fine, bodyguard jr.," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. "now come on, your dad is going to wonder where you disappeared to, and my father is probably looking for me to head home."

as you stood up to leave, you didn't notice the way michael lingered for a second, watching you walk away with a look of quiet longing that had absolutely nothing to do with being "just friends."

the next few days at the estate only made things more tense. every time you walked into a room, it felt like a spotlight followed you, and not the kind michael was used to.

you were in the kitchen helping make some tea when jermaine walked in, leaning against the counter much closer than necessary. "you know," he started, his voice smooth like silk, "i was thinking of heading out to that new club later this week. a girl like you shouldn't be stuck in this house all the time. you need to see the city lights."

you gave him a polite smile, moving to the other side of the island to grab some sugar. "thanks, jermaine, but you know i usually stay back with my dad or hang out with mike. i’m not really a club person."

"maybe you just haven't gone with the right person yet," he countered, flashing that practiced grin.

from the doorway, you heard a sharp throat-clear. michael was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, looking uncharacteristically annoyed. "don't you have a rehearsal to get to, jermaine?"

jermaine just laughed, putting his hands up in mock surrender before strolling out, throwing you one last wink. as soon as he was gone, michael stepped into the kitchen, his energy practically buzzing with frustration.

"see?" he said, his voice low. "that wasn't 'just being friendly.' he’s trying to take you out."

"he was just being nice, mike! he thinks i'm bored," you argued softly, stirring the tea. "why are you so on edge lately? you're usually the calmest person i know."

michael grabbed a glass but didn't fill it with anything. he just held it, his knuckles turning slightly white. "because it’s everywhere. even marlon was asking me yesterday if i thought you had a boyfriend back in gary. they’re circling you like you’re... like you’re something they can just win."

you sighed, setting the spoon down and stepping closer to him. "hey. look at me. i’m not a prize, and i’m not interested. i’ve told you a hundred times, i’m here for my work and for our friendship. why does it bother you so much if they’re being silly?"

he looked down at you, the golden kitchen light catching the curls falling over his forehead. he looked like he wanted to scream it—to tell you exactly why it hurt to see them look at you—but he just tightened his jaw.

"it just bothers me because you deserve better than their games," he managed to say, though his eyes were saying something completely different. "i just want you to be respected."

"i am respected," you insisted, giving his arm a playful squeeze. "now stop being so moody. we’re supposed to listen to those new demos tonight, remember? just you and me. no brothers allowed."

a tiny, reluctant smile finally broke across his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "just us," he repeated, the words sounding like a promise he was desperately trying to keep to himself. "i like the sound of that."

later that evening, the house had finally quieted down. the brothers had drifted off to different parts of the estate or gone out, leaving the recording room at the back of the house bathed in a dim, blueish light. the air smelled like expensive leather and the faint scent of the incense michael liked to burn when he was feeling creative.

michael was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed, listening to the raw track of a new song. you were perched right next to him, your shoulder brushing his every time you leaned in to check the lyrics written in his messy scrawl on the notepad between you.

"this part," you whispered, pointing to a line about dancing until the morning light. "it’s magic, mike. people are going to lose their minds when they hear this."

he opened his eyes and looked at you, a genuine, soft smile finally gracing his lips. for a moment, the tension from the kitchen was gone. "you really think so? i want it to feel like... like an escape. like nothing else in the world matters except the rhythm."

"it does," you assured him. "i can feel it."

the moment was perfect until the door swung open, and jackie walked in, still wearing his sunglasses even though it was night. "there she is," he joked, ignoring michael entirely and coming to sit on the other side of you. "i was wondering where you’d disappeared to. you’ve been hiding in here all night."

"we’re working, jackie," michael said, his voice clipped and cold.

jackie just chuckled, reaching over and playfully ruffling your hair. "working hard or hardly working? you know, i’m going for a drive tomorrow morning. thought you might want to come along, see the coast. get some fresh air away from mr. serious over here."

you felt michael stiffen beside you. his entire body went rigid. you quickly tried to smooth things over, giving jackie a small, awkward smile. "that’s sweet, jackie, but i promised mike i'd help him organize these tapes tomorrow. maybe another time?"

jackie shrugged, unfazed. "suit yourself. but the offer stands. you’re way too pretty to spend all your time in a dark room with dusty tapes." he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a theatrical stage whisper. "don't let him bore you to death, okay?"

once jackie finally left, the silence in the room felt heavy. michael didn't move. he just stared at the tape deck, his chest heaving slightly.

"mike?" you said softly, reaching out to touch his hand.

he pulled his hand away quickly, standing up and crossing the room to the window. "i can't do this," he muttered, his back to you. "i can't just sit here and watch them do it over and over again."

"he was just being jackie!" you stood up, feeling frustrated now. "why are you taking it so personally? i said no! i always say no. doesn't that tell you something?"

michael turned around, his face a mask of hurt and hidden anger. "no, it doesn't tell me enough! it tells me you’re nice and you’re loyal, but it doesn't stop them from trying. and it doesn't stop me from..." he choked off the words, shaking his head.

