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Synopsis: A stormy night. A visit that couldn’t wait. And a conversation neither of them was ready to have. Some wounds never truly heal… they just wait for the right moment to be reopened
Warnings: Reconciliation, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Drama, Emotional Distress,Happy Ending, Creampie, crying through it, talking through it, and praising.
Carefully pulling the thermometer from Ava’s mouth, your heart sank as your eyes landed on the screen
102.4°F
A heavy sigh escaped your lips as worry settled over you. You quickly replaced the now-warm ice pack on her forehead with a fresh one before brushing the back of your hand against her flushed cheeks and neck. She was still burning up, and despite everything you’d been doing to bring the fever down, it didn’t seem to be making much of a difference
“Baby you’re burning up”
Setting the thermometer aside, you reached for the bottle of children’s Tylenol and carefully drew up the correct dosage into the syringe
The moment Ava realized what you were doing, she rolled onto her side and frowned
“No!” she protested, shaking her head as she scooted farther back against the pillows
“C’mon baby you need to take something”
“I don’t want it!” She whined becoming more high rate
All day this had been going on, her on and off temper tantrums caused by her not feeling good and you were exhausted doing it all by yourself
“Ava, please, just take your medicine…” you pleaded softly, bringing the syringe toward her mouth. The moment it got close, she smacked your hand away
Children’s Tylenol splashed across the bed, leaving you staring at the sticky mess with an exhausted sigh
“I don’t want it! I want my daddy”
By this point Ava was having a full blown meltdown. Crying because she was so sick and now wanting to be comforted by her father. You couldn’t fight it anymore, you were exhausted mentally and physically. Taking a deep breath you exited her room and went downstairs to grab the house phone
Across town, Michael stood inside the recording booth one hand resting against his headphones as his foot tapped steadily to the beat. He listened intently, eyes shut tight, replaying the track for what felt like the hundredth time
No matter how many times he heard it, something still wasn’t clicking. It was driving him crazy
Just outside the recording booth, Bill stood talking quietly with one of Michael’s producers, both listening as the latest playback echoed through the studio.
Suddenly, the studio phone rang. Bill glanced toward the booth before quickly stepping over to answer it
“Hello?” he greeted, lifting the receiver to his ear
“Bill?? It’s me, listen I really need your help right now”
Bill’s expression immediately fell at the sound of your panicked voice. Your words came out rushed and broken, making it difficult for him to understand what you were saying. Without wasting a second, he turned toward the producer and motioned for him to kill the music. The studio fell silent as Bill pressed the receiver closer to his ear, his concern growing with every second
Michael pulled one side of his headphones off his ear, his brows knitting together in confusion as the music abruptly cut off. Looking through the studio glass, he caught the producer’s eye. The producer simply pointed toward Bill before giving a small shrug
Michael followed his gaze and immediately noticed the concern on Bill’s face as he stood at the phone
“Hey, hey slow down for me what’s going on?”
“It’s Ava,” you cried, your words breaking apart between shaky breaths. “She’s burning up with a fever, and I don’t know what to do anymore. She just keeps crying for Michael… I can’t do this by myself”
“Okay just try to keep yourself calm until we get there we’re leaving right now”
The two of you hung up the phone as Michael walked out the booth “Bill what’s going on?”
“It’s Ava, she’s sick”
Immediately the expression of worry washed over Michael’s face, causing him to drop his headphones and walk over to Bill “Is she okay??”
“She just said that Ava was burning up with a fever and real fussy looking for you”
Before heading to your house, Michael had Bill pull over at the nearest grocery store so they could pick up medicine, Pedialyte, children’s fever reducers, popsicles, and anything else Ava might need
The rest of the drive was agonizing. Michael’s knee bounced relentlessly as he stared out the rain-speckled window, replaying your panicked phone call over and over
He’d never heard his daughter that sick before, and all he could think about was getting to her
Just as you stepped out of the shower, the loud pounding at the front door made you jump
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Shit” you muttered under your breath.Hastily wrapping a towel around your body, you hurried downstairs, water still dripping from your hair. You pressed one eye to the peephole and immediately froze
Michael stood on the front porch, completely drenched. Rain poured relentlessly over him, plastering his curls to his forehead and soaking his clothes as he waited anxiously at the door
You quickly unlocked the front door before stepping aside
“I’m so sorry I just got out of the shower” you apologized.
Michael offered a reassuring smile as he thanked Bill, taking the remaining grocery bags from his hands before stepping inside
“It’s okay” he replied softly. You waved goodbye to Bill and thanked him for bringing Michael over before closing and locking the front door. Turning around, you found Michael already in the kitchen, quietly unpacking the grocery bags as if he’d never left
“How is she doing?” He asked
“Sick—if her temperature doesn’t break I’m gonna have to take her to the emergency room, but it’s hard for me to break it because she doesn’t wanna take anything”
“Well hopefully the stuff I bought works, the pharmacist said it was good for breaking fevers” he shrugged
A moment of awkward silence lingered between the two of you, Michael did his best not to stare at you basically naked but the temptation was rising, you caught into his lingering eyes and immediately became embarrassed
“I’m gonna get dressed, if you need anything just let me know”
Clearing his throat, Michael glanced at you. “I’ll walk up with you… for Ava,” he added quietly, feeling the need to clarify
Michael trailed a few steps behind you as the two of you climbed the staircase in silence. When you continued toward the master bedroom, he stopped outside Ava’s room, his hand lingering on the doorknob. For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to go in. Taking a quiet breath, he finally cracked the door open and slowly stepped inside
Hearing the bedroom door open Ava turned towards the sound, gasping at the sight of her father walking through “Daddy!”
Despite the fever burning through her tiny body and the soreness in her throat, Ava’s face lit up the second she saw her daddy. They wore the same crooked smile, as if she had borrowed it straight from him. Michael didn’t waste a second. Slipping off his jacket, he climbed into bed beside her “Hi Bambi, mommy told me you weren’t feeling good”
Michael had been calling Ava “Bambi” since the day she was born. The moment the doctors placed her in his arms, he couldn’t stop staring at her wide, doe-like eyes. With the softest smile he whispered “My little Bambi” and the nickname had stuck ever since
She shook her head no resting on Michael’s chest “I know how much you hate taking medicine but it’s the only way that you’ll feel better”
“Do I have to?” She pleaded
“Yes” he replied sternly “It’s the only thing that’ll make you feel better”
Michael reached for the bottle of children’s fever reducer, carefully reading the label before breaking the safety seal. After measuring the correct dosage, he twisted open a fresh bottle of orange juice and set it on the nightstand
“Come here Bambi” he whispered sliding an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit up. “I know it doesn’t taste good, but Daddy needs you to take this for me, okay?”
Ava’s watery eyes filled with tears as she gave a weak nod. Michael held the medicine to her lips, patiently waiting while she swallowed every drop before handing her the orange juice. He rubbed slow circles against her back as she took a few small sips, quietly praising her the entire time
“That’s my brave girl” he murmured brushing a damp curl away from her forehead before pressing a gentle kiss to her burning skin
You had just finished dressing yourself, throwing on one of your nightgowns that you normally wore around the house. But for some reason you found yourself feel conscious, as much as you tried to say it wasn’t because of Michael that’s exactly what it was. You even took it a step further and tried to make your hair look presentable
Afterwards you crept down the hallway to check on Ava & Michael, peaking inside the room you saw Ava cuddled under her father and laughing as hard as she could at her father putting on a puppet show, apparently before he arrived he stopped at a toy store and bought Ava new stuffed animals, her current obsession was a mixture of Bambi and tinker bell
You smiled to yourself watching them interact with one another, it almost made your heart ache that Ava couldn’t get this everyday because you knew how much they both loved each other
Giving them some privacy, you quietly went back upstairs and sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the photo in your hands. It was the first time the three of you had gone to Disneyland together. Seeing the smile on Ava’s face as Michael carried her on his shoulders was enough to bring tears to your eyes
Before you went too far down memory lane a knock came from the other side of the door, quickly placing the photo back you semi yelled “come in” , of course it was Michael on the other end
“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” He asked stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, watching you shake your head no
He took a seat next to you in bed, his awkward nature taking over as if this was his first time in your bedroom, nervous in his posture making you laugh “Michael you don’t have to be awkward, we’re very far from strangers”
“Right” he chuckled fixing his posture
“How is she doing?”
“She’s sleeping right now but I swapped out her ice packs and she took medicine so hopefully it starts to break soon”
“Thank you coming over here and helping me with her”
“That’s what I was supposed to do”
“Yeah but I know how busy you are with—everything” raising your eyebrows as you picked at your manicure
“That stuff isn’t more important than the two of you”
You could feel Michael’s eyes lingering on you, but you refused to acknowledge them. Instead, his attention shifted to the framed portrait you’d been staring at moments earlier
“Whaaat?” he chuckled, leaning across you to pick up the photo. His smile widened as he looked it over, unable to hide the amusement in his voice
I didn’t even know you still had this” Michael murmured absentmindedly running his fingers over the frame. He smiled to himself “Man… look at us”
“It seemed like it was so long ago” you sighed “Ava comes in here everyday to look at that picture”
Hearing no response, you slowly turned your head to study Michael’s expression. You knew him well enough to understand why he’d gone so quiet. Part of it was the memories the photograph carried, but the other part was harder to ignore
This had been taken right before everything changed. Not long after that trip, the vitiligo began spreading across his face and the rest of his body. Looking at the photo now, it was like he was staring at the last version of himself before his life changed forever
Your eyes drifted to his ear, noticing the patch of skin that was slightly darker than the rest of his face. It was subtle, but you knew what it meant. It was only a matter of time before the vitiligo spread even further
Without thinking, you lifted your hand and gently brushed your thumb against his ear. It wasn’t pity or curiosity—just quiet acknowledgment. You had always understood how deeply it affected him
Michael’s breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning ever so slightly into your touch. Such a small gesture, yet it spoke louder than any reassurance ever could. It was enough to make his eyes well with tears
Finally managing to swallow the lump in his throat, Michael opened his eyes and carefully set the picture back where he had found it. He glanced around the room, a faint smile tugging at his lips
“You didn’t change much in here, did you?” he asked, rising to his feet
Slowly, he wandered around the bedroom, his fingertips grazing the dresser and shelves. The longer he looked, the more it sank in
Nothing had changed. Actually
The bedroom the two of you had once decorated together was still exactly the way you’d left it. Every picture, every piece of furniture, every little detail remained untouched as if time had simply stopped the day he walked out
Not really” you sighed, standing to your feet and leaning against the wooden bedpost as Michael inspected his old side of the room. “I kept telling myself I’d change it someday… I just never did”
Lies. You had ever opportunity to redecorate but emotionally couldn’t get yourself to do it, hell you would’ve had an easier time packing up and moving out
“No, I get it” Michael replied with a gentle smile, tucking his hands into his pockets before turning toward you. “Funny how one day turns into a week… then a month… before you know it, two years have gone by”
You began chewing the inside of your cheek, your eyes fixed on Michael as the weight of the silence settled between you. The intensity of the moment made your chest tighten. Desperately searching for an escape, the first excuse that came to mind slipped past your lips
“I’m gonna go check on Ava”
“She’s fine,” Michael said quietly, reaching out to gently catch your wrist before you could walk away
His eyes scanning yours
“Why do you keep trying to get away from me?” His voice carrying more hurt than accusation
You let out a shaky laugh. “Because I don’t know how to be around you anymore. You’re standing in our bedroom like nothing changed… but everything did”
“This isn’t any easier for me, if that’s what you think” Michael replied, his voice beginning to crack. “You think I’m okay with being nothing more than a phone call away? With hearing from Bill that my little girl is sick?” He shook his head fighting back his emotions
“I should’ve been here. I should’ve been the one taking care of her… not finding out after the fact”
“Yeah?” you scoffed “Well, this is how it’s always been, Michael. There’s always somebody standing between us. Bill calling me. Bill calling you. Bill passing along messages because you never would”
You swallowed the lump in your throat
“You’re right… you should’ve had your ass home. But you weren’t. And after a while, I got tired of waiting for you”
The two of you had fallen in love so young, but there was never anything childish about it. It was real. Before you knew it, you were newlyweds, barely twenty-one, building a life together. Not long after came Ava, the missing piece neither of you knew your hearts were waiting for
There was a time when everything felt perfect. The two of you had your dream home your beautiful little family, and a future that seemed untouchable. Back then, it never crossed your mind that one day the two of you would be standing in the very bedroom where your life together began, feeling like strangers trying to remember how to find each other again
Between the endless tours and the grueling hours spent locked away in the studio, your marriage slowly stopped feeling like a marriage. It became a life you were watching from the sidelines, where you were constantly waiting for your husband to come home
It wasn’t because Michael had fallen in love with someone else—he hadn’t. It was because his career demanded everything from him, leaving whatever was left over for the people waiting at home
Michael lowered his head, letting out a shaky breath. “I know” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “And the worst part is… I kept telling myself I was doing it for us. For you. For Ava. I didn’t realize that while I was trying to build a future for my family… I was slowly losing the family I was trying to protect”
The anger was finally starting to boil over, you looked up at Michael as you scoffed “Right..tell that to a little girl who cries every time her daddy comes on the fucking TV because that’s the closest she can get to him. Tell that to the child who has to watch millions of screaming fans get your attention while she can’t even get a phone call from her own father”
“You’re right” he admitted as his voice cracked
“No child should ever have to feel like they’re competing with the rest of the world for their father’s attention” He lowered his gaze, blinking back tears
“I promised myself I’d be the father I needed growing up. I swore my children would never wonder if I loved them… never question whether they came second to anything else”
Listening to Michael’s confession, you felt some of your anger begin to fade. You knew better than anyone how deeply he loved being a father. To the rest of the world, he was Michael Jackson—the superstar. But to him, none of those titles ever mattered as much as being Ava’s dad
It had always been his greatest accomplishment, and seeing the guilt written across his face made it impossible to believe he had ever stopped loving his daughter. The problem was never a lack of love. Somewhere along the way, life and his career had simply gotten in the way of him showing it
“She loves you, Michael… and it’s obvious.” Your voice softened. “Every single day she’s asking me about you” A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips. “Sometimes she doesn’t even want me to read her a bedtime story. She just wants me to tell her stories about you… about us. She wants to know how we met, what you were like when we were young…she just misses you”
Michael hesitated, his eyes drifting toward the rain as it relentlessly beat against the bedroom window. Every so often, a flash of lightning illuminated the room before disappearing just as quickly
He absentmindedly brushed his thumb across his bottom lip, gathering the courage to say what had been weighing on him all evening
“You’ve talked about Ava this whole time” he began then paused briefly, his eyes searching yours
”…But what about you?”
Silence settled between the two of you
“Do you miss me?” he asked quietly “Do you still love me?”
“Of course I do Michael…I wouldn’t be standing here if I felt otherwise”
“Then tell me,” he whispered, tears threatening to spill
“Tell me you still love me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right. I don’t care what it costs anymore. I just want my family back”
You stared at him, your vision blurring with tears. It wasn’t because you didn’t know the answer—it was because you did
There had been nights you questioned whether your marriage would survive. Nights you convinced yourself walking away would hurt less than waiting for him to come home. But never not once, had you questioned whether you loved him
“Of course I still love you Michael.” Your voice cracked as tears slipped down your cheeks. “Loving you was never the problem”
“That’s not what I want, Michael” You shook your head your voice barely above a whisper “I don’t want you to give up your dreams. I fell in love with the boy who couldn’t stop talking about music. The one who stayed up all night writing songs because he believed he could change the world. I know what your music means to you… it’s a part of who you are”
A tear escaped before you quickly wiped it away
“I just want Ava and me to feel like we’re just as important as the rest of the world. I don’t want the world to lose Michael Jackson… I just don’t want Ava and me to keep losing the man we love”
Stepping forward Michael closed the gap between the two of you, gently lifting your chin as tears streamed down your face. His own eyes glistened
“I’ve missed you every single day” His voice cracked. “I just…I didn’t know how to find my way back to you”
He leans in, giving her the opportunity to close the remaining distance
“Then kiss me” you whispered, your eyes falling to his lips “And remind me what it’s like to be loved by my husband again”
Without wasting another second he smashed his lips into yours, the euphoric feeling of being reconnected with one another washing over the both of you repeatedly. Your hands creeping around his neck as he pulled you by the waist, his tongue begging for acceptance. Desperate for you to allow him in
Feeling captivated by him you slightly relaxed your jaw and closed your eyes giving him access. Feeling his warm tongue slither against yours sent a rush down your spine “Mmm” you both moaned to one another as your eyes shut
Just then Michael slowly pulled back, brushing his lips against your ear, his breath warm against your skin
“Please…” he whispered. “I’ve missed you for two years. Don’t push me away tonight”
“Come here” rubbing his chin slightly with your thumb “Remind me that I’m still your wife”
Picking you up effortlessly, Michael carried you to the bed the two of you had once shared every night. Without breaking the kiss, he gently laid you against the mattress, his hands lingering at your waist as though reassuring himself you were really there. Your fingers remained intertwined behind his neck, reluctant to let him go even for a second
Every touch carried two years’ worth of apologies, forgiveness, and longing. The room fell silent around you, leaving only the sound of uneven breaths and quiet laughter between tears. For the first time in what felt like forever, neither of you was thinking about the past—you were simply grateful to have found your way back to each other
Michael hovered over you as he slowly undressed himself, never taking his eyes off you. Once he had discarded the last of his clothing, his attention turned to you, carefully peeling away each layer. He bit down on his lip as the slow revelation of your body unfolded before him, his gaze drinking in every inch
It was a sight he’d carried in his mind for two long years, one he’d cherished, longed for, and replayed in countless memories. Now that you were finally in front of him again, it almost didn’t feel real
Spreading your legs apart he licked his lips at the sight of your folds parting and exposing your wetness, the shiny fluids flowing from the outside. You licked your lips at the sight of him stroking himself—both of you sex deprived
Leaning forward he forced your hips in an upward motion as he slid inside of you, both of you needing a minute to take into the moment. His forehead pressed into yours “Fuck, I missed this” he groaned
It took you a few strokes to get accustomed to his size again, biting on your lip to mask the pain before remembering one of the reasons Michael made you so crazy over him. As his pace spiked so did your moaning, the floor underneath the both of you creaking with each thrust
The only thing that masked the dual moaning was the heavy rain pouring outside, the moment was so heavy and intimate that you couldn’t care about being loud right now. Your eyes rolling and catching constant body chills with each thrust pumped inside of you
Your face flustered red at the moment Michael pointed out how creamy you had gotten in such a short time period. Your nails digging into his shoulder blades repetitively, moving up and down his back with the pace of his stroking, it was obvious his choreography had taught him something new about his hip mobility
“Do you still love me?” Michael asked staring in your eyes
“Yes baby, I never stopped”
His words were constantly interrupted by messy, lingering kisses, as though he couldn’t stand to spend another second without tasting your lips. Every now and then, his teeth would lightly tug at your bottom lip before he kissed you again, pouring two years of longing into every embrace
“You know I’d do anything for you… don’t you?” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours
Sweat began collecting between the both of you, swapping from his body to yours. One arm wrapped underneath your back to give him better access inside of you, his dick constantly pressing into your cervix making you cry out repetitively
“Yes daddy, fuck!”
Your toes balling up and your legs begging to tremble, even your abdomens was starting to tighten up. Soon your breath was becoming heavier with each passing, Michael smirked watching your bottom lip tremble “You cumming for me?”
Trying your best to deny it you shook your head side to side, Michael used his other hand to wrap it around your throat kissing you more aggressively than before “You lying to me baby?”
“N-no” you doubled down
“Hm” he chuckled “Then you better hold that shit in until I’m done”
“You’re so tight” he groaned “Oh my god you don’t know how much I missed you, I waited on this for two years”
You knew Michael was reaching his peak whenever he started whimpering like crazy, any and everything that came to his mind would roll aimlessly off his tongue
“Fuck—Michael why are you fucking me like this?!”
“Because you’re my wife” he condescendingly replied “So take it just like that”
“Mm fuck” he gasped in your ear while sloppily kissing at your neck and back to your ear “I’m ready for my son” he admitted
You tilted your head back into the sheets and took a deep breath trying not to orgasm, but you were on a countdown and Michael knew it, he’d been with you long enough to know when you were about to tap
“Cum inside me baby” a single tear rolled down your cheek “We can have another baby, I wanna have your babies Michael”
Michael grabbed both of your hands and placed them above your head, intertwining his fingers with yours as his thrusting became faster and heavier. Each thrust leading to the headboard slamming into the wall, his cheeks flustering red feeling his orgasm peaking
“I thought I lost you baby” feeling himself getting choked up “I promise you after this we’re going back to being a family—I’ll do everything right okay?”
Nodding your head frantically , feeling his fingers tighten around your throat—enhancing the feeling. Just then your moans were uncontainable. Your back arched and you cried at the top of your lungs as you leaked all over Michael, feeling your pussy clenching around his dick he gave into the sensation and came inside of you simultaneously
Still stroking through his orgasm, whimpering at the top of his lungs and listening to the sound of his voice becoming even more delicate than what it already is, kissing your jawline while repeating “I know baby, I know”
The next thing you remembered was the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the curtains, its light gently coaxing your eyes open. You blinked lazily, letting out a sleepy sigh before the events of the night before came flooding back. Instantly, your lips curled into a smile. It was real. For the first time in two years, you’d gone to sleep beside your husband
After climbing out of bed, you made your way into the bathroom to go through your usual morning routine. Once you were finished, you slipped on your robe and headed down the hallway to check on Ava. Oddly enough, she wasn’t in her bedroom like she normally was
Following the faint sound of the television and her little giggles, you made your way downstairs. The sight that greeted you instantly melted your heart
Ava was curled up in Michael’s lap on the couch, her favorite stuffed animals tucked under one arm as the two of them watched Bambi. Michael absentmindedly stroked her hair while she remained completely captivated by the movie, looking more peaceful than she had in days
“Mommy!” She smiled landing her eyes on you
Michael mocked the exact same smile, scooting over on the couch and patting the available seat next to him “Good morning mommy”
As soon as you sat down Ava leaped to hug you as tightly as possible “Daddy wouldn’t let me wake you up” she pouted before sitting back in his lap
You chuckled “Yeah she normally sleeps on your side of the bed now, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and she’s lying next to me”
“We made you breakfast if you’re hungry, and I made you a fresh pot of coffee”
“Aww you’re so sweet Michael” leaning in and kissing his cheek before shifting your focus to Ava, placing your hand on her head “are you feeling any better?”
“Mhm, daddy made me take more medicine this morning and he gave me a bath”
“I took her temperature not too long ago and her fever finally broke”
You smiled to yourself, not entirely surprised. Michael had always been an amazing father, but after everything the two of you had been through, it felt comforting to finally have a true partner again. You no longer felt like you were carrying the weight of parenthood by yourself
Resting your head against the pillows, you absentmindedly combed your fingers through Ava’s damp curls
“I think you just wanted your daddy this whole time” you teased with a soft smile
“So did you” Michael mumbled only loud enough for you to hear
Playfully you swatted his chest making him laugh “Don’t overdo it now”
Around noon, Ava went down for another nap, and that’s when Michael decided it was time to leave. Promising he’d be back soon, he reluctantly grabbed his things. The two of you still had plenty to work through, but for the first time in a long time, you were finally on the same page. Neither of you wanted to walk away from this marriage anymore. You both wanted to fight for it—together
Before he stepped out the door, he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you into a long, lingering kiss. Neither of you was in a hurry to let go, savoring the feeling of being close again after so long. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, offering you one last smile before quietly making his way out the door
Two months had passed, and things had changed tremendously for the three of you. Michael wasn’t officially living at the house again, but it certainly felt that way. He spent more nights there than anywhere else, and little by little, his belongings began filling the home again
One trip it was a suitcase, the next a few framed photos, then another rack of clothes. Without either of you ever saying it aloud, he was quietly moving back home one box at a time
You leaned against the bathroom counter, your arms folded tightly across your chest as your eyes remained fixed on the watch wrapped around your wrist. What should’ve only taken five minutes felt more like two hours. You weren’t entirely sure why your nerves were so shot, but your stomach was tied in knots, your mind racing with every possible outcome
Meanwhile, just outside the bathroom door, you could hear the faint sound of laughter coming from the living room, where Michael and Ava were happily spending time together, completely unaware of the anxiety quietly consuming you
Finally, both tests let out a soft chirp, signaling the results were ready. Your heart immediately began pounding against your ribs. Taking a slow, unsteady breath, you reached for them with trembling hands. Keeping your eyes squeezed shut, you clutched the tests tightly, silently trying to prepare yourself for whatever they revealed before you found the courage to look
Pregnant
Your heart pounded so hard it felt as though it might burst from your chest. A wave of emotions crashed over you all at once, leaving you speechless
Tears instantly welled in your eyes as a shaky smile spread across your face. You stood there in stunned silence, allowing yourself to fully take in the moment before saying a single word. For just a little while longer, this was your secret to hold one you wanted to savor before sharing it with the two people waiting just beyond the bathroom door
A few moments later, you made your way downstairs and quietly settled onto the sofa beside Michael and Ava. The two of them were completely engrossed in The Wiz, one of Ava’s favorite movies. She never seemed to tire of watching her father as the Scarecrow. Every time the film came on, she’d stare at the screen in amazement before turning to look at Michael, still unable to wrap her little mind around the fact that her daddy was her favorite character
“Mommy you’re missing the movie” Ava whined
“I’m sorry baby” you sniffed
Resting your head on Michael’s shoulder he could tell something was different with you, it wasn’t your normal nature “What’s wrong?” Turning his focus on you and rubbing your thigh
“Can I talk to you for a second? Nothing wrong I promise” you smiled reassuringly
You pulled the pregnancy tests out your robe pocket and placed them in his hand, watching as he froze for the time being, confused and shocked more than anything. Even blinking repetitively like he was unsure what was going on, he struggled with getting his words together
“We’re having another baby” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. “I wanted to be sure… so I took more than one test” Leaning over, you gently kissed the side of his face as tears began streaming down your cheeks
Michael was so overwhelmed in his emotions that he couldn’t say anything, he simply gripped onto your arm and shed happy tears “We’re having another baby” he repeated to himself as if he was trying to convince himself this was real
Hearing the sniffles behind her, Ava tore her attention away from the television and looked over her shoulder. Seeing the both of you in tears, she frowned in confusion
“Mommy…” she tilted her head “Why are you and Daddy crying?”
Michael let out a watery laugh, wiping his eyes before opening his arms to Ava “Come here sweetheart”
As she climbed into his lap, Michael pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face against her little shoulder for a brief moment before kissing her cheek
“You’re gonna be a big sister” he whispered with a tearful smile
— For the past few days you had been lost in thought... about you and Michael, more importantly the currently puzzling dynamic between the two of you.
Thinking back to a few years ago when you both were still young teens Michael had just released his “off the wall” album and received major success from it and you were right there on the sidelines supporting him. Wherever he was, you followed.
Whether he was upset or celebrating, you were there right by his side in his arms, providing him with anything he asked for.
touch, gifts, praise, and everything.
At first the intensity of your relationship didn't quite seem wrong, you were just 2 lonely teens seeking comfort in one another, or so you thought…. slowly the border between platonic and romance began to blur, and at one point you weren't sure when or how, but it soon became difficult to differentiate the relationship.
You’d kiss, share long hugs that seemed far from friendly, and switch between each other's homes like you were…well, dating. And of course you were not the only one who had caught on as tabloids went wild, photos of you two hugging or kissing spreading like wildfire. They were quick to accuse you both of some sort of mysterious relationship, and when word reached Michael, he shut down all rumors, reminding people that you were just “friends” and for some reason that Label hurt.
Why? You wish you knew, but hearing him say something like that just shattered your heart along with all hopes you held of a true relationship with him, and unfortunately the universe continued to play the sick joke on you, from the moment you’d wake, newspapers and TV stations would ruin your day with photos of Michael and other women, hugging them like... Like he held you. That sight sent a stab to your already vulnerable heart, you broke into inevitable tears that day feeling so disgusted, yet also that was the day you made up your mind. It was time to confront Michael and end this painful cycle.
Sat in his eerily silent living room, you waited impatiently for him to come home, leg bouncing uncomfortably. To be honest, it felt as if you weren’t even fully there, your mind was in an almost entirely different place.
Your nerves were at an all-time high as you and Michael almost never had arguments; even worse, you still weren’t sure just how he’d react to being confronted.
But there was no going back as The sound of a lock clicking open echoed throughout the massive house. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself up, waiting for him to enter the living room. The soft sound of his footsteps taunted you as they approached closer... and closer until
Finally, after what felt like the longest grueling seconds of your life, he was here. standing right in front of you, an uneasy expression on his face. His brows were furrowed, and eyes stared straight through you. Just from the look of his face, you knew he definitely had an idea that something was off. Of course he did, you thought, gathering your words.
"Michael…" You gulped.
His ears seemed to perk up at the sound of his name coming from your voice.
“Y/n, what's happening?"
Your breathing began to pick up, and you were somehow already panicking. Still, you went on.
“I wanted to...talk to you about something."
His brow arched at the almost wobbly tone of your voice. Being friends with you for so long, he was able to pick up on your mannerisms quickly, and right now he could tell you were more nervous than you dare let on.
Wetting his dry lips, he spoke again cautiously, afraid to say the wrong thing.
“About what..?”
Gosh, was he shaking? It was hard to tell.
“I wanted to ask about us..."
Your eyes were embarrassingly quick filling with tears, but once again you forced yourself to choke down them down and began.
"What—what are we?"
At this point your heart felt like it was about to beat its way out your chest and the uncomfortable ache in your throat was getting harder and harder to ignore.
The tension in the room was thick, and the atmosphere was strangely gloomy.
Michael felt his breath catch at the sound of the question he had been trying to avoid for so long.
What were the two of you?
Your knees felt weak as you waited... waited for him to say anything. At this point you were willing to accept rejection over his silence.
Rejection you could take...but his silence, the uncertainty of it all, would undoubtedly wreck you.
Without even realizing it, the tears began to flow uncontrollably. you tried, really tried to hold them back with all the remaining strength you had, but standing here in front of the man you had unconsciously loved for so many years, the task seemed almost impossible.
"Michael, please—“ Your voice cracked as a cold shudder ran through your body.
On the other hand, Michael in front of you was not faring any better . Watching you pour your heart out, tears running down your face, he felt his heart break.
His mouth opened, and no matter how hard he tried to get the words out, everything he had locked away all these years, nothing came out. his tongue seeming to have betrayed him at the worst possible moment.
"Michael, tell me, please. Tell me it was all casual.” You paused, then dropped the bomb.
“Tell me all of it meant nothing..."
you were beyond desperate, wanting nothing more than to hear the words from him, the explanation you deserved all these years.
A beat then.
Finally... he spoke, yet the words that came out of his mouth were far from anything you’d anticipated.
“It wasn’t casual."
He mumbled, head facing down, unable to look you in the face.
"Huh…?"
Your eyes widened, tears beginning to slow. Confusion replacing the heartbreak.
It wasn’t casual. The words repeatedly echoed throughout your mind... it seemed so foreign to hear.
"Michael, what do you mean…?”
You pushed, shuffling closer towards him, and finally he looked up, eyes glossy and brows curled upward in a guilty expression.
“It wasn’t causal, none of it.”
He examined your face a moment, then continued.
“I like you a lot, y/n... I always have but—”
A sniffle then.
“But I was scared...scared that I’d get rejected, that- that I’d ruin everything we had built all these years.”
Your hands began to shake, eyes widening impossibly wider. He had been scared.
In a split second it seemed like your world flipped completely upside down. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, never.
"Then—then what about all those other girls...?"
You spoke quickly, the words stuttering out.
Michael’s jaw clenched, his eyes closing tight one of his trembling hands reaching up and covering his watery eyes.
“I liked you... so so much, but I was afraid..."
he squeezed his eyes even tighter.
“So I searched for distractions, hoping they’d make it all hurt less."
“Did they?" You pushed, wanting to hear him say the words.
Without even realizing you had shifted so much closer towards him and finally a little bit more stable now, your hand reached out, grabbing his, squeezing it tight, urging him to answer.
He flinched at the contact yet made no attempt to stop it, instead he didn’t hesitate to interlock his fingers with yours
"No... they didn’t help.”
“because—because they weren’t you."
He admitted, and finally the uncomfortable pit in your stomach seemed to ease. And the realization came soon after, crashing into you both revealing everything you had been so oblivious towards before.
You and Michael liked each other. All these years nothing was truly casual. You both were just fearful, unable to confess, scared of rejection. And more importantly... losing each other.
Your hand reached out, lifting his chin and forcing him to look you right in your eyes. This time your eyes held no pain nor frustration, but rather hope of a better future now.
Looking into his big brown eyes, you felt yourself getting once again emotional, and on impulse, your arms wrapped around his waist in a similar manner to the way you two always embraced . You held him tight like he would disappear if your grip faltered for even a second, and Michael, who had been holding everything back till now, responded quickly, his arms wrapping around you, swallowing your frame whole. You could almost feel the tension leave his body and faint heartbeat on your chest.
He was warm and smelled comfortably familiar his scent had become one you’d memorized over the years.
“I love you, Michael…"
In his arms, your voice was slightly muffled yet still comprehensible, and for the first time since he had entered through the door, a smile broke out onto his face as he squeezed you impossibly tighter.
"I love you too."
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Thank you guys so much for all the love on my previous posts!! I’m so so incredibly grateful and as a thank you here’s the awaited part two! I really hope this is satisfactory for you all I wasn’t quite sure how people wanted me to continue this but I let my heart and mind take the reigns! So hopefully you guys like this and as always if you have any requests I am taking them right now!
its late at night, which of course means more sweet mj thoughts. thinking of bsf!michael, who is very physically affectionate… you two fancy each other, but are too nervous to say it.
currently, you’re cozied up on the beautiful sofa in his extravagant living room. it’s sunset, and you’re each reading your own book. michael allows your legs to rest on his lap, with a knitted blanket draped over your cold body. his family teases you two, this is an everyday occurrence at this point, but you don’t ever think twice about if it’s platonic or not. it’s strictly platonic.
though… as you dig your nose deeper into the book, he sneaks his hand to your uncovered ankles, rubbing circles into your bare skin with his thumb. the sensation sends tingles throughout your body, and you’re no longer focused on the book, rather trying to hide your body’s reaction to this tender feeling. for michael, this is an act of love. it’s not inherently meaningless, but it’s just another way to express his deep love for his best friend. he glides his hand up to your foot to lightly massage you.
“mike,” you choke out a laugh, “i’m ticklish, you jerk!”
he laughs, moving his hand back down to your ankle, “‘m sorry, angel.”
“it’s okay mike,” your tone is soft and loving- this tiny banter made it feel like you’d been dating him for years… but this is what you two have convinced yourself friends do.
the graceful dance of his thumb was almost hypnotic. you felt yourself fall into his touch, and flutter your eyes shut.
michael looked over, “hmm?”
you peered up at him through your long lashes, not responding.
“someones tired,” he smiled.
you weakly shook your head, or you believe so. regardless, someone was tired. michael shifted out from beneath you, painting a frown on your face at the loss of touch. he picked up your drowsy body bridal style. you that clung on to his neck and dug your face into your best friends chest as he carried you upstairs. you were unbelievably tired, but you were entirely aware that when you grabbed onto the cotton of his shirt his heart skipped a beat- and he knew that the flex of his arms on your body never failed to make you blush. you two knew each others bodies too well to be just friends.
michael carried you upstairs to his dim bedroom and laid your sleepy body onto his fluffy mattress. he tucked you in, you noticed his smile faintly as you briefly opened your eyes. before he went to head out, he caressed your cheek with his hand. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t take a deep breath to smell his attractive and soothing scent. once you heard the door creak for him to leave, your eyebrows furrowed.
“where’re you goin,” your speech slurred, the exhaustion of the day entirely catching up to you.
“i’m gonna sleep on the couch,” he cherished the cute way you tried to fight sleep, “you can have the room.”
“nooo, mike,” you pouted.
your friend laughed, though frankly you did not find this very funny.
“it’s okay, pretty.”
“sleep here…” your voice drifted off.
he thought to himself, how could i resist her? within only a few moments, he climbed into bed with you. there wasn’t any cuddling, or touching, but michael was absolutely entranced by the beauty of your tired disposition. he’d give anything to sleep next to you all the time.
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Michael’s reader girlfriend started her cycle in the middle of the night and bleeds through the sheets.She’s so embarrassed;she tried to sneakily clean it up and that’s when Michael woke up. He wakes up because he didn’t feel her in the bed anymore (since she fell asleep in his arms)He reassures her that everything is fine and that they can wash the sheets.