"from what?" you stepped closer, searching his face. "from what, michael?"

he looked like he was vibrating with the effort of holding it in. "from wishing i was the only one who had the right to be in your space. they treat it like a game, but for me... it’s not a game. it’s never been a game."

he looked away, his jaw tight. "forget it. let's just finish the demo."

the rest of the session was quiet—too quiet. michael kept his head down, focusing intensely on the soundboard, his fingers moving over the sliders with a precision that felt almost robotic. you sat back on the sofa, watching him, but for the first time in years, you weren't actually listening to the music.

you were replaying his words in your head. for me... it’s not a game. it’s never been a game.

was he just being protective? or was it something deeper? you started thinking back over the last few months. the way he’d always save the seat next to him for you. the way he’d remember the most random details about your childhood in gary. the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't looking—not with the flashy, confident smirk jermaine gave you, but with a sort of soft, aching vulnerability.

your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt very warm in the air-conditioned room.

"mike?" you whispered, your voice cracking just a little.

"yeah?" he didn't turn around. he was adjusting a dial that didn't really need adjusting.

"do you... do you really think i don't see what's happening? with everyone?" you stood up and walked over to him, stopping just a few feet away. "i mean, i know i act like it’s nothing, but... are you saying you think i should be taking it seriously?"

he finally let his hands drop from the board. he turned slowly, his face half-hidden in the shadows of the studio. "i'm saying that i don't like sharing your time with people who don't value you the way i do. they see a beautiful girl. i see... i see my everything."

he froze as soon as the words left his mouth. his eyes went wide, and he looked like he wanted to pull the air back into his lungs. you felt the world shift on its axis. everything. he didn't say "my friend." he didn't say "my sister."

"michael..." you breathed, taking a step closer.

the confusion that had been clouding your brain for weeks was starting to lift, replaced by a sudden, sharp realization. the reason you hadn't cared about jermaine's flirting or jackie's invitations wasn't because you were oblivious. it was because none of it felt real. none of it felt like this. the heat radiating off michael, the way his breath hitched when you got closer—this was real.

you reached out, your hand trembling slightly, and brushed your fingers against his wrist. his skin was burning.

"is that why you've been so upset?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the hum of the equipment. "not because of them... but because of you?"

michael looked down at your hand on his wrist, then back up at your eyes. the wall he’d built up all evening was crumbling. he didn't pull away this time. instead, he turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with yours, his grip tight and desperate.

"i’ve been trying so hard to be the 'good friend,'" he admitted, his voice trembling. "i didn't want to push you. i didn't want to be another jackson brother trying to move in on you. but watching them... it was killing me. because i’ve waited so long, and i was so scared that if i didn't speak up, one of them would eventually convince you."

you looked at your joined hands, then up at him, a small, realization-filled smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "michael, you're so literal sometimes. you really thought i’d choose a club date with jermaine over a night in the studio with you?"

he let out a shaky, nervous laugh, his eyes never leaving yours. "i don't know. i’m not as smooth as they are. i just have my music... and i have you. and i really, really don't want to lose the second one."

the air in the room felt different now—thicker, sweeter. you realized you were leaning in, and he was too. the distance between you was disappearing, and for the first time, you weren't thinking about bill, or the brothers, or the off the wall release. you were just thinking about the boy who had been your best friend, and how much you wanted him to be so much more.

the silence in the studio was no longer heavy; it was warm, like a soft blanket wrapped around the both of you. you could hear the faint, rhythmic ticking of the tape reels spinning in the background, but everything else had faded away.

michael’s thumb traced small, nervous circles over the back of your hand. he looked down at your joined fingers, a shy smile finally tugging at his lips—the kind of smile he usually reserved for his most private moments.

"you're really serious?" he whispered, his voice sounding breathless. "about them not standing a chance? i mean, jermaine... he’s got that look, and jackie... he’s got the car, and the—"

"michael joseph jackson," you interrupted, stepping into his personal space until your chest was inches from his. you looked up at him, your heart doing a frantic dance of its own. "stop listing your brothers. they aren't you. they don't look at the stars the way you do, and they definitely don't make me feel like... like this."

"like what?" he asked, his voice dropping to a velvety hush. he leaned down just a fraction, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips and back again.

"like i'm the only person in the world who matters," you admitted, your own voice trembling now. "you’ve been looking out for me since the day we moved here. you’re the one i want to talk to at 3:00 am, and you’re the only one whose opinion i actually care about. it was always you, mike. i think i was just too scared to admit it because i didn't want to lose my best friend."

michael let out a long, shaky breath, as if he’d been holding it for years. "you could never lose me," he promised. "i'm stuck to you like glue. my brothers are going to be so annoyed when they find out."

you giggled, the tension finally breaking. "oh, they’re going to be unbearable. jermaine is going to try to give you 'advice' and marlon is going to tease us for the next ten years."

"let them," michael said, his confidence suddenly returning now that he knew where you stood. he reached up with his free hand, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your knees weak. his touch was light, but his gaze was intense. "let them talk. they can have the clubs and the cars. as long as i have this."

he didn't kiss you yet—it was michael, after all, and he lived for the quiet, soulful build-up—but he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. you could feel the warmth of his skin and the rapid beat of his heart through his sweater.

"just promise me one thing," he murmured, his eyes closing as he breathed in your scent.

"anything," you replied.

"don't tell bill yet," he joked, a hint of his old mischievous self peaking through. "i don't think your dad is ready to see me as anything other than the kid who follows you around."

you laughed softly, leaning into him, feeling more at home than you ever had in the giant mansion. "deal. but you’re going to have to be a better actor, mike. because the way you’re looking at me right now? the whole world is going to know."

he just hummed in response, pulling you into a proper hug, his arms locking around your waist as he pulled you tight against him. for the first time in weeks, the jealousy was gone, replaced by a quiet, steady glow that felt like the beginning of a whole new era.