Hurting 🩸❤️🩹
lmao i normally do like 3 square photos as a mini moodboard for my fic but i didn't know what to do this time so i settled for a gif
genre: fluff, one shot, comfort au, domestic au, established relationship, no mj era specified
content: you started menstruating in the middle of the night. feeling frustrated and embarrassed you had bled through the bedsheets, you tried to clean up without waking michael up but it didn’t go to plan. he coaxes you into letting him take care of you.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: fem!reader, no race specified for reader, menstruation/periods mentioned, blood mentioned, sanitary products mentioned (not specified), hygiene discussions, reader feels embarrassed, talks about emotional changes, gentle but firm mj (soft dom?)
a/n: i had to wrack my brain for this for a bit because periods are sensitive and every woman experiences them differently and i did my best to keep it simple/neutral and not go into ooc territory. tysm for the ask anon! hope i delivered what you were looking for.
shoutout to my moots @brownsugarletters @izzyy8 @stormatsea6 for helping me proofread/write this out as i bounced ideas off of them.
tags: @hannimite @cermoore @michaelssugarbby @miratate @liberiangirl7 @botdfaholic (dm me if you wanna be in the taglist)
Your subconscious forced you awake from your deep slumber before the pain in your abdomen did, the crippling heat under the blankets came afterwards. You released a deep breath to distract your brain from the overwhelming combination of debilitating pain and discomfort as your brain tried to wake up. You concluded it was the start of shark week and a muffled groan left your throat. Michael was fast asleep behind you, his soft breaths tickled the back of your neck, his arm was slung over your waist and your legs were tangled. Normally, you would bask in the intimacy of him spooning you within his warmth and you would snuggle right back but in the present time it was suffocating.
You flipped the blanket off your body before you shifted a little bit to crane your neck and check the damage and grimaced deeply- you had definitely bled through your pj’s. You slowly removed Michael’s arm from its grip on your waist and shifted to untangle your legs from under his and hoisted yourself off the bed, immediately feeling relief from the warmth radiating from his body and being cocooned under the covers. You hobbled your way into the bathroom, turned on the light and winced at the stark lighting momentarily blinding you, and shut the door as quickly but quietly as possible to not wake your sleeping beau up before you flung open the cabinet to grab your sanitary product of choice. You slid off your now crimson stained bottoms off and put them in the laundry basket, you set up your towel and the sanitary product for easy reach, and hopped in the shower. You used the handheld showerhead to thoroughly clean off your lower half. It was a race against time to dry off before you started bleeding again but you managed to pull it off with shaky hands and then you made quick use of the sanitary product.
You cursed at yourself for not grabbing a pair of underwear or pj bottoms or anything which meant you had to go back out into the bedroom where Michael was still sleeping to look for some. At least it was dark enough that you could sneak around. With the quietness of a mouse, you opened the bathroom door, leaving it open in the tiniest sliver to use it as light as you moved to the closet to rummage for something to wear. You managed to pull out some loose boy shorts with your fingers, you let your towel drop and you quickly slipped them on.
Now came the next task of cleaning up the blood on the sheets. You couldn’t pull the sheets off because Michael was sleeping, his breathing was steady as he laid on his back now. You moved close to the bed to check the damage dealt, relieved to see it was only a bit of spotting. With nimble footsteps akin to a feline, you quietly left the bedroom to go digging in the laundry room for some detergent and a small brush which you slightly wetted under the sink. You walked back to the bedroom and quietly made your way to the bed. You began to pour a tiny bit of the detergent and used the wet brush to gently scrub away the blood on the bedsheet.
You were a few moments into scrubbing when you froze in your spot like a deer in headlights because Michael stirred before he moved to his side, facing you. Maybe it was the bit of light creeping from the bathroom, or the sound of your scrubbing or the cold feeling replacing you in the bed but it looked like he was waking up. “Mmm, baby?” he slurred as his arm reached for you, still in the vestiges of sleep but he was quickly made aware that you weren’t next to him and his eyes slowly opened to see you hovering over the bed. “What’s wrong?” he slowly rose with an elbow propped up. Even in the limited lighting, you could still make out his figure on the bed. He still looked adorable with his doe eyes blinking to rid them of the sleep plaguing him and his glossy hair mussed from sleep. “Did I wake you?” you asked, guilt coated your voice. You knew he struggled with sleep and the one time he managed to stay asleep for the night, you had interrupted him. “No, I just couldn’t feel you in bed. Now tell me, what’s wrong ma?” he answered, his eyes fell on your side of the bed before understanding dawned on him.
“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep, baby, I’ll join you soon. Promise.” you reassured him as you continued to scrub the bloodstain. He quickly flung off the covers and got out of bed to move to the end of the room to turn on the lights and now everything could be seen clearly. He came back to the bed on your side. “Mich-” you began but paused when he grabbed your wrist gently to stop you from scrubbing. He grabbed your shoulders and looked deep into your eyes, as if sternly telling you to stop protesting. He reached down to lift the bedsheet from the corner. “It’s okay I was cleaning it. You can go back to sleep.” you said as you grabbed his arm. He said nothing but in one swift yet gentle maneuver he had lifted you in his arms bridal style before he plopped you down on the chair at your vanity. “Baby, please go back to bed.” you said, your voice wobbled at the end as you felt embarrassed and insecure because he figured it out and guilty for waking him up in the middle of the night. He crouched down at your feet as he rubbed your knees tenderly, “You’re hurting. Let me take care of you, mama. It’s okay.” You shook your head as you moved to get up, and he gripped your hips to keep you seated, “Sit down, [reader].”
He had said your name. Not a pet name or a nickname but your name. You sat at the vanity but still quietly simmered in your embarrassment and guilt. Michael had been with you long enough to know you didn’t want to ask him for help with anything, and it hurt his heart but he understood. He also understood that sometimes you just needed to be handled sternly instead of letting you do what you thought you had to do. With time, his relationship with you has taught him how to tend to you, even when you felt stubborn or a bit sensitive, and didn't want his help because he learned when and how to use his better judgment. Now it was his time to take care of his lady and he’d be damned if was going to sit back and watch her suffer in silence when he could be doing something to help ease her pain.
Michael moved back to the bed and checked the blankets to see if they got stained. “Baby, it’s gross. Please I can-” you insisted. “It’s not gross.” he said, cutting you off. He immediately stopped fussing with the blankets and walked over to you to kneel at your feet again. He gently clasped your hands in his, brushing a soft kiss on your knuckles, “It’s natural. Your body is going through a lot of changes right now. I can’t take your pain away. God, I wish I could.” He paused, his voice was incredibly tender as he took a small breath and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles, maybe to calm you or maybe to mull his words over, “It hurts me to see you hurting. But I can help you with things without making a fuss. I want to. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I plan to spend my entire life with you and I’ve been with you long enough, angel. You think I care about some blood?”
Your eyes were already teary as you stared down at your hands in his warm grasp, your emotions went into overdrive, feeling overwhelmed but gratitude was the standout feeling as you sniffled. You couldn’t help some of the tears dropping on Michael’s large hands. One of his hands moved to caress your cheek with such reverence that your heart stuttered in your chest. Still on his knees, his hand cradled your jaw before he reached up to press a tender kiss to your lips. All your reservations melted away as your own hands reached to cup his slender face. He parted the kiss and gently wiped away your tears with his thumbs, “Now sit still and let me take care of you, woman.” he said as he stood up, his voice held some humour and that made you smile as you sat meekly, all your complaints had finally died down.
Michael walked to the bed to fold the blankets into a rough lump as he looked around the room for a spot, not wanting to put them on the floor. “Here, I can hold them.” you said and your hands reached out to receive them. He smiled sheepishly as he made his way to you and plopped the blankets on your lap. He giggled, essentially seeing a mound of fluff piled up to your chest and you giggled with him. Michael then aggressively pulled the sheets and bundled them up before he tossed them on the floor, his frantic actions made you quietly laugh from your spot at the vanity. He then walked to the closet to pull out a new set of sheets and unfurled them while he walked to the bed. He made quick work of placing the new sheets and changed the pillow covers just as quickly. He walked over to you to grab the blankets from your hold and laid them over the new sheets. All of the work was done with efficiency and without any fuss, it made you wonder why you were embarrassed to begin with and denied his care.
“Get in bed, mama. I’ll be right back.” he spoke softly as he fluffed your pillows some more and left the room after carrying the dirty sheets, the brush and detergent you grabbed from the laundry room. You went to the toilet to do your business, you made sure to check your sanitary product and there was no leakage. You released a deep breath, exhausted beyond explanation as you left the bathroom and walked to the now clean bed and settled under the covers. Michael came back with a tray and he kicked the door shut before he placed the tray on your bedside table and he said, "We'll worry about the laundry tomorrow." He lifted a cup with some pale yellow liquid and gave it to you, “Here drink this. Chamomile tea and some ginger.” You grasped the warm cup in your hands, blowing a few times before taking a tentative sip and your face pinched up in a grimace. He snorted before he tucked a stray hair behind your ear gently, “I know sweetheart, but I promise it’ll make you feel better.”
You looked up at him, “Can you turn down the aircon? I feel a bit warm.” He said nothing but moved to the temperature controls and did as you asked. He then moved to gently place the back of his hand on your forehead and neck, checking if you were feverish. You said nothing as you secretly folded under his touch and felt giddy that he was doting on you. “You don’t seem sick. Are you feeling better?” he concluded. You nodded, “Much. Thank you.” This made him beam with a boyish grin. You had finally finished your tea, the cooler temperature made you comfortable enough to feel drowsy as you lifted your legs on the bed. “Do you want some painkillers?” Michael asked tentatively. You shook your head as you looked up at him, your eyes felt heavier than before, “Just want you.” His heart may as well have melted into a puddle on the floor.
Michael walked to the other end of the room to turn off the lights before he walked back to the bed and quickly got under the covers. The both of you shifted closer to each other, his arm went under your head while his other hand rested over your tummy as he began to gently massage in soothing, circular motions. His hand was big and warm, it was akin to a heat pack. “You’ll always have me, baby.” he said softly and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You tried to scoot further into his hold which made Michael hold you tighter and tangle your legs together, as sleep slowly creeped into your mind. Michael continued to massage your stomach, around your waist, back, hips and thighs, coaxing you into sleep sooner. Your breathing had evened out soon after his soothing touches. “I love you.” he said as he pressed another kiss behind your ear, his voice was barely a whisper but the devotion in it was loud.
masterlist
DISCLAIMER: My writing is my own work and from my own mind. I do NOT use use generative AI. Please do not reuse or reupload my works as your own or on other platforms. Please do not use my works for translational purposes.
Best friend Michael always wants to be around you, spending whatever time possible. During even the most boring tasks hes always right there next to you entertaining you or just quietly keeping company.
• Folding another pair of pants and adding them to the stack of clothes you had already completed Michael was sat behind you arms wrapped snug around your waist and head tucked in your neck presses soft pecks onto the flesh. “Mike are you here to help me or just sit there?” you questioned sighing already anticipating the answer you knew all too well. “I’ll help…soon” he hummed into your neck not even caring too look up or make his words sound believable, Goodness the audacity of this man.
Best friend Michael Who always stole a kiss from you no matter where, when, or who was around. Even a small peck from you was enough to brighten up his day and though sometimes you questioned how platonic it truly was he never gave you a chance to think too read too deep into it, besides you didn’t want him to stop either so why question it..?
• Earlier that day you had gotten a quick call from Michael asking you to come over to the studio telling you about how much how much he missed you and just needed a break for a minute. Without thinking twice you agreed promising you’d come over the moment you were free. Which led to now you standing infront the studio door knocking at the door with 3 soft knocks, you weren’t kept waiting long as your ears perked up at the soft sound of shuffling feet from the opposite side of the door slowly pulling it open and revealing Michael in the inside a wide toothed grin on his face as he let you inside exchanging greetings he didn’t waste a second before pulling you In close by your hips and pressing a soft kiss against your lips. The gesture was no longer anything foreign to you both having exchanged kisses more time than you could count. Anyone who’d seen you two would probably assume you both as lovers but you guys were always just nothing more than best friends.
Best friend Michael Who always got an unnerving pit of jealousy in stomach watching you interact with other guys or even talk about another man when with him. You always found it a bit strange you weren’t even dating yet he would get so disgustingly jealous. If he ever found out about you hanging out with another guy or worse go on a date he’d get upset and refuse any interaction with you, he’d let all your calls go straight to voicemail and just vanish completely from your life till you eventually groveled and swore to never do such a thing ever again. To sum it up he’d just basically make it his life mission to make sure you regret ever pulling a stunt like that again.
• Mike just please tell me why you’re angry..” you begged basically on the verge of tears he had been ignoring you a full week refusing to take your calls and see you at all. He wasn’t always like this when angry often times he’s be willing to talk it out but most of all Michael almost never got angry. So when he did it felt like absolute hell. You’d be deprived of all his time and attention left with nothing but cold hard silence. Finally for the first time in a week he spoke “why’d you go on a date with him?” The tone in his voice sent a cold shiver down your spine he was real angry “with who Mike..? You felt your voice tremble just slightly trying to think back on who he was talking about when suddenly the faint flash of a guys face echoed in your mind..ohh him.. you though to your head you didnt even remember the poor guys name! Yet michael had gotten all worked up. Slowly you made your way over too Michael who right now had his back facing you restricting you any view of his face and likely to hide all the waves of emotions he was feeling right now. Unsure of what to do you did the only thing you were capable of at the moment and walked up to him wrapping your arms around his waist and resting the side of your head onto his shoulderblade you pressed a soft peck right there squeezing him tight before speaking slowly.. “Michael I’m sorry..” you paused for a moment letting him take in the sincerity of your apology before continuing “I shouldn’t have gone on that date and I promise… it’ll never happen again” at last he began to turn around facing you after what felt like ages. You looked up at him with the best pleading eyes you could possibly muster up “forgive me.. please.?” you spoke with caution arms wrapping tightly around him batting your lashes trying to win over his forgiveness. His arms finally wrapped around your figure he looked down at you allowing you too catch a glance of his eyes you spotted nothing but sadness and gosh you felt your heart break. “Just don’t do it again please” he took a quick breathe “not when I’m here..” chewing on your lip you nodded with a soft hum. “Words” he reminded and you complied embarrassingly quick “got it Michael..” seemingly pleased with your answer he wrapped his arms tighter around you pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.
And finally Best friend Michael who everyone now assumes is your boyfriend considering your behavior toward one another from shared kisses, too jumbled feeling your dynamic was difficult to understand not just for outsiders but yourselves as well. Things weren’t easy and they didn’t make much sense but you’d both figure it out as long as you had each other..
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Guys is this a safe place to admit that I LOVE the undefined relationship trope like ugh something about it is just soooooo yummy 🤤
Anyways….
Congrats!! and thank you >-< If you made it this far if you liked this fic then check out some of my others!!
summary: you and michael haven’t seen each other in weeks. as he waits for you to get home, his curiosity (aka: nosiness) gets the better of him and he discovers the one thing you hoped he would never find. (and he’s never gonna let you live it down)
pairing: pre-thriller!era Michael Jackson x Reader
w/c: 7.5k
notes: inspired by this fic by @brownsugarletters. she is amazing and kindly gave me permission to use her story as inspiration 🩷
fluff ahead with a touch of comedic ridiculousness!!! michael is a nosy lil shit and menace in this fic… but we love him for it.
reader is a nurse, but it's not a huge plot point. she’s briefly described as shorter than michael but otherwise physical description is kept vague.
there may be some timeline inconsistencies and a touch of cringiness, but i hope you enjoy 🩷
disclaimer: i give absolutely no one permission use my writing to train AI ‼️ (also…… heavy use of em dashes ahead—shield ur eyes if ur illiterate)
masterlist • ao3
Michael is halfway through zipping his jacket up when the phone rings.
The room is washed in that late-afternoon haze that makes everything feel a little softer, a little quieter—settling over Hayvenhurst like a sigh.
His overnight bag sits neatly by the door, having been packed and ready to go for hours now. He’s been ready to leave all day, practically buzzing at the thought of finally seeing you, of getting to spend the whole weekend together, counting down to the occasion like a holiday.
It had been far too long since you’d shared more than a rushed phone call or sleepy goodnight. With him confined to the studio working on Thriller, and you drowning in back-to-back hospital shifts, you had been living on opposite schedules for weeks. This weekend was the first time they had aligned in what felt like forever.
He crosses the room to where the phone sits on his nightstand, and picks up. “Hello?”
“Oh, thank goodness you haven’t left yet!” Your voice bursts through the speaker in a breathless rush.
“Hey, pretty girl,” He says, plopping down on the edge of the bed, smiling at the sound of your voice. “Y’alright?”
“I’m fine,” you respond. In the background he can hear the typical hospital noise—the clatter of something in the distance, overhead pages, phones ringing urgently—a chaotic soundtrack he’s grown used to hearing whenever you call him from work. “I’m just… held up. Again.”
He can picture you clearly: scrubs wrinkled, hair messily pulled back, your foot tapping as you anxiously fiddle with the phone cord.
“Let me guess… Your coworker?”
“Yes,” you groan. “The same one. Late, again! I swear she lives in a different time zone.”
Michael chuckles under his breath, trying to ignore the slight pang of disappointment in his chest at the thought of your long-awaited plans being delayed. He didn’t want to make you feel even worse. “I was about to head downstairs for Bill.”
”I know, I know, and I’m sorry, baby.” You say quickly. “But listen—I still want you to come over. Just head over to my place. Use your key.”
The key.
Even after months of having it, the reminder of it still makes something flutter in his chest. His palm lands softly on his front pocket, where the small silver key sits on its own ring.
You had tried to be nonchalant as you handed it to him, but he hadn’t missed the way you blushed and stumbled over your words when offering it—still nervous and giddy around one another despite nearly two years together.
”You sure?” He asks, now having taken the key out of his pocket, fiddling with the cold metal between his fingers.
“Positive.” You assure him. “I’ll only be an hour… or two. Tops.”
Your voice lowers. “And before you say anything—I bought groceries this time.”
He blinks, chuckling at your declaration. “You did?”
“Yes, Michael. Real groceries. My refrigerator now contains more than stale bread and expired milk.”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything!” He laughs again, warm and bright.
“You absolutely were!” You counter. “But you can’t, because I stocked up on your favorites.”
That gets him.
He feels it—the soft, quiet bloom of warmth in the center of his chest at the feeling of being considered. You’re tired, juggling a dozen things at once, and still, you thought of him.
”Alright,” he says, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he stands up to zip his jacket the rest of the way. “I’ll head over now.”
”Good.” You say, a smile in your voice. “Make yourself at home, okay?”
He bites his lip shyly; smiling at nothing, at everything. “I always do.”
There’s a small pause—the kind that only happens when neither of you wants to be the first to hang up.
“I love you,” you say softly.
His smile deepens, that feeling in his chest growing even warmer. “I love you too, baby. See you soon.”
You both linger for a beat before the line finally goes quiet.
By the time Michael arrives at your apartment, the sun has dipped low enough to paint the sky in soft pinks and golds. He thanks Bill, throws his bag over his shoulder, and exits the vehicle with a quiet, eager energy he hasn’t felt in weeks.
It’s been too long—too many late nights for him in the studio, too many early mornings for you at the hospital, too many missed calls and ‘sorry baby, I just got home,’ messages, and he misses you.
He misses this—the simple act of spending the weekend with his girlfriend.
He reaches your door, pulling out his key and slipping it into the lock.
He steps inside and closes it behind him with a soft click, shrugging off his jacket and draping it neatly over the back of a chair. He toes off his loafers with a relieved sigh, nudging them aside neatly with a soft scrape against the floor.
He exhales, shoulders finally relaxing as he takes in the space.
He loves your apartment, he always has; each and every corner a reminder and reflection of you.
Photos line the walls—some crooked, some perfectly straight—more stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets. Knickknacks and trinkets cover every shelf and surface; mismatched decor, tiny animal figurines from your childhood, little gifts he’s given you over the years.
Your books and record collection are neatly arranged, meanwhile a heap of mail is stacked in a slightly chaotic pile on the counter. A few dishes from breakfast sit in the sink. Your diplomas hang proudly on the wall outside of your bedroom. Below, a small mountain of laundry waits patiently on the floor.
It’s lived-in. It’s warm. Clean, despite the clutter. It smells like you—familiar and comforting.
He smiles to himself, wandering further into the kitchen. When he opens the fridge, he actually laughs out loud. You really did buy groceries.
An unopened gallon of orange juice sits front and center: a blue post-it with your handwriting pasted to the front of the jug: “for angel face <3”
He blushes, shaking his head at your shameless flirting, and is about to close the door when something on the fridge catches his eye—a photo tucked under a magnet shaped like a strawberry.
A photo of him.
It was taken the night of the Off The Wall release party in 1979. He’s smiling wide, laughing at something or someone outside of the frame. He has a hand in the pocket of his blue jacket and he balances on roller skates.
He remembers the night vividly—but not because of the party.
Because of you.
Michael’s smile softens as the memory pulls him in—
The rink was buzzing that night—music loud, neon lights spinning, people laughing as they wobbled around on skates.
You were working part-time at the roller rink—juggling shifts between nursing school classes and study groups. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills. You were behind the rental counter that evening, exhausted and burnt out, but still smiling at everyone who came your way.
Then Michael walked in with his friends and family, and the whole atmosphere of the room shifted.
Of course, you had recognized him—all of them, actually—instantly. Aside from being a fan, you knew the group was coming, your manager having told the whole crew in advance about the party being held in honor of Michael Jackson releasing his new solo album, Off The Wall. You were all under strict instructions not to make a scene—or swoon—when they arrived.
The same could not be said for Michael himself, though.
He had walked into the room excited and proud, ready to finally celebrate the album he had worked so hard on with some of his favorite people, but the moment he saw you, he stopped in his tracks. Completely.
You were laughing at something a coworker said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear when he felt it—a sudden, ridiculous flutter in his chest.
“Mike,” Jackie nudged him. “You good?”
He didn’t answer. He was too busy staring.
“Earth to Michael,” Tito added, waving a hand in front of his face.
Nothing. He was hopelessly, helplessly smitten at the sight of you in your cute little uniform, totally oblivious to his swooning just ten feet away.
When he finally approached the counter to collect his skates (or was he shoved?), you looked up at him with that bright, open smile—the one he would eventually come to love more than anything—and he was speechless. Utterly speechless. As in, literally unable to form words.
“What size?” You had asked, pen poised over the rental sheet.
He didn’t respond. He simply stared at you—openly, hopelessly—essentially forgetting the whole reason he was there the second he laid eyes on you.
”Um… what size skates do you need?” You repeated, blushing.
He blinked, snapping out of it. “Oh—sorry! Uh, size… nine? Yeah, nine. Please.”
You handed him the skates, trying not to be too obvious as you stared into his pretty brown eyes.
“Happy birthday,” you had said, shy but sincere as you recalled the date.
He smiled, but shook his head. “Thank you, but… we’re actually here to celebrate the release of my new album. Would you like a copy?”
He gestured to the box his team had brought with them—signed copies of the album to give to the staff as a ‘thank you’ for hosting the party.
“Oh! I would but I… kinda already have one.”
He blinked. “You do?”
You nodded, a blush rising to your cheeks. “I stood in line for hours at the record store this morning. I’m…kind of a big fan.”
His heart did a full somersault at that, his smile turning boyish and shy. “Well, then… you should have a signed one too.”
Before you could protest out of sheer politeness, he reached into the box and handed one to you, trying not to become flustered as your hands accidentally brushed.
He giggled nervously as you thanked him, quickly disappearing into the crowd in hopes of not embarrassing himself further.
He tried to act normal the remainder of the night, he really did, but he failed. Miserably.
Every few minutes, he’d drift dangerously close to the wall because he was craning his neck to catch another glimpse of you. At one point, he’d nearly collided with a group of kids doing tricks, almost wiping out himself.
His brothers noticed—because of course they did— and didn’t hesitate to tease him mercilessly.
”I’m not!” Michael protested, while actively staring.
”Uh-huh,” Tito adds. “Our little Mikey’s in love.”
“Shut up Tito!” He hisses under his breath, cheeks becoming hotter by the minute.
”Just go talk to her!” Jackie urged.
“I did talk to her,” Michael shoots back, his cheeks turning more and more red the further they taunt him.
”Yeah,” Marlon said. “And you stared at her like a lovesick fool. Go ask for her number, you pathetic schmuck.”
By the end of the night, after watching him sneak glances and make a fool of himself for hours, the entire group had had enough. Marlon himself eventually grabbed Michael by the shoulders, and physically shoved him toward the rental counter.
”Go. Now. Before I do it for you.”
”Marlon!” Michael hisses, mortified, heart hammering in his chest as he stumbled toward you. If he were being truthful, the only thing worse than him making a move and being rejected was the thought of Marlon making a move and getting your number instead.
He set the pair of skates on the counter—harsher than intended—and immediately began rambling. “Uh—hi. I mean—hello. Again. I just, uh, wanted to return these. The skates. Obviously. And also I—well—I was wondering if maybe, if it’s not too forward or anything—if I could, um…have your number? Your… phone number?”
You froze, jaw falling open in shock as he babbled, totally unconvinced that you weren’t simply daydreaming.
Taking your silence as rejection, Michael immediately began to regret all of his life decisions and had opened his mouth to backtrack when you began to scramble wildly for anything to write on—a receipt, a napkin, a scrap of paper, anything.
You finally settle on a crumpled up candy wrapper and scribble your number down with shaky hands, and hand it to him, your fingers brushing once again, sparks igniting at the brief contact.
You both pretend not to hear his brothers hooting and cheering in the background.
-
Michael closes the refrigerator door gently, continuing to smile fondly at the photo. The memory continues to unfold—not just that night, but everything that followed.
The truth was, you never expected him to actually call.
You were flattered of course, dizzy with disbelief. You had practically floated home that night, clutching the signed album to your chest as if it were made of gold.
But you knew who he was: famous, busy, traveling the world and performing for millions of people. And you were just… well, you: an ordinary girl working part-time at a roller rink trying to survive college.
But he did call. The very next day, actually.
You were in the middle of studying for an exam when the phone rang. Then you heard his voice—soft and shy—and you nearly dropped the receiver.
“It’s Michael. Remember? From the roller rink…?” He had said. You had to hold back a giggle at his introduction—acting as if he were just some random guy who had asked for your number, and not Michael Jackson himself.
You didn’t get any more studying done that night, the call lasting hours.
He called the next day too. And the day after that. And the day after that.
Even when he was on the road, even when you were drowning in exams and clinical rotations, you talked. Somehow, no matter how chaotic life became, the two of you always made time for each other—sometimes five minutes, sometimes hours, and sometimes just enough to say “I miss you.”
You had clicked instantly.
Not simply as a crush, but as friends—real friends. The kind who could talk about everything and nothing without ever running out of things to say.
The kind who laughed until your stomachs hurt, the kind who felt strangely familiar from the very beginning—saying things to one another that you had never said out loud to another soul.
It wasn’t long before he asked you on a date, and it took even less time for him to ask you to be his girlfriend.
His first girlfriend. His first everything. And he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
You had fit into his world with an ease that surprised everyone around you. His sisters adored you. His mother welcomed you with open arms, always insisting you stay for dinner or come by whenever you had time. Even Joseph tolerated your presence… well, somewhat—which was about as high of a compliment as you could get from that man, so Michael took it as a win.
His brothers teased the both of you relentlessly, flirting with you shamelessly simply to get under Michael’s skin. You never missed a beat, though, effortlessly putting them in their place with a quick comeback or humbling retort—and they loved you for it.
Michael loved you even more for it.
He loved the way you held your own with his family, the way you made him laugh, the way you treated him like a person rather than a superstar. He loved the way you made everything feel lighter on even the heaviest days.
It wasn’t until your third date—a quiet dinner with the two of you sitting close enough that your knees brushed beneath the table—that you finally admitted to him that the night at the roller rink hadn’t actually been the first time you met.
Months earlier, you and a friend had won a radio contest—front row tickets to The Jacksons’ Destiny Tour that included a meet and greet with the group.
When you told him, he was absolutely devastated. ‘You were there? And I didn’t remember you?’ His voice had gone soft, quivering slightly as if he had failed you somehow.
You reached across the table, grasping his hand. ‘Michael, don’t be silly. You were exhausted. And it was so quick, you probably met hundreds of fans that day.’
Still, he was crushed. In his mind, he was mourning the extra months he could have had with you. You, on the other hand, seemed… relieved? “Honestly…I’m kind of glad you don’t remember.”
“Why?” He blinked.
“I mean…” You shrugged, cheeks growing hot as you tried to deflect. “I was so excited to meet you all. I probably embarrassed myself.”
He was sure that wasn’t true—you were always perfect in his eyes. You insisted though, so he let it go and he accepted your reassurance, despite his disappointment.
Michael finally shakes himself from the memory, feeling hopelessly lovesick as he tears himself away from the photo. You couldn’t get home soon enough.
A half hour slips by before Michael grows restless. He tries to be patient—really, he does.
The first ten minutes pass easily enough.
He puts on one of your records, something he knows you like, letting the music fill the quiet of your apartment. He sits on the couch for a while, stretching out and tapping his fingers against his knees, humming along to the soft tunes.
Another ten minutes pass. He checks the clock. Then checks it again two minutes later.
He even considers taking a nap, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes for a moment. But the stillness of the apartment, the soft hum of the record spinning and the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air all make him restless in a way he can’t quite shake.
Then, his curiosity wins out. It always does.
He tells himself he’s not snooping. He’s just… looking around. Appreciating the space. He really tries to believe it, but after a few minutes of wandering around the living room with his hands in his pockets, he sighs and admits it to himself:
Alright. He’s snooping.
It’s a terrible habit—one he’s had since he was a little boy. He’s always been endearingly curious, poking around drawers and closets he had no business opening. His mother used to scold him for it constantly, telling him it was bad manners and just plain rude.
He should know better by now, he really should—but he can’t help it. He loves your space—loves the little pieces of you tucked into every corner, and he never gets tired of learning things about you that you never think to mention. It makes him feel closer to you, even when you're not there.
And, frankly, you should have known better than to leave him unattended and bored.
He starts with the bookshelf, running a finger along the spines of your novels and old nursing school textbooks. At the end, a few cookbooks.
He snorts softly. You own cookbooks.
You, who barely has time to buy groceries, let alone cook. He shakes his head in amusement, imagining you optimistically buying them and then promptly forgetting they exist. He pulls one out and quickly leafs through it—finding not a single page dog-eared, nor one stain or smudge. He snickers under his breath before sliding it back into place.
And that’s when he spots it—a thick, slightly worn high school yearbook wedged in at the end.
He pulls it out carefully, glancing nervously toward the door like you’re about to walk in at that exact moment, then settles onto the couch with it resting on his lap. He examines the pages slowly—scanning the class photos and candid shots of students laughing in hallways. It takes him less than a minute to find you.
He spots your photo and immediately breaks into a grin that he couldn’t hide even if he tried. You look younger, of course—softer around the edges and hair styled differently, but still undeniably you.
He giggles under his breath, tracing the edge of the photo with his thumb. He reads the messages your classmates wrote to you in the margins—grinning at the inside jokes he doesn’t understand and the sweet notes from friends he’s never met.
He wonders, not for the first time, how differently things would have turned out if the two of you had gone to school together—if he’d seen you in the hallways, or sat behind you in class, or watched you laugh with your friends at lunch.
Would you have gone to prom together? Went to football games hand-in-hand? The thought makes him smile, then laugh softly at himself.
Who was he kidding? He was nearly too shy to talk to you when he met you at age twenty-one. If he had met you as a teenager, he probably would have tripped over his own feet trying to say hello.
He allows himself another moment of reminiscing before putting the yearbook away where he found it.
He continues exploring. On the bottom shelf of your TV stand, he finds an old shoebox with a lid that doesn’t quite close all the way. He hesitates for barely a second before picking it up and lifting the lid.
Inside is a jumble of old memories—some new, some old: friendship bracelets, faded movie tickets, a few Polaroids, some photo negatives, a folded note or two. He smiles as he sifts through them, careful not to bend or misplace anything. It feels like flipping through a scrapbook of your life before he knew you.
Then, he finds something else tucked near the bottom of the box—a bundle of photos with a rubber band holding them together. He pulls them out gently.
On top is a ticket stub—The Jacksons’ Destiny World Tour. 1979.
Jackpot. He thinks to himself, immediately sliding the rubber band off and beginning to look through the photos—grainy, slightly overexposed shots of the stage. The crowd. Him and his brothers mid-dance.
Then he finds one that makes his heart skip a beat: a photo of him—he’s mid-spin, completely unaware that somewhere in the crowd, a girl he hadn’t met yet was watching him with a camera in her hands. The girl he would fall in love with.
The girl he would marry someday—he’s sure of it.
He continues flipping through the stack of photos, settling deeper into the couch. He recognizes some of the photos, you had shown them to him before, back when you first told him about the concert you attended.
He had to coax you into letting him see them at all—he recalls how shy you were, insisting they were so embarrassing. Michael disagreed.
He flips to a photo of you and your friend outside of the venue, both of you pointing excitedly at the billboard advertising the tour. You’re both grinning so wide it looks painful.
You both wear white t-shirts: “The Jacksons” and “Destiny Tour 1979” spelled out in bright lettering across the front, the design clearly homemade. He had tried to tease you about the DIY project when you originally showed him the photos, but he’d barely gotten a sentence out before you smacked his arm playfully and told him to hush.
“We were broke college students! We had to make our own merch!”
He remembers laughing—he had never seen someone look so adorably proud in a t-shirt they had designed themselves with a pack of fabric markers.
He moves onto the next photo, another shot of the two of you outside the venue, this time with your arms thrown around each other mid-laugh, the crowd buzzing behind you. He can feel the energy radiating from the photo—the anticipation, the excitement, the electricity.
Then, he reaches the first photo from the meet-and-greet.
He’s seen his photo before too, but for some reason, it hits him differently this time. Maybe it’s because he’s sitting in your apartment, surrounded by your things, thinking about your history all afternoon.
There he is—right in the middle, where he was always positioned.
You’re sandwiched between him and Marlon, and your friend stands on the opposite side between him and Randy.
Him and his brothers look exhausted—sweaty, flushed, hair sticking to their foreheads—but they’re smiling, bright and genuine, still riding the adrenaline high from the performance. Always excited and grateful to meet fans.
Michael can’t stop looking at you in the photo; so young, so excited and unbelievably cute.
It still drives him crazy that he can’t remember you. He knows he shouldn’t feel bad— he’s told himself that a million times. It was after a show, he was exhausted. You were one face in a sea of faces.
But still.
He wishes he remembered you, that he had noticed you that day, that he had looked up and seen the girl who would someday become the most important person in his life.
He flips through the rest of the photos with a quiet fondness, taking his time with each one as the stack gets smaller and smaller.
Then he reaches the last photo and freezes, nearly dropping the whole pile in surprise.
He’s never seen this one, he’s sure of it. He would have remembered.
It's another shot taken in front of the venue, but this one was taken from behind—you and your friend standing with your backs to the camera, hips popped out dramatically, each of you pointing your thumbs toward writing on the backs of your DIY t-shirts, the lettering bold and bright.
Written on the back of your friend’s shirt:
‘Randy’s #1 Girl’
On yours?
‘Marlon’s #1 Girl’
Michael’s jaw drops.
Then, he bursts out laughing. It's loud, sudden and completely unrestrained—the sound surprising even himself. He doubles forward, hand flying over his mouth, shoulders shaking. His cheeks flush, partly from amusement, and partly from the sheer irony of it all.
“Oh… oh lord…” He wheezes, wiping at his eyes.
He should be jealous, he thinks.
And a year or two ago, he probably would have spiraled—making up all sorts of ridiculous scenarios in his head, convincing himself you would have preferred someone else, letting his insecurities gnaw at him until he was sick.
Maybe he is a little jealous, just a tiny bit.
But more than that? He’s delighted. Absolutely thrilled.
Because this—this—is leverage. Real leverage. The kind he never gets with you.
You almost always have the upper hand when it comes to teasing.
You’re quick, clever, merciless in the most affectionate way. You know exactly how to fluster him, exactly how to make him blush, exactly how to get him sputtering and defensive.
He tosses the rest of the stack to the side and holds the photo up, grinning like he just discovered buried treasure.
“Girl… you are never living this down.” He murmurs to himself.
Admittedly, if it were anyone else, perhaps he would have been jealous, but it's not anyone else. It’s Marlon.
You and Marlon bicker like you were siblings yourselves—loud, dramatic, ridiculous, and completely harmless. Michael has never once felt threatened by your relationship with any of his brothers. Even if he does get irritated at times, he knows their natural flirtiness is just part of who they are, and you’ve always handled it with humor and a scathing comeback.
Besides, it was Marlon himself who gave him the final shove toward you at the roller rink. A fact that his older brother likes to bring up constantly, essentially crediting your entire relationship to his self-proclaimed matchmaking genius.
Michael leans back into the couch, snickering to himself.
He cannot wait for you to walk through that door.
-
You finally pull into your driveway, turning off the engine and letting your head fall back against the seat for a moment, closing your eyes and letting out the kind of long, heavy sigh that only comes after a shift that lasted far too long.
What was supposed to be a normal twelve-hour shift had stretched into fifteen—cutting into your perfect evening with Michael—all because your stupid coworker was late. Again.
You’d spent the last few hours trying not to fall asleep on your feet, counting down the minutes until you could go home and fall into his arms.
You’re exhausted in that bone-deep way that only healthcare workers understand. All you want to do is to peel everything off and stand under a hot shower until the day melts off of your skin.
Preferably with your very pretty boyfriend in there with you.
Despite the exhaustion, though, a spark of energy remains humming beneath your ribs—the excitement that’s been building for days.
Because the rest of the night belongs only to you and Michael—movies, snacks, and a whole weekend with no interruptions, no opposite schedules, and no rushed phone calls squeezed in between responsibilities.
Just the two of you, finally in the same place at the same time.
It had been too long—truly too long.
You’re so incredibly proud of him—of the work he’s pouring into Thriller, of the long nights and early mornings he spends in his studio, of the way he talks about his music like it’s alive—an entity of itself.
You can’t wait to hear the final record. You have no doubt that the sneak-peeks and demos he sometimes lets you hear do no justice to the finished project.
But more than anything, you can’t wait to have him to yourself for a little while.
The thought of coming home to him tonight makes your heart flutter in a way you try not to think too hard about—especially when it’s quickly followed by the thought of coming home to him everyday.
The idea of moving in together has crossed your mind more than once—slipping in between late-night phone calls and early mornings when you’re half-awake and missing him more than anything.
You wouldn’t have to worry about going weeks without seeing each other if you shared the same bed every night and woke up next to each other every morning.
Maybe soon. Maybe once the album is out. Maybe when life slows down just enough for the two of you to breathe at the same time.
You gather your things—your bag, your change of shoes, the lunch you never had time to eat—and step out of your car into the cool evening air.
Your body aches, your feet hurt, and you’re dog-tired, but none of that matters because Michael—your Michael—is inside waiting for you, and suddenly the day doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.
The moment you push open your apartment door, the familiar warmth of home wraps around you like a blanket—the soft lamplight, a hint of vanilla from a candle Michael must have lit while waiting for you, soft hum of a record spinning in the background, and a whiff of his cologne coming from his jacket draped over the chair closest to the door.
You barely step one foot inside the threshold when you hear it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps hurriedly making their way toward you.
Then Michael appears—or rather, launches himself into the room—skidding around the corner. He couldn’t possibly look more goofy as his socked-feet slide a little on the hardwood and he catches himself on the wall.
He straightens himself quickly, like he meant to do that, and hadn’t just sprinted toward you like a puppy greeting its owner. He tries to look casual, lifting his chin as he leans nonchalantly against the doorway—but the bright, boyish excitement in his eyes gives him away instantly.
You, meanwhile, don’t even pretend to play it cool.
You drop your things to the floor in a completely ungraceful heap, and you’re in his arms before either of you can say a word.
He catches you easily, arms wrapping around your middle with a kind of desperation that makes you want to melt into him and resurface. He squeezes you tight, lifting you just slightly off the ground before setting you back down, but not letting go yet.
“Hi, baby,” you murmur against his skin, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.
He smells like home—the scent hitting you so hard that you almost do melt—right then and there.
He hums a soft sound—something between a laugh and a relieved sigh—and presses his cheek against the top of your head. You can feel him smile against your hair, his arms tightening even more. “Hi.”
You pull back just enough to get another look at his handsome face—and you lean in and kiss him. He sinks into it, his warm hands gliding up your back simply for the opportunity to hold you a little closer.
“I hope you didn’t get too bored waiting for me,” you say, finally breaking away for air, brushing your thumb along his jaw.
Before he can respond, the dam breaks—the exhaustion and frustration of your very long day comes rushing back all at once, and you start shedding layers as you talk—your coat first, then your scrub top, the long sleeved undershirt getting tangled along with it as you pull the fabric over your head and throw it aside. You kick off your shoes haphazardly, causing them to land messily next to Michael's neatly-placed loafers.
You ramble on without taking a breath, words spilling out in a rush as you stand there in your bra in front of him, long past any shyness or decorum.
”You would not believe the day I had—fifteen hours, Michael, fifteen! I swear if my coworker is late one more time I’m going to lose my mind. I’m starving, I’m exhausted, I feel gross. I just want to shower for an hour and then order pizza and put on a Disney movie and—”
You stop when you realize he’s staring at you. Not in a worried or confused way, or in a ‘my girlfriend is standing in front of me half-naked’ kind of way—but in a way that is so foreign it makes your stomach flip and your brows knit together.
He’s trying—very poorly—to suppress a smirk, and he’s holding one hand behind his back.
You narrow your eyes. “What are you doing?”
”Nothing,” he says, far too quickly.
“Michael Jackson.” You say sternly, crossing your arms at his evasion.
”Nothing!” He giggles—actually giggles—the sound bubbling out like he just can’t help it. “I just missed you.”
You squint at him, suspicious. “Then why are you looking at me like that?"
He shrugs, all innocence, though the corners of his mouth twitch. “Just looking at my girl.”
You soften a little at that, and begin to turn away to gather your dirty clothes off the floor—until he adds with a casualness so deliberate it was practically glowing:
“My #1 girl.”
You freeze.
Oh no. Oh no, no no.
Your entire body goes still—his words hitting you like a jolt of electricity.
You spin around on your heel so fast you nearly lose your balance, because you know exactly what he’s referencing—that exact phrasing.
And he knows you know.
He stands there, trying—and failing—to hide the cocky grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, hand still tucked behind his back like he’s holding an explosive.
You stare at him with a wild, startled look. Your pulse jumps as your eyes dart around the room, and then you see it: the source of his smugness.
Your memory box, wide open—sitting on the coffee table in the background like a glowing neon sign that reads: you fucked up!
Your soul briefly leaves your body as you look back up at him to see what he’s holding.
The photo. That photo. The one you probably should have burned.
He pinches it between two fingers, dangling it in the air like bait—a victorious expression spread across his stupidly pretty face.
You let out a horrified, choked sound—and immediately lunge for it.
But he’s faster.
He lifts his arm effortlessly, holding the photo high above your head. Damn your height. Damn his height. Damn the universe for giving him such long arms.
“Michael!” You whine, standing up on your tip-toes, fingers brushing uselessly at the air.
He giggles again, stepping back just enough to keep the photo out of your reach.
“Or…” he says, drawing the word out torturously, eyes sparkling with mischief. ”Is it Marlon’s #1 girl?”
You gasp, making another grab for the photo. He lifts it even higher. “Michael Joseph Jackson! You nosy little—“
You jump again, uselessly—your fingertips missing the photo by a good four or five inches.
You can only imagine how pathetic the scene would look to anyone watching—you, dressed only in a bra and wrinkled scrub pants, leaping like a frantic gremlin while your boyfriend stands there laughing at you.
”You weren’t supposed to find that!” You whine, continuing to stretch your arm as far as it will go. You briefly consider getting a stepstool.
You stop jumping, finally admitting defeat.
Your shoulders slump as you let out a long, dramatic groan, dropping your head until your forehead lands against his chest. Michael simply stands there, smug and delighted. He looks so pleased with himself—too pleased, really, for your taste—and you know there’s absolutely no recovering from this.
You should have known better. You did know better.
Leaving your sweet, curious boyfriend alone in your apartment with nothing but time and his lifelong, incurable nosiness to keep him company? That was on you.
”Baby?” You mumble against his chest, your cheeks warm.
“Hm?”
“Are you mad?” You ask, suddenly feeling a little guilty and ashamed for hiding the photo from him at all.
The question hangs in the air—soft, genuine, vulnerable—and for the first time since he flashed that stupid smirk, his expression changes. The teasing fades just a little, replaced by something else entirely. Your chest tightens.
He lowers the photo a fraction, dark bambi-eyes softening as he looks down at you, then back at the photograph.
His expression shifts into something thoughtful, humming softly—the sound low in his throat, and says, almost to himself, “I mean… I probably should be mad.”
You look up at him with wide, pleading eyes, searching his face for any sign of real hurt or insecurity. He doesn’t give you one, and the uncertainty makes your breath catch.
You would almost rather die than hurt his feelings, intentionally or not.
“I really should,” he continues, nodding solemnly while keeping his eyes on the photo. His tone is slow, deliberate and downright torturous, each word landing heavier than the last.
”I mean…my girlfriend, my sweet, beautiful girl…” He pauses, tilting his head slightly. “…swooning over another man. Right in front of me.”
He lifts the photo a little higher, examining it like evidence. Your face burns even hotter. “And over my own brother, no less.”
Now, your entire body feels like it's on fire. With every teasing word, your embarrassment grows. You want to disappear into the floor. Or snatch the photo and run. Or both.
”Michael…” You whisper, fully mortified.
Michael looks at you fully now, biting his lip, and finally lowers the photo, extending it toward you.
You snatch it back gently but urgently, gripping it with both hands and holding it protectively against your chest, effectively hiding it from the world.
Your cheeks burn, the heat blooming all the way to your ears. You can barely look at him in the eye, your embarrassment so intense it borders on dizzying.
Before you can open your mouth to defend yourself—or scold him some more, you haven’t decided—he leans down and kisses you.
Not a quick, teasing peck, but a deep, steady kiss that anchors you right where you stand, immediately silencing every frantic thought swirling around in your head.
His hands cradle your face for a moment, warm and steady, before one pinches your cheek gently, affectionately, causing you to let out a surprised squeak.
His hands trail down your sides and land on your bottom with a soft, mischievous squeeze. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his gaze intense.
“I’m not threatened by anyone,” he says quietly, but firmly. “Especially not Marlon.”
You let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, shoulders finally relaxing.
“Good,” you murmur, still clutching the photo that has begun to crumple slightly in your grip. “Because I love Marlon, but as a brother. As a friend. There were never any sparks. Ever.”
You pause at that, and add with a groan, “And he can never find out about this photo. If he does, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Michael laughs at that, clearly imagining exactly how unbearable Marlon—and the rest of his brothers, really—would be with this information.
You roll your eyes and continue, “Besides, my other friend—you remember Kayla? From middle school?—had already claimed you as her favorite member. I couldn’t break girl code like that. So naturally I had to pick someone else.”
Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as soon the words leave your mouth. Good god, you sound like a 16 year old.
Michael simply laughs again, shaking his head. He pinches your cheek again. “I’ve been in this industry for a very long time, sweet girl. I am very familiar with fangirl logic. It’s very cute.”
You smack his shoulder lightly, your embarrassment finally giving way to amusement. “Well, if it makes you feel better, my favorite has definitely changed.”
He nods, eyes sparkling with mischief again. “Good. Because we are going to the store first thing in the morning to pick up fabric markers so you can make yourself a new shirt.”
You groan, burying your face in his chest again. He giggles again, wrapping his arms around you again.
He pulls away slightly, studying you for a moment—your flushed cheeks and embarrassed little frown, the way you’re still clutching the photo like it might leap out of your hands and betray you for a second time—and he kisses you again.
You melt into him without thinking, the tension of your day dissolving with the warmth of his mouth against yours.
When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t go far. Instead, he presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then the other. Then the tip of your nose. Your forehead.
You start to giggle helplessly as he continues—kissing all over your face with exaggerated affection, each one softer than the last.
He trails down your jaw, your chin, the crook of your neck, beginning to nip and bite at your collar bones. He continues until you’re laughing openly, half-heartedly pushing at his shoulders.
”Michael—!” You squeal, half-laughing, half-pleading as he continues his assault.
He grins against your skin, clearly delighted by your reaction. His hands glide down your waist, fingers curling gently as he delivers a playful tickle against your bare skin—just enough to make you squirm and laugh harder.
“Stop, stop!” You shout breathlessly, attempting to twist out of his grip. He finally relents, pulling back to take another look at you—cheeks flushed, eyes bright, breath unsteady from laughing. He smiles, impossibly in love.
He turns you by your hips, pushing you gently towards your bedroom, delivering a light, affectionate swat against your backside to send you on your way. “Go on, get in the shower and change into something comfy f’me.”
You watch as he begins walking in the opposite direction with a little bounce in his step. “And what are you doing?”
“Ordering us a pizza!” He calls over his shoulder.
You bite your lip, shaking your head as you start down the hallway toward the washroom. Your heart is impossibly full—still fluttering from his kisses, cheeks warm from his teasing, ribs aching from how hard he made you laugh.
You can hear him humming—something soft and unfamiliar—and you can’t help but smile. Then, you realize you’re still holding the photo and another thought hits you.
You stop dead in your tracks, spinning around so fast your hair whips in front of your face. You clear your throat loudly, and he freezes mid-stride, turning to look at you with confusion.
You narrow your eyes, lifting a finger to point at him with all the authority you can muster for a person who was just kissed breathless. “Don’t you dare get into anything else while I’m gone. I mean it, Michael. Not one drawer. Not a single cabinet. Not one.”
He blinks innocently, lips twitching as he tries to think of a retort. You continue, “Because if you do, I swear to god my new shirt is going to say ‘Jermaine’s #1 Girl.’”
His jaw drops in faux-outrage, clutching his chest as if he were mortally wounded. “…You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“Now you’re just playin’ dirty.” He shoots back, hands landing on his hips.
“Oh really?” You raise an eyebrow. Clearly, it was time to show him exactly what ‘playin’ dirty’ actually looked like. You casually reach behind your back and unclip your bra. “Try me.”
He watches as it falls to the floor. He chuckles slowly, taking a single step toward you. “You better run, girl. You’re in for it now.”
You let out a yelp as you bolt down the hallway, laughter spilling out as he chases after you.
Pizza and movies would have to wait. You have a long and eventful night ahead of you. It’s good to be home.
a/n: thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this far. this is my first time writing for michael, please enjoy and be kind!
any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.
Can you write a fanfic where reader calls Michael “sexy” and he gets all shy about it 🤭
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ Dont say that ! • Michael x reader
⤷ ゛Synopsis ˎˊ˗ Michael seems to always get shy when you call him sexy no matter how long you two have been together !
𑣲⋆ warnings : None !
It was already way past your bedtime, long past the time when the sun had gone down, and the stars and moon came up for the night, signaling to all the night creatures that it was time to come out. The high-pitched sounds of crickets chirping outside the window made it even clearer that it was way past the time you usually slept. The light from your laptop veiled over the room as Michael sat with his glasses nearly slipping off his nose, taking his own trip down memory lane.
It all started with a simple video of him during his Jackson Five era. That iconic video of him in his purple hat, which sat at an angle on top of his small afro, singing "Who's Loving You."
“Aw, Mikey, you look so cute,” you pointed at the screen, giggling at how cute he looked with his big, round, doe-like eyes and his hat that seemed almost too big for his frame, but it was fitting for the time as he swayed to the music.
Then, the making of Thriller appeared in the YouTube suggestions, that big boyish grin on his face as John Landis flipped him upside down and he yelled out. His laughter cut through the speakers of your laptop.
“I had a lot of fun with Thriller,” he spoke, pointing at the screen and laughing at one of the moments on the screen.
“I really wanted people to create better.”
“What are you saying, the videos at the time were complete trash?”
“No, no, I didn't say that,” he put his hands up defensively, earning a laugh from you as you clicked on the next video of him during Bad era at Wembley. The giant belt strapped across the waistline of his black pants, paired with the thigh belts that were loosely strapped to his thighs, became the star of the show in your eyes.
"Oh, Mikey, you look really sexy here, still do too," you cooed, placing a hand on his arm as you nudged him.
"C'mon, don't say things like that."
"What? That you're sexy?" You teased lightly, watching that familiar look, like a boy whose crush just talked to him for the first time.
"Exactly, it makes me all shy. It's embarrassin" he nudged his glasses upwards, pushing them higher on the bridge of his nose as he tried his best to keep his composure
"We've been together this long, and you can't handle me calling you sexy?"
"It's still just as embarrassin as when you did it the first time."
Summary: After months of growing distance, you and Michael's relationship is on its last legs. But when Michael accidentally finds a lyric sheet you wrote about your fading connection, the truth absolutely breaks him.
now playing: evergreen (he didn't deserve me at all) by Omar Apollo <3
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
Lately, the silence between you and Michael in your shared home was deafening.
For the past two months, Michael’s presence had felt like a ghost haunting the hallways. When he was home, he was distant, his eyes glued to his phone, his thoughts locked away in some studio booth you weren't invited into anymore. And when he was gone, he was everywhere.
Every time you opened your phone, a new tabloid headline stared back at you:
Michael spotted leaving a VIP lounge in Soho with Brooke Shields.
Out on the town: Michael dines with Europe’s elite.
Deep down, you knew him. You knew the boy behind the superstar, and you knew he wouldn't cheat on you. He loved you. But knowing he wasn't cheating didn't stop the quiet, suffocating ache in your chest. It didn't stop the humiliation of sitting alone in your living room, scrolling through photos of him surrounded by gorgeous, laughing women, while you - his girlfriend, his partner, the one who had held him before the stadiums were full, sat waiting in the dark.
༻✦༺
The blowout fight happened on a rainy Tuesday night. He had walked through the door at 2:00 AM, smelling of expensive cologne and premium liquor, eyes heavy with fatigue.
"Where were you, Michael?" you asked softly from the kitchen counter.
He let out a long, irritated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "A release party, babe. I told you. My manager wanted me there."
"Your manager wanted you to get photographed leaving through the back alley with a group of Victoria’s Secret models?" Your voice trembled, the weeks of suppressed hurt finally breaking through. "Because that’s what’s online right now. Again."
Michael’s posture stiffened. "They're friends of the label. It’s PR, it’s networking. You know how this industry works. Why are you doing this right now? I’m exhausted."
"When else can I do it!? You're never here anymore, and when you are you don't even look at me!"
"I am trying to build a career!" he shouted back, his face flushing with a mix of defensive anger and stress. "I'm under a mountain of pressure, and when I come home, I just want some peace. Not an interrogation!"
"Peace? You want peace from me? That isn't what a relationship should be like" The words felt like a physical blow.
"You know what? I can't do this tonight," Michael muttered, his eyes dark with frustration. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "I’m going for a drive."
"Michael, don't walk out," you warned, your voice cracking. "If you walk out that door right now..."
He didn't let you finish. The heavy front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty house.
༻✦༺
When Michael returned a few hours later, the rain had stopped, leaving a grey, oppressive overcast. The anger had faded, replaced by a hollow, nauseating guilt. He knew he had been cold. He knew he was pushing you away because his own anxieties were suffocating him, but he didn't know how to stop.
He unlocked the front door, expecting to find you on the couch, or perhaps in the kitchen where you could quietly resolve the lingering tension.
"Baby?" he called out, his voice slightly hoarse.
No answer.
He walked into the living room. It was spotless, but weirdly empty. His heart did a sudden, violent flip. He ran up the stairs, his breathing shallow, and pushed open the master bedroom door.
The closet doors were wide open.
Your suitcases were gone.
Panic, raw, cold, and absolute - seized his throat. He couldn't breathe. She left me, the thought screamed in his head, a terrifying realization crashing down on him. I pushed her too far, and she’s gone.
He stumbled back down to the kitchen, his hands shaking, and that's when he saw it. A single piece of folded notebook paper sitting on the marble island, next to your keys.
With trembling fingers, he unfolded it.
I'm not leaving you, but I can't stay here right now. We keep repeating the same cycle. I need some space to breathe and think. I'm going to stay with a friend for a bit. Don't call me.
He let out a shaky, ragged breath, leaning heavily against the counter. She hadn't left for good. But as he looked around the massive, quiet house, the relief was incredibly short-lived. The silence here was yours now, and it felt like a prison.
༻✦༺
Restless and miserable, Michael wandered the house. He eventually ended up in your personal music room, the small studio space where you kept your piano, your guitars, and your journals. He just wanted to feel close to you.
He sat on the piano bench, running a hand over the keys. On the music stand lay a messy, tear-stained sheet of staff paper. Your handwriting, usually so neat, was rushed and uneven.
At the top of the page, a title was scribbled and crossed out twice, before you had settled on one word: Evergreen.
Michael’s eyes scanned down the page, reading the lyrics you had poured out in his absence.
Evergreen, he don't love me no more
A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard, his eyes burning as he kept reading. You had written down the chords, the melody lines, and the raw thoughts of a girl who felt completely abandoned by the person who was supposed to protect her.
Was there something wrong with my body?
Am I not what you wanted babe?
If I ever tired, if I ever tried, I would.
Evergreen
He tears me to pieces
He remembered the red carpets. He remembered wrapping his arm around you for the cameras, flashing his million-dollar smile, and then immediately turning cold and silent the moment you got into the car. He had treated you like an accessory to his lifestyle rather than the keeper of his heart.
A tear slipped from Michael's eye, splashing onto the paper. He stared at the words.
She don't know you like me
She could never love you more
more than me.
Then he thought about all the countless magazines, pasting photos of him too close to another woman for a taken man. Of course he never did it with ill intent, but he had never stopped and considered how that would make you feel. Hell, if it was the other way around, and you were the one being photographed with countless men, he would go crazy.
You know you really made me hate myself
had to stop before I break myself
Should have broke it off to date myself
You didn't deserve me at all, at all, at all.
One last time
I see, evergreen
Oh, sweet evergreen
he don't love me no more.
༻✦༺
Michael let out a broken, choked sob, burying his face in his hands. The sheer weight of his neglect crashed over him. You actually wondered if he had fallen out of love with you. He was too proud, too stubborn, and too stressed to just hold you and tell you he loved you. he had failed you.
He had broken you. The girl who loved him when he had nothing, was writing a eulogy for their love because he had been too selfish to pay attention.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered to the empty room, his chest aching with a pain he had never felt before. "I'm so, so sorry."
༻✦༺
He couldn't lose you. He refused to let this be the end of your song.
Michael wiped his eyes, his gaze locking onto the lyrics of Evergreen. He carefully folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. He wasn't going to cross your boundary and show up at your friend's house to drag you back, he knew you needed the space you asked for. But he was going to spend every single second of that space proving to you that he was ready to change.
He pulled out his phone, his hands steady now. He called his manager.
"Cancel the press dinner on Friday," Michael said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "And cancel the shoot on Sunday. In fact, clear my schedule for the next two weeks. I don't care what it costs."
"Michael, what's going on?" his manager asked, startled.
"I'm fixing my life," Michael said quietly, looking at the empty piano bench where you usually sat.
"Michael this next week is important for you" his manager argued.
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bad ! era synopsis — the rivalry between you and michael runs deep until one hotel mishap brings you two closer than ever.
content — porn with plot, forced proximity, mean dom! michael and mean switch! reader, cursing, smut, p in v, aphrodisiac, hate sex, dry humping, unprotected, spanking, backshots, choking, riding, lowk brat tamer mike
As the industry’s queen, you didn't just top charts, you made them.
If you wore a certain outfit, it was gospel. If you gave an artist the cold shoulder, their career was essentially on life support. You were charming, yes, but it was a calculated, lethal kind of charm—the kind that you’d lose your mind trying to detect.
And then there was Michael.
For years, the two of you had been locked in a cold war that played out in the headlines. It was a cycle of petty war.
During a Rolling Stone interview, when asked about his latest hit, you hadn't even looked up from your manicure. "Oh, Michael's great," you’d said with a bored, sharp smile. "He’s doing a really impressive job of mimicking the production style I debuted two years ago. It’s sweet, like a little tribute act."
At the Grammys, you’d walked right past his table, deliberately spilling your champagne so that his handlers had to scramble to clean it up, offering nothing but a dead eyed, "Oops, my bad."
Michael didn't play nice, either. In a broadcasted acceptance speech, he’d thanked his team for keeping his music about "real soul" and not just "a pretty voice and PR stunts," a jab so blatant it made the morning headlines the next day.
The night of the International Music Awards, the tension was suffocating. You were draped in a beautifully tight dress, Michael across the aisle in a tailored suit that cost more than a house. You spent the entire ceremony trading glares; every time he caught you looking, he’d just raise a brow, or roll his eyes, completely unimpressed, which only made you want to scream.
By 2:00 AM, you were on your way to the hotel. Your team was exhausted, and you dismissed them with a flick of your wrist. "Go away. I need to sleep for a week."
You swiped your keycard, the light chirped green, and you kicked the door shut behind you, ready to peel off your makeup and collapse. But you stopped dead.
Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket discarded on the floor, rubbing his temples as if he had the world's worst headache. He looked up, startled, his eyes wide.
"What the hell?" you breathed, staring at him like he was a roach in your kitchen.
Michael stood up, looking just as confused as you were. "What’re you doing here?" he asked, his voice rough. "This is my room."
"In your dreams, maybe," you snapped, waving your keycard at him. "This is my suite. I booked the penthouse. Get your shit and get out before I lose my mind."
"I booked the penthouse too, lady," he said, gesturing to his own room key on the nightstand. "I’ve been here for an hour."
You stormed toward him, your heels stabbing into the carpet. "Oh my God, I have absolutely zero desire to be breathing the same air as you right now. Get out you disgusting creep."
"Creep? Are you kidding me?" Michael walked over to the desk, his voice rising in genuine annoyance, dropping all that 'mean' act for a second. "I got here before you, Y/N. I didn't steal your fucking room."
"I’m not spending ten seconds in this room with you."
"You think I want to be stuck with you? You’re the last person I want to see after that shitshow of a ceremony."
You both stared at each other, the annoyance quickly curdling into genuine frustration. "This is a joke, right? Some kind of sick, twisted prank by the hotel?" You marched over to the bedside phone and slammed the receiver off the hook, dialing the front desk with aggressive, angry jabs.
"Yeah, hello?" you barked into the phone, not even waiting for a greeting. "There's a man in my room. A very annoying, very uninvited man. Fix this. Now."
You listened for a moment, your expression twisting into a mask of pure fury. You slammed the phone back down. "They’re 'lookin into it,'" you hissed at him. "Which means they have no clue what’s going on."
"Great," Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just great."
"We’re going to the front desk before I burn this entire Goddamn building down."you hissed, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him toward the door.
Downstairs, the front desk clerk looked like he wanted to jump out of a window. He frantically tapped at his computer while you paced in front of the desk, heels clicking hard against the marble floor.
"I’m so, SO sorry," the clerk stammered, his voice shaking. "There was a mishap in the reservation book. The entire hotel is booked for the award show. I have absolutely nothing left."
"I don’t give a shit if you have nothing left," you snarled, your patience completely shredded. "Find me a room, or I’ll have this hotel torn down by morning."
"The only other option is the Riverside Inn," the clerk whispered. "It’s... it’s a two-star motel on the edge of town."
Michael let out a dry, humorless laugh. "A two-star? You’re joking."
"I’m not staying in a dump like that," you snapped, turning to Michael. "Fix it. You’re the 'Global Icon,' right pretty boy? Use your influence…or dance or something. Whatever it is you do to get us a real room."
"Oh, sure, let me just snap my fingers and make a room appear," Michael shot back, his voice starting to lose its patience. "Don't act like this is my fault. I’m just as annoyed as you are, brat."
"Don't call me a brat, asshole," you hissed.
You both stood there, glaring at each other, the lobby staff watching in terrified silence. It was clear: you were too vain to leave, he was too exhausted, and both of you were too stubborn to admit that the only option left was to tolerate each other’s presence for the night.
You looked at Michael, then back at the terrified clerk, your jaw locked. "I hate you," you growled. "I hope you know I’m going to make this the most miserable night of your pathetic life."
Michael just sighed, turning toward the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. Save that bullshit for the cameras, princess."
The ride back to the penthouse was a study in controlled rage. You stood in the far corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, vibrating with the kind of cold, sharp anger that usually sent assistants into early retirement. Michael stood by the doors, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at his own reflection with a jaw so tight it looked like it might shatter.
When the doors slid open, you didn't even wait for him.
"I take the bed," you said, not looking at him. "You take anything else. If I even hear you breathing, I’m calling the front desk and telling them you’re harassing me."
Michael walked past you, throwing his own jacket over the back of a velvet armchair. "That’s fine by me, Y/N. Just keep your stuff on your side of the room. I don't want your designer nonsense touching my things."
"My 'nonsense' is worth more than your lousy ass career, so keep your crusty hands off my stuff," you snapped, tossing your heels aside and watching as they narrowly missed his feet.
You were mid argument, deep in a heated debate over who got access to the walk in closet—"I need it to curate my looks," you argued, to which he replied, "I need it to actually unpack, not play dress up"—when a sharp knock echoed at the door.
It was a waiter, looking terrified as he wheeled in a silver cart laden with an extravagant spread of pastries, chocolate truffles, and exotic fruits drenched in thick honey. He stammered a frantic apology from the manager, desperate to appease both of you. You scoffed, eyeing the spread. "Tell them to keep the bum ass bribe."
Michael, however, stepped forward, offering the waiter a warm, polite smile that made you want to gag. "Thank you. This is very kind of them," he said smoothly, before the guy practically sprinted out of the room.
He picked up a small, honey glazed pastry, turning it over in his fingers. It smelled intoxicating—deep, floral, and strangely heavy. He took a bite, his expression shifting from polite to genuinely impressed. "You should try this, actually. It's not bad."
"I’m not gonna eat from a hotel that can't even book a room correctly," you said, but the smell was starting to worm its way into your senses, making your mouth water against your will.
"Suit yourself," he murmured, his voice sounding weirdly satisfied as he reached for another, smacking his lips as he chewed.
"Can you stop?" you groaned, leaning against the marble counter. "The smacking. It’s like listening to a wet sponge. It’s fucking repulsive."
"Shut up and try one," he countered, holding the plate out.
You grabbed a honey covered strawberry, mostly just to get him to shut up, and took a reluctant bite. The flavor hit you like a physical force. Sweet, intense, and wildly addictive. You hated it. You hated that it was the one of the best things you’d ever tasted, and you hated even more that he was watching you, waiting for your reaction.
"Good?" he asked, his voice low and smug.
"Fuck off," you muttered, though you were already reaching for another one.
An hour later, the room had gone quiet. The suite felt different—warmer, the air thicker. Michael had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running providing a steady, rhythmic background to your boredom. You were sitting on the bed, robe pulled tight, watching a documentary on the television, but your focus was shattered.
A strange, prickling heat began to crawl up your spine. It was a slow, creeping tingle that made the fabric of your robe feel like sandpaper against your skin. Your heart rate spiked, a frantic, thumping rhythm that wouldn't slow down, and your hands felt unsteady as you reached for another fruit from the nightstand.
When the bathroom door finally opened, the tension in the room snapped into focus. Michael walked out, dressed in plain cotton pajamas that did nothing to hide the fact that he was looking just as frayed as you felt. He walked over and sat on the very edge of the bed, his back to you, his shoulders visibly tense.
He let out a long, ragged sigh, his head dropping back.
The sound irritated you to your core. "What’s your problem now?" you snapped, sitting up and pulling the robe tighter around your burning skin.
He didn't turn around. He just stared at the wall, his breathing noticeably heavy, his voice a low, strangled rasp. "Nothin’."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room. You watched him, your own breath hitching as a wave of heat flooded to your stomach, your thighs clenching together, desperate for relief. He shifted, his posture suddenly rigid, and you caught the flash of a distinct, thickening bulge in his pajamas that he was clearly struggling to hide.
He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a hazy, dark intensity. "Are you... are you feeling kinda hot?"
You tightened your grip on the blanket, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "A little," you lied, your voice breathless. The silence in the room was heavy. You went to the bathroom, your hands pressed against the cool tile, trying to wash the heat from your face. It was no use. Every shallow breath you took felt like you were inhaling honey—thick and intoxicating.
You walked back into the bedroom, your robe feeling like a weighted shackle. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look up, but the way his hands gripped the edge of the mattress told you everything.
"I can’t take this," you breathed, your voice trembling. The air felt thin. "I’m so hot."
"Me too," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, raw and jagged. "We need to fix this."
He slowly looked up. His hair was a damp, messy wreck, and his eyes were dilated, black holes swallowing the dim light. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the way his gaze dragged over the slip of your robe made your stomach flip. You felt a deep, aching throb pulling at your core everything to do with the man sitting three feet away.
You didn't answer with words. You crossed the room in two strides, your movements fluid, and loomed over him. You reached out and shoved his chest, not hard, but enough to make him stumble back onto the mattress. "Move," you ordered.
He didn't fight you. He fell back, propping himself up on his elbows, watching you with a dangerous, hungry expectation. You climbed over him, the scent of the honeyed aphrodisiac radiating from his skin acting like a magnet. You straddled his hips, feeling the thick straining of his dick through his pajamas, and began to press down. You started moving against him, a slow, torturous grind that made his breath hitch.
“I can’t believe im doing this,” You gasp out, feeling his hands come up, gripping your waist with bruising force, his thumb digging into your hip as he moves you against him faster. “This is so gross.”
He let out a frustrated grunt as his hips stuttered forward, a clumsy, needy twitch, pressing his firmly against the center of your panties. He looked up at you, his eyes glassy and needy, his face a messy, dark crimson where a deep blush had spread over his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked completely undone by the simple feeling of you against him. "Shut the fuck up," he grits, though he didn't stop, his hips rolling forward seeking the heat and friction you offered. You let out a small, breathy sound he leaned into it, another buck of his hips sending a jolt through both of you.
His hand slipped between you, fingers finding the edge of your panties. You held your breath as he traced along the seam, teasing without entering. Teasing you before his fingers slid beneath the lace, finding you slick and ready. A low groan escaped his throat. "God, you’re s'wet for me."
"Don’t flatter yourself." But the heat on your cheeks betrayed you. His touch was skilled, knowing exactly where to press, how to curl. Your hips began moving against his hand, chasing the friction with uncontrollable hunger.
But it wasn’t enough to calm the heat. You grab his wrist, stilling his movements. His eyes widened in surprise. His pants came off in a tangle of fabric and impatience. He lay beneath you, fully exposed, letting you drink in the sight. Lean hips. Defined stomach. The way his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he watched you with anticipation.
You positioned yourself above him, feeling the tip press against your entrance. "Last..chance to back out," You pant.
He just smirked, hands resting on your hips as you slowly sinking down, every inch making your head fuzzy as you struggle to fully take him. The feeling was so overwhelming. His hands move to your thighs as you began to move, finding a rhythm that drove him deeper with each roll of your hips.
He threw his head back, a string of curses falling from his lips. He looked up at you with wide eyes, big hands moving to grip at every inch of your waist and hips.
You bit your lip, fighting back a smile as you look down at him, hands on his chest as you lazily roll your hips on his cock, his thick tip leaking deep inside your pussy.
"God... feels s'good," He babbles, voice shaky and lashes fluttering with every movement. His words encourage you to roll your hips faster, grinding his fat dick right against your cervix, wet squelching sounds harmonizing with his now louder whimpers.
His arms pull you down onto his chest, wrapping around you as he stuffs his face into your sweaty shoulder. His hips buck upward, creamy slick coating his length with every rut. The mixture creates an obscene glide between your bodies.
“Look at you—haah—moaning like a little bitch in heat.” You mock in between moans, letting out a small laugh as you grind against him, watching as his face scrunches up in pleasure, biting his lip to hold back from moaning. “Oh, you think that shit funny?” He grunts, letting out a frustrated, guttural sound and in one fluid motion, he flipped you, pinning you on your stomach beneath him. He was actually strong—terrifyingly so. He didn't waste time. He shoved his knee between your thighs, forcing them wider, his eyes burning with that familiar, hateful intensity.
"Awww, look at you. Such a mess f’me."
Michael’s hips rock forward, driving his dick as deep as it would go into your tight walls, you claw at the blanket every time he even pushes an inch further into your cunt, fucking you into the mattress with slow and purposeful strokes until you swore you felt him in your throat.
This man is must be trying to kill me, you think to yourself as you clutch the pillow beneath you, it slowly becoming stained with sweat, tears, smeared with your mascara and lip gloss, you're becoming a complete mess yet he shows no sign of letting up soon. He was having sweet revenge. Your arms started to waiver, no longer able to support your weight as Michael continued to pound into you from behind, one hand molding the flesh of your ass while the other hand rests at your waist, tugging you back against his hips, slender fingers splayed across your curves, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Another high pitched whine leaves your lips as the tip of his cock nudges right against your sweet spot, dropping your head against the pillow as pleasure ignites every nerve in your body till you felt as if you were burning. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest and you swear you could just feel his stupid fucking grin tugging at his lips as he watches you slowly but surely lose every coherent and bitchy thought in your mind.
"Fuck," he curses lowly, his hand gripping your ass a little tighter, his eyes glued to the way your cunt clenched around him, sucking him right back in whenever his hips drew backwards. "Ain’t got nothing to say now do you? Creamin' round me like a good girl. My dick that good, huh?" His hand moves to your throat, gripping it tightly, watching you gasp for air.
There's a sharp reply sitting in the back of your throat—God knows you wanted to get him off his high horse so badly — but even if you could talk, there's no point in arguing. No one has ever fucked you like this and he knows this. He had you hooked. There was no escaping for you now.
You honestly should’ve felt embarrassed by the sounds you were making, clenching around him like you don't want him to leave, to stop just yet, and Michael only feeds into it, leaning his body over yours, giving your ass a good couple of hard smacks before planting both of his arms at the sides of yours til you could feel the sweaty heat of him on your back.
A whimper bubbles up on your barely glossed lips, the rest of it smeared across your face from where you've been writhing against pillows and blankets. Michael grins against your skin— the feeling of his lips on you causes goosebumps to rise across your neck and shoulders before he plants wet kisses along them until he reaches your lips.
Michael pulls his chest away from your sticky back, his hand pushing down on the small of it while his other finds your puffy clit between your dripping folds. A scream tears in the column of your throat as he simultaneously pumps his throbbing cock into you and draws his name across your clit in tight movements. The combination has your mind in a frenzy, clouding with visions of lust as your thighs tremble and struggle to keep you up.
Juices roll down you thighs in thick waves, gathering around Michael’s cock in a frothy white mix the more he fucks into you — the wet pap, pap, pap of his balls against your cunt echoing throughout your bedroom. You glaze him in your arousal, smearing it up his pelvis and the fronts of his toned thighs. you make him a complete mess. "ffuck s’too much," you babble out, eyes rolling to the back out your head as you reach your hand behind you, finger tips pushing against his pelvis in a desperate effort to slow him down.
"You’re doing so well, though. Keep singing for me, mama, lemme hear you." He praises over your loud tune of kitten mewls, breathless pants and soft hiccups, feeling him reach for your arm and tossing it off him. You can feel yourself getting closer and he's not even fully inside of you. He can feel it too. But Michael doesn't falter, placing his foot on the bed as leverage to move his hips faster, harder— groaning deep between bared and gritted fangs while he watches your ass jiggle against his pelvis, shining with your slick. "You gonna cum, baby?"
“D-don’t fucking call me that,” you grit out, though he doesn’t really care for what you’re saying for the musician is already playing with your sensitive clit once again, drawing electrifying shapes against it and rubbing your juices back into your sex while you clench around his sloppy cock. The hotel mix up had to be one of the best accidents you've ever experienced, you think as you fall apart— eyes rolling far back into your skull while you clench and cream on him.
"Atta girl," Michael coos as you come down from your earth shattering high, a mess of weak bones and jelly legs in his arms. "You're so fucking disgusting," You pant, though your body says otherwise, clenching his dick with a vice like grip. "Get off me."
"Cant when you're dripping down my… and..., fuck," His words struggle to come out of his mouth as he cums hard, his entire body shuddering, pumping his thick load into you while you groan— partially at his audacity, but mostly at how full you feel.
The aftermath was a slow descent. You lay there, tangled in the disheveled sheets, your limbs feeling like weights. The room was deathly quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized gasping that filled the space between you. You were a mess—sore, flushed, and utterly breathless—yet your body was still humming with the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac.
He slowly pulls out, flipping you on your back so he could see your precious face, but his eyes drift back to your leaking pussy, watching a mix of your releases seep out of you and onto the starch sheets. You scrunch your face up at the feeling, your chest heaving, trying to gather the shredded remnants of your pride. "That," you rasped, your voice cracking as you struggled to sound dismissive, "was a disgusting mistake. I don't know what came over me, but it won't happen again."
Michael let out a low chuckle. He propped himself up on one elbow, his hair wild and his gaze dark with a triumphant, knowing amusement. He didn't say a word; he just leaned down, captured your chin in his hand, and tilted your head back. He kissed you—slow, deep, and impossibly possessive—until your stubborn resolve crumbled into nothingness, your fingers curling into his damp hair to pull him closer.
Just as you were spiraling back into his orbit, a sharp, polite knock rapped against the suite door.
"Ma’am?" a muffled voice called out. "I just wanted to inform you that we’ve managed to open up another premium suite if you’d like to relocate?"
You pulled back, chest heaving, and looked at Michael. You both went silent, staring at the door. You looked at each other—at the wreck of the room, the clothes strewn everywhere, and the heat still radiating off your skin.
"We're... we're fine," you called out, your voice sounding breathless and shy, a far cry from your usual cold, untouchable persona. "We'll stay here."
"Very well," the worker replied, their voice tight with suppressed excitement.
As the worker’s footsteps receded, they tiptoed down the hall to where a group of hotel staff had been huddled, holding their breath in the corridor. As soon as the worker rounded the corner, they let out a jubilant, hushed cheer.
"They totally fucked," the worker whispered, grinning at the manager, who was practically vibrating with relief. "The honey worked."
The manager leaned against the wall, fanning their face with a clipboard, a smug, brilliant smile spreading across their lips. In a desperate, high stakes gamble to save their jobs from your wrath, they had concocted the perfect dish—a blend of rare, potent ingredients they hoped would finally break the tension between the two most difficult stars on the planet. It hadn't just saved their jobs, it had changed the entire industry's dynamic overnight.
Back in the suite, you had no idea about the little plan. You just glared at Michael, who was currently pulling you closer to him as he laid back on the pillows, his smirk wider than ever.
"I still hate you," you mumbled into his chest.
"I know, baby," he murmured, his hands wandering back down to your waist, his eyes darkening as he was about to remind you once more why you weren't leaving that room. "I know."
an: hiii, i hope you guys enjoy my debut post! feel free to leave comments and requests!
~for my new friend @tlcfrmmike
you let out an exasperated huff of air as you flip onto your back for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. no matter how much you turned and adjusted, you couldn't seem to find a position that was comfortable.
the bedroom is swallowed in darkness, save from the angry red numbers glowing 3:14 from the alarm clock and the pale moonlight spilling through the window. both serving as cruel reminders of how well into the night it is—and just how awake you are.
images of the two of you kissing just hours ago keep replaying in your head, keeping you alert and tormented. how he cupped your face in his hands, so firm and sure of himself. it's like you can still feel the warmth of his hand on your cheek. taunting, mocking you, filling your body with a familiar throb as you try to find the relief sleep refuses to grant you.
with another restless sigh, you turn toward your sleeping lover.
moonlight stretches across the room, washing over michaels features with a soft silver glow. his face lies peaceful, completely void of stress and exhaustion that has plagued him recently. his lips rest parted, quiet snores slipping past every so often. messy curls are strewn across his forehead, and his bare chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. even in sleep, he never misses a beat.
you've seen him like this a hundred times before, yet the sight of him never fails to undo you. the ache in your chest never fails to be relentless; as though loving him has become something your body physically carries.
God, just simply looking at him is fucking you up.
you tuck your chin inward and shut your eyes, clamping your thighs together as heat pools at your lower stomach and another throb pulses further below. and for a second, you almost let yourself get lost in it, letting the quiet intimacy of being beside him become enough, before the sight of his peaceful expression pulls you back.
a wave of guilt sours your mouth almost instantly. here he is, finally getting some well-deserved rest and you're lying beside him all horned up like a silly teenager. it made you ashamed of yourself, but you just couldn't help it.
michael’s been so busy lately. ever since tour started, his life has been consumed by never-ending obligations. between rehearsals, performances, endless interviews, and a schedule that never seems to slow down, he’s completely worked himself to the bone. he barely has time to sleep, let alone take care of his own needs, and there’s been so little of him left over for you. you know he’s exhausted, and you understand he’s doing the best he can, but that doesn’t stop the ache of missing him. it doesn’t stop you from craving the closeness you haven’t had in weeks, or from wanting the attention and affection that have been pushed aside by everything else demanding his time.
you’ve tried to deal with your urges on your own when he’s away, but there’s only so much your fingers can provide. your body desperately needed michael. it's been nothing short of torture.
and yet, you couldn't have been more proud of him. michael loved what he did with every piece of himself, and it showed. he never settled, never cut corners, always searching for ways to be better than he was yesterday. perfectionism was woven into everything he touched, and while it often left him exhausted, he believed it to be the most rewarding. it was one of the things you admired most about him, and also why you found it hard to be upset with him when he's away-- because you knew he wasn't choosing to leave you. he was chasing a dream that he loved with every fiber of his being.
there's something so undeniably sexy about how he handled it all.
your eyes drift back to the red digits slowly passing by. racking your brain on ways to fall asleep when all you want to do is wake michael and have him keep you company. you flop onto your back, disturbing the stillness in the room and sending a ripple through the bed.
michael shifts from the disruption, eyelids slowly squeeze before fluttering open, heavy with sleep. turning tiredly, he glances at you looking at the ceiling.
'baby...you're still awake?' his question cuts through the silence, voice thick with sleep and rasp; lord, you think you might've soaked through your nightgown.
'oh mike, i didn't mean to wake you. go back to sleep, baby.' regardless if this is what you wanted all along, his rest is something you refuse to take from him. you know how hard he struggles with falling asleep, how rare it is for him to have a full night of peace, and he needs all the rest he can get-- especially with his big show at Wembley tomorrow night.
he ignores you, sliding his arms around your waist and tugging you close to his chest. his nose buries into your curls, softly inhaling the floral sweetness of your jasmine shampoo from yesterday's wash day. your back settles against his front as your ass nestles against the crotch of his pajama pants.
'can't sleep?' the vibrations from his chest rumble your back. you hum, backing your ass against him, so desperate it's humiliating. but you just want to be as close to him as possible. if it was up to you, you'd live in his skin.
michael's breath hitches in your ear, feeling your ass gently rub against his member. his thumbs brush gently along your sides through the silk of your nightgown, the fabric bunching beneath his hands as he gathers you closer until he's completely curled himself around you.
you tilt your head back, resting against his shoulder and giving in to the warmth he provided. michael lowers his head, peppering little kisses and soft kitten licks along your throat, feeling your pulse jump on his lips as he lightly sucks in various spots. enough suction to leave a red blotch but not enough to bruise.
the air between you feels alive, charged with intensity that makes every touch, every breath, every lick feel too real. the hairs on your neck rise as goosebumps ripple across your skin; like you're painfully aware of everything around you and within you. the ache coursing through your cunt so intense, it's almost unbearable to handle. the grinding on his cock never ceasing, only escalating when you feel him lightly buck back at you.
michael's hands release the material and slide underneath it, exploring every bare piece of skin he could touch. fully aware of there being nothing under your nightie, he rubs his nose against your temple, reveling in how soft you feel. '...michael, please baby...' you beg, entirely at his mercy.
his fingertips graze up your thighs and against your navel before slowly dipping between your thighs, his middle finger easily slipping into your folds with little effort. the slick that's completely soaked your cunt and inner thighs, paints a sluggish smile on his face, and he lets out a breathy laugh. no wonder you can't sleep. he could only imagine the throb that's been keeping you wide awake, if you're wet like this. he feels a little bad as he wasn't aware of your state. soaked and horny right beside him while he slept. probably wanting to touch and have your way with him.
'oh sweet girl, why didn't you just let me know you wanted some dick.' his voice laced with disbelief, genuinely taken aback that you'd rather lie there suffering than wake him. he's told you countless times to wake him whenever you needed him. and secretly, somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd hoped that one day you would.
embarrassment overtakes your body. that's easier said than done. waking michael up just so he can fuck you through the mattress seemed self-centered. you shake your head at his words. 'i don't like waking you for stupid things like that. you need to rest.'
michael scoffs at your admission, too tired to properly scold you sometimes you're so stubborn for no reason--hardheaded and always so sure you know what's best for everyone. why can't you just do what he tells you to do? or better yet, do what you know you've been wanting to do?
you feel him turn on his back with you still lying in his arms but now on his chest. he shifts upwards in bed until his back is resting against the headboard, you nuzzled between his legs. he slides the bottom of your nightgown up, high enough to expose your bare cunt, the moonlight illuminating the arousal that's seeping from your lips.
your legs spread wider as michael uses his feet to push your ankles apart, placing his middle and ring finger on your clit and slowly circles. a slow, agonizing pace with a delicious amount of pressure, consumes your clit. the sensation makes your hips jut in his hand, needing more but adjusting to what he's giving you for now.
his lips graze the shell of your ear, breath hot and uneven. 'when you want dick, ask for it. no matter what 'mdoing, ya' understand?' michael says softly, pulling his hand away to deliver a sharp smack to your cunt. a quiet splash echoes through the room when he makes contact with you before continuing to rub your clit. a yelp tears through your throat, the sting producing more slick to slide out and downwards, towards your asshole. you're pretty sure the sheets are sticky with your slick.
‘yes-s baby’ he grunts in approval, swirling his fingers around the nub before dipping them into your entrance, burying them until the bottom of his palm is flat against your clit.
it’s as if he’s stolen all the air in the room. his fingers, so long and filling, kissing the tip of your cervix as he begins to lightly pump in and out. a gasp escapes you as your back arches off his chest, trying to escape the sudden intrusion, hands reaching michael’s thighs for support.
it's been so long since you've had michael, it feels like finally eating after years of starving. every touch leaves you greedier than the last, desperate for another taste before it can be taken away again. michael wraps his free arm across your breasts, pulling you back and trapping you against him as he increases his pace. your head falls to his shoulder, surrendering yourself to his attack on your cunt.
this is the feeling you’ve been dying for. the feeling of being stuffed so full, you have no choice but to take everything he's giving you. your body feels like it's on fire, hips bucking every time his fingers slip back into the warmth of you. 'wow mama, you're doing so good.'
your whines fall into michael’s ear from his praise, encouraging him to give you more. he grabs your left hand with his free one, bringing your hand down and pressing four fingers against yourself before rubbing.
'oh fuck!' the words fly from your mouth in such shock. it's like you're experiencing his touch for the first time from how your body reacts to him. he guides your hand, delivering harsh circles to your cunt as he drives his fingers in and out. it's everything you could want and more.
michael watches, completely mesmerized, as you begin to fuck yourself onto the both of your fingers. it's so pathetic how greedy you become when you go a few weeks without cock. he could give you every inch of him and you'd still beg for more.
'look at you, so impatient. you want me?' he teases lightly, slowing all movement on your cunt, wanting you to beg for it. you nod in a daze, willing to do anything if it meant you'd get to take him. 'oh baby please' moaning as he presses hard on your clit, circling the nub before slowing down again.
'pl-lease mikey, i can't go on much longer.' you weakly let out. michael kisses your shoulder, a smile grazing your skin. you knew he loved when you begged--when your fate was placed in his hands for him to decide what comes next. you're putty in his hands and he's going to stretch and mold you, however he sees fit.
michael completely separates from your flower, tapping your thigh as a signal to move off him. 'hop on top, pretty girl.'
you turn your head, eyes meeting with one another for the first time since he's been awake and take in his appearance. his hair is disheveled from your tugging, and his eyes are wide with need. he needs you.
wasting no time, you hop on top of his lap, slipping the silk over your head, letting your breasts fall from the fabric. michael's eyes fall on your brown areolas, mouth watering at the sight of your perked nipples. he leans forward, enveloping one in his warm mouth. you shudder at the way his tongue rolls your nipple, lightly tugging with his teeth and letting it snap back. you lightly grind against his clothed cock, smearing yourself all over the bulge threatening to bust through the fabric. michael lifts his hips up, just enough to slide his pants down right below his balls and free himself.
you honestly never get use to the sight of him. his cock was slightly curved near the top, long and thick enough to where he needs both of your hands to properly give him a hand job. his tip, fat and resembling a mushroom tip, has a thin piece of skin covering the head, just barely. and thick, juicy vein running from underneath the tip to the base of his balls. your favorite route to trace on him.
immediately, your hand wraps around his cock, pumping lightly as strings of pre-cum dribble from his tip to the curly bush that resides at his base. it was such a sight for sore eyes. michael lolls his head back against the headboard with a quiet thud, finally feeling some relief to his raging hard on.
‘oh yes sweet girl, just like that.’ he whispers, loving the way your hand twists when you get to his tip, smearing all his fluid around. his words go straight to your cunt as you position yourself over him, slowly gliding his head across your slit. michael sucks in a sharp breath as he feels you pop his tip inside, haven't felt you in some time, his hands come to your hips to steady yourself over him.
you wrap your hand around the back of his neck for support and slowly sink down, your hole eating every inch he has to offer. michael’s hands tighten around your hips as he adjusts to the warmth that surrounds all his senses. he doesn't move or guide you, just holds you like he needs some kind of anchor to this very moment. it's so tight, he thinks you might slurp the skin right of his cock.
‘yessss.’ you drag out, reaching about half-way down before feeling that sharp stretch. it’s been a while since you’ve taken big boy, forgetting just how full he makes you feel every time. but man does this make waiting very worth it.
you begin to bounce, resting your other hand over his heart as you find your rhythm. michael watches you with hazy eyes, entranced with the way your tits bounce and how your head swings back in complete euphoria. he loves when you lose yourself because of him, just this image alone makes him want to spill deep within you.
'that's right minnie, use me.' he urges, driving his hips upward lightly to meet with your bounces. every push of his hips, helps your cunt swallow more of him up, stretching wider as you near the base of his cock. tightening your grip on his neck, you push his head down till he's in line with your cunt consuming him, needing him to witness such acts. to remind him how he can never go that long with being buried inside you again.
you inhale and force yourself to bottom out, puffy lips sitting on his curls and balls, his tip kissing your cervix. he's giving you heaven and all you can do is flex around him as you try to handle the intense stretch. michael moans loudly, watching as you suck him up and hold him captive, the interaction so obscene it makes him shiver in delight.
'dear God,' he cries out, bucking up ever so slightly. it takes a few seconds for you to adjust to his size, for your walls to remember him before the intense feeling quickly evolves into great pleasure.
'mmm, mickey,' you slur, already cock-drunk and he hasn't even fucked you yet. you aren't ashamed though, if anything, you could care less how starved you seemed. your body knew better than to resist the way it yearned for michael.
squelches coming from between you, bounce off the walls as you start to ride him. it's like music to your ears. the steady smack of your cunt making contact with his soaked balls makes your belly twist into one big knot. michael grunts, the noises so lewd, he attempts to think of anything but this very second. the show tomorrow night, how he found you guys the perfect place to build your forever home, but all he can focus on is the death grip you have on him.
'oh bub, it's been too long.' you say breathlessly, increasing your pace, weeks of sexual frustration pouring out into every motion you deliver. his breathy gasps fill your ears in response, both of you forgetting just how good you feel to one another. you lean forward, mashing michael's face to your chest, wanting to feel him everywhere. you make sure to grind against him when you slide down before popping back up, just the way he likes it.
michael sucks on the swell of your breasts, trying to muffle all the whimpers you're drawing from him. he feels like he's edging the brink of insanity. you're invading every logical thought in his head. no longer capable of deciphering what's reality, just what you're giving him. reaching behind you, you grab his balls and give them a nice squeeze, gently fondling them as you watch michael’s expression morph into complete terror. ‘no, no, please stop.’ he begs, clenching his stomach, trying to keep his load in.
so much, all at once, is going to make him cum too quickly. every squeeze from your hand brings him one step closer, he wanted to wait! attempting to flee your grasp, michael starts to slide down the headboard and onto the bed, lying flat on his back with you on top. he digs his heels in the mattress, wraps his arms around your waist and does the only thing he can think of. he holds you down and starts fucking you from below.
his thrusts are sharp and intense, a different pace from the strokes you were doing. it rendered you completely speechless. the way he just shoves his way through every available space, leaving nowhere for you to run. his firm grasp weighs you down, making sure you’re right there, waiting to receive him when he returns. your whines transforming into pornographic moans as he has his way with you. ‘didn’t i tell you t’use me?’ removing one of his arms to spread an ass cheek, helping him stuff you to the brim. ‘why can’t you just listen, huh?’ he grits out.
your head falls into his neck, overwhelmed with the plethora amount of ecstasy taking over. you babble incoherent words back, so mind fucked you can’t do anything but let him ruin you. its only fair, you woke him up. the knot in your stomach getting tighter as you feel a familiar surge of bliss get intense. you clench around him, trying to keep it at bay.
‘mm- god. is minnie’s brain going mushy?’ he coaxes you, rhythm stuttering as he nears his own release as well, the noises you make do him no favors, making it impossible to keep himself together. you cry and blubber, words slipping further and further away, what's left is only primal instinct. tears slip from your eyes, and your cunt starts squeezing uncontrollably. ‘oh mama, go ahead. i feel you-u.. oh fuck’
its like a rubber band snaps inside your stomach. you feel yourself spray all over michael, white-hot bliss paralyzing you, as he continues to thrust upwards, fucking you through your orgasm. you can’t stop the spasms from overtaking your destroyed flower, your gummy walls provoking michael to spew himself deep within your womb. a wail tearing through his throat, eyes clamped shut, as he buries himself till he physically can't anymore, filling you nice and full of his seed.
your body goes limp, feeling him spurt long ropes of cum that don’t seem to end past the point of no return. michael holds you tenderly, thrusting every time you pulse around his cock, convinced you’re trying to milk him of everything he's got. ‘good girl, baby. you took me so well,' he whispers into your hair.
once you've got your bearings and he's softened all the way, michael shifts his hips to where he slips from your sloppy hole, slow and careful. you wince at the removal, your walls, who've grown accustomed to his cock, suctioning him in for a second before releasing him and all your mixed fluids.
thick globs ooze from yourself, sliding down your clit, to splatter against michael's lower stomach. you clench around nothing, trying to hold all his offerings inside; not wanting a drop to go to waste but it's useless, there's just too much. michael smiles and rolls you off him, lying you on the mattress and wrapping you in his sweat slicked arms.
for the rest of the night, michael keeps you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as his fingers trace patterns across your skin. leaving a lingering warmth wherever they wandered. eventually, the moon gives way to the sun, its golden rays spilling through the window to bathe the room-- and your entangled bodies-- in gentle light.
you listen attentively to the slow 'thrum' of his heart, memorizing each steady beat that kept him alive, letting its familiar rhythm lull you into a deep, much-needed slumber that had eluded you all night.
thriller era!michael jackson x childhood bestfriend!reader
synopsis: as long as you can remember, you’ve been in love with your best friend michael, and for as long as you can remember, you thought those feelings were reciprocated. but when you finally muster up the courage to ask him out on a date to disneyland, he rejects you, citing the fact that he had a date set up by his family as a reason. in 0.5 seconds, your entire reality is shattered and while he spends his afternoon enjoying (he’s not) his date, you’re left to spiral in your room alone. it’s only late into the night when you get a phone call from michael, are you able to calm yourself down.
content: fluff, very sweet stuff, childhood best friends to lovers trope, a little emotional angst, some cursing (only a tiny bit but still worth mentioning), no use of y/n, reader overthinks a lottt for no reason, family peer pressure.
word count: 5.6k
a/n: based on this request (my first one AHHHHH 🥹 I'M SO THANKFUL!). not proof read but i hope yall enjoy and feedback is always welcomed, please and thank you!
divider credit: @somebitchprobably-graphicdump
three hours.
that’s how long you had been talking to yourself in the mirror, practicing what you were going to say to your best friend.
three. fucking. hours. but you still had no idea how you were supposed to go about this. you had stupidly decided you were ready to confess your feelings to michael—the same feelings you’ve been holding in since you were a naive little girl—but now, you were struggling to follow through with your plan.
really, there was nothing for you to be afraid of, and you knew that. by all definitions, the feelings were mutual and it would be stupid to try to define your relationship with michael as platonic. the almost daily sleepovers at his house where the two of you watch his favorite movies and cuddle. the way his hand automatically searched for yours whenever you were around. the unusually long hugs you share whenever either of you get too excited. all of it screamed “more than just friends” and while you kept trying to remind yourself of that fact, you couldn’t help shake the negative, lingering feeling in the back of your mind.
michael was nice. ridiculously so, and some part of you wondered if he was indulging in your crush just because he felt sorry for you.
you decided you couldn’t think about it anymore. before you could back out, you called a taxi for yourself and headed over to the jackson family house, only spending half the drive over nervously biting your nails.
by the time the gates to hayvenhurst came into view, your heart had basically fell to your stomach. you wanted to throw up, but instead, gathered enough courage to step out of the taxi.
almost too quickly, the gates of hayvenhurst for you and there was no longer a barrier between you and the conversation you were forcing yourself to have. with a final groan, you forcibly dragged your feet across the front entrance of the mansion and arrived at the front door and lifted your finger up to the doorbell.
all you had to do was push your finger a tiny bit…but you just couldn’t. you let out another groan. how many times had you been to this house before to hang out with michael, but now you struggled to even ring the doorbell.
suddenly, the little courage you had came here with completely disappeared. you wanted to go home. you never actually told michael you were coming over, so it wouldn’t be that hard to just leave. you thought about it for a second, but before you could even turn around and attempt to chase the taxi man down again, the door swung up revealing a slightly worrier michael. he looked so cute in his blue sweater and button down, tied together with that cute knot in his eyebrow, that you almost forgot why you were standing here in the first place.
“shit—” you blurted out.
michael looked at you, almost unsure of what he should do next.
“what are you doing here?” he finally spoke, hoping he didn’t come off as too weird.
you paused, going over it in your head for what felt like the hundredth time. if you really wanted to, you could lie and say you say you thought you left something behind. it wouldn’t even be that far fetch of a lie seeing as you basically lived here at this point.
“i wanted to ask you something.” maybe you were dumber than you thought. michael made a gesture with his hand, waiting for you to continue, but you just couldn’t.
what if he laughed in your face?—he wouldn’t but still. you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if he rejected you. you valued your friendship with michael above anything else. through everything in your life, michael has been by your side, acting as an anchor for you, and you’d hate to throw that all away in pursuit of some unrequited love. you’d rather go your entire life, pretending that you desperately didn’t want to be in a relationship with michael, than to not have him in your life at all.
“ask me what?” michael finally spoke, realizing that you weren’t going to elaborate unless he asked you to.
you opened your mouth to speak but then immediately closed it. this was going to be way harder than you originally thought. you had to swallow a lump in your throat, suddenly finding the color of your shoes very cute. honestly, you could still back out of this if you really wanted to, but deep down you don’t think you wanted to.
you wanted to go through with this because beyond all those negative and insecure thoughts, you knew what you and michael had gone way past a regular friendship and you wanted to explore that.
“i wanted to ask you about going out…with me,” the words felt foreign coming out of your mouth, but you had to admit it did feel like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders.
michael just stared at you in awe because he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. maybe you were messing with him, and this was just some elaborate prank. how many times had he stayed up at night, picturing this exact scenario to himself? he hadn’t been confident enough to ask you out yet, so this was truly the best thing to happen to him.
“you want to go out with me?” he repeated your words back to you in confusion, still trying to make sense of it in his head.
the confused tone of his voice and the way he tilted his head at you left you taken back. you don’t know what reaction you were expecting from him, but this wasn’t it. you couldn’t quite read his face, which was alarming because you could always read him, but right now, you had absolutely no idea what was on his mind.
the warm smile on his face paired with the rosy tint of his normally brown cheeks led you to believe that he reciprocated your feelings. of course he did, how could he not? but that scrunch in his eyebrow that still hadn't gone away yet made you question yourself and him.
“of course, dummy!” you scoffed, finding his confusion very absurd.
it was very obvious that your own nervousness was distracting you. because if you were so focused on fidgeting with your fingers in order to calm your anxiety, you probably would’ve picked up on michael’s own nervousness.
he could barely hold eye contact or stand still as he kept wobbling back and forth between his feet. this sounded like a confession to him. at least he really, really, wanted that to be the case.
“so, what do you say? this afternoon, i was thinking we can go to disneyland. i know that’s like, your favorite place on earth,” you nudged him playfully.
you laughed with him, finally letting yourself relax a bit. what were you even stressing over? this was michael, your best friend since you were in diapers. ever since the two of you could talk, everyone knew you guys would be together forever. you were just being over dramatic and in your head about nothing.
“disneyland? you know i’d love too,” he cheered, forgetting himself for a second before he remembered something.
in a second, you watched michael’s mood change completely. the excited look in his eye went away and that soft smile that you fell in love with turned into a frown, leaving his taken aback.
“this afternoon?” michael asked, suddenly becoming timid—well more timid than he usually is.
“yeah, why what’s the matter?” you tilted your head to the side, suddenly regretting ever asking him out. all those negative thoughts you had been barely keeping at bay, instantly started flooding back into your mind.
“well this afternoon…” michael hesitated, no longer speaking at normal volume. instead, he reverted to that quiet mutter he always did whenever he felt overwhelmed.
he sucked in a breath. with the way you were looking at him, utterly confused and slightly panicking, he knew he’d have to tell you the truth. no matter how much he didn’t want to…
“later, i’m busy,” he finally continued. he hoped that would be enough to satisfy your curiosity, so he continued despite his desire to just shut up. “this afternoon…i have a date…”
“a date?!” you were completely stunned.
you mouth was left open and your eyes were practically bulging out of your head. you couldn’t believe it. you didn’t want to believe it honestly. how could this be possible? it felt like the entire foundation of your reality had crumbled with just five words.
you thought—
“like an actual date, date?” you tried to rationalize your thoughts outloud, “like a romantic date? with a girl??”
“yes,” michael answered, but he quickly realized he wasn’t doing anything to help the situation. “it’s not what you think—”
“so, it’s not a real date?”
“no it is, but—”
“so it’s exactly what i think!” you threw your hands up in frustration before crossing your arms over your chest.
in all the different scenarios you had run through your head, you never foresaw this happening. you always assumed the feelings you had for michael were reciprocated, but apparently not. you didn’t know if you wanted to run away and cry or yell at him in anger.
“you're confusing me, michael," you frowned, desperate for some type of explanation.
michael scratched the back of his head, “it’s more complicated than you think.”
this was terrible. michael knew he wasn’t good at communicating, but this was really just a mess and he had no idea how to explain himself to you without sounding completely crazy.
“it wasn’t my idea,” he admitted, “it was mother’s idea—well my entire family’s actually. they thought it would be a good idea for me to put myself out there, i guess. they just don’t want to see me alone i think…i hope you’re not mad at me?”
you rolled your eyes. you absolutely hated that pout he did whenever he felt bad. even after he just tore your heart out of your chest, you couldn’t resist those big brown eyes. he just had a kicked puppy expression that made you want to coo at him instead of yell at him.
“no i’m not mad,” you huffed, hating yourself for how easily you forgave him.
“you’re not?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
“no.” you responded, dropping your arms to the side, “i can’t really be mad at you for making plans without me. i just wanted to hang out with you since we haven’t gone out in a while.”
you forced a laugh before immediately biting the inside of your cheek. the lie came out too easily for your liking. you felt pathetic but you were trying to play it off. technically, you were right. you hadn’t officially asked him out on a proper date, so you still had deniability. though, you doubted how much he actually believed you.
michael didn’t say anything. instead, he just looked at you to the point you felt uncomfortable having his gaze on you. he was genuinely disappointed. he couldn’t tell if you were lying, or if he had once again been reading too much into your actions.
“i’m sorry,” he apologized again.
“don’t be,” you patted him on the shoulder, but the action lacked your usual warmth, “i’m gonna go…”
“what?” michael croaked out in confusion. “are you being serious?”
“i only came here to ask you about that, so i don’t really have a reason to stay here,” you smiled at him weakly, instantly regretting admitting that out loud.
you wanted so badly to come off as unbothered, because otherwise you would feel like an idiot, but you just couldn’t help the way your lip quivered slightly. no matter how you looked at it, this felt humiliating. you didn’t even want to think about it anymore, because you knew if you did, you’d burst into tears, and the last thing you wanted to do was to sob on michael’s front porch.
if michael knew you were upset, he did a great job hiding it. he just continued to look at you with that same frown on his face, which somehow made you feel even more shitty. michael called your name, causing you to let out a heavy sigh. you could tell he felt bad about it, so you couldn’t even get mad at him.
“if i had known earlier, i would’ve gone with you, i hope you know that, right?”
“it’s fine,” you waved him off again. “it’s not like i was asking you on a date or anything.”
you wanted to smack yourself in the face. out of everything you could’ve said, you don’t know why you went with a blatant lie. of course you were asking him on a date! thankfully, michael just laughed—albeit awkwardly, but he still laughed nonetheless. either he was just trying to be kind, not calling you out on your bullshit, or he genuinely believed you.
you gave him one more forced smile and without another word, you turned on your heel and started power walking back towards the gates. you’re pretty sure michael tried to call out after you, but you pretended to not hear him and instead increased your speed.
the walk home (yes, walk home, you would rather die than ask michael to call a taxi for you) was terrible. after that humiliation ritual, the last thing you wanted to do was be left alone with your own thoughts. all of those insecure thoughts that you were trying to convince yourself were baseless came rushing to the front of your mind.
a date? what the fuck? since when did michael start to date? since when did michael do things without telling you? you never thought you were the most perceptive person, but you didn’t understand how could you misread a situation so badly.
when you finally got home, you felt a weird sense of relief wash over you. at least now you could wallow in self pity behind closed doors now. you didn’t even have to give it a second thought before you immediately made your way to your bed, so that you could hide under the covers and cry. it’s not like you wanted to cry, but you couldn’t help but wonder why michael decided to start dating.
of course michael was a grown man and it wouldn’t be odd for someone his age to want to start pursuing a romantic relationship just out of the blue. it was even weirder that it was his family that encouraged him as well. it felt like a betrayal even though you knew michael didn’t owe him any sort of loyalty. maybe it was egotistical or narcissistic of you, but you just kind of always assumed michael knew he was yours.
neither of you dated or expressed interest in anyone. to you, it felt like there was this unspoken rule between the two of you since you were both old enough to understand relationships, that you guys were together. you always felt that eventually, you and michael would find your way to each other, which is why you had the courage to ask him out in the first place, but now you just felt delusional and a little too invested in something that was just a friendship.
the entire afternoon and into the night, you couldn’t help but wonder how michael’s date was actually going. maybe it was because you had a humiliation kink, but you started to imagine how his date was going.
the girl he was with was probably an attractive woman—she had to be if she was handpicked by his family—she was probably confident and funny too if she was able to impress the jackson family. you let out a pathetic groan as you continued to upset yourself even further. the longer you thought about it, the more perfect the woman in your head got and the more insecure you started to feel.
michael probably had her laughing—dying laughing, with his cute corny jokes. god damnit why did he have to be so funny. and she probably had him all giggly and nervous the way he always was whenever someone flattered him, because of course she would be able to get him flustered. you groaned even louder, but this time you did so into your pillow so as to not wake your neighbors.
by the time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself (for the most part, there was still a hole in your heart), it was night. you wanted to just turn your brain off for the rest of the night and watch some dumb cartoons or cook yourself something, but before you could decide on something, your house phone started going off. without even thinking about it, you picked the phone up to your ear.
“hello?”
you heard the last person you wanted to talk to say your name.
“michael? what do you want?” you came off harsher than you meant to.
you couldn’t see him, but you could tell he winced at the tone of your voice. after a second he spoke again. “can i talk to you for a second...is right now a good time?”
you sat up in your bed, getting more comfortable. you could easily pick up on the hesitation in his voice and knew that something important was on his mind. anytime he called you late at night like this, you knew it was because he was stressed about something.
“yeah, what do you need?” you asked, voice softer than before.
“well…i’d rather talk to you in real life. can i come over?”
you raised an eyebrow at his words. he was being unusually vague with you, which had alarm bells in your mind going off. god forbid he tries to bring up what happened earlier today. you glanced over to your alarm clock sitting on your bed stand. it was late, but it wasn’t unbelievably late.
“of course you can, you’re always welcomed over—you know that”
“okay, great.” michael let out a sigh of relief. “i’m on my way.”
you were going to reply, but before you could, michael hung up on you. leaving you speechless.
okay, that was rude.
after a minute of just sitting there in bewilderment, you heard your doorbell ring. you weren’t expecting other than michael, so you paused before heading to your front door. only after the doorbell rang again did you actually get up to open the door.
“michael?” you asked in confusion. you were trying to connect the dots in your head, “how did you get here so fast? we were just on the phone…”
“i was already in the area,” he scratched the back of his head, not entirely meeting your eyes.
“right, okay.” you nodded and gave him a knowing smirk, which let him know you didn’t believe his lie.
you finally moved from your doorway, allowing for him to enter your apartment. the tension was still obviously there, but not as much as you thought there would be. it was almost like it didn’t happen at all, but you couldn’t help but still be on edge. michael instinctively bypassed your living room, making his way into your bedroom to sit on the edge. you followed close behind him, sitting down next to him.
michael was being quiet, which was saying a lot. instead, he just sat with his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs. you raised an eyebrow at him, realizing that he was way more tense than you first believed. his brain was going a mile and minute and it was written all over his face. you grabbed one of his hands, placing it in your lap, which finally caused him to acknowledge your presence with a quiet chuckle.
“so, what did you want to talk to me about?” you nudged him slightly, trying to get the conversation going.
it’s not like you were too keen on talking to him right now. you were still feeling embarrassed, which wasn’t his fault, but you couldn’t help but be triggered by his presence and start cringing at yourself. michael shrugged, not knowing what to say and you mocked his action, causing him to chuckle again. you let out a dramatic sigh.
“i hope you didn’t just come over to stare at me,” you teased, “obviously there’s something you wanted to say to me.”
“no i didn’t i just…i really want to get this right,” michael let out his own huff, struggling to find the right words.
“you don’t have to overthink this,” you squeezed his hand gently before, “it’s just me.”
“that’s my exact problem though,” michael confused, squeezing your hand back, “i can’t just be normal around you.”
for what felt like forever, the two of you just stared at each other. you quickly got lost in his eyes, almost forgetting the entire world around you and the same thing was happening to him. reluctantly, you broke eye contact first but still, michael continued to look at and admire every delicate feature across your face.
“well i’m going to need you to try,” you retorted, breaking michael out of whatever trance you seemed to have him in, “because you definitely need a good excuse for showing up to my house unannounced.” you pulled your hand from his, crossing your arms over your chest.
you weren’t exactly mad at him any more and you weren’t even all that embarrassed. it was the lingering sadness that came with being inadvertently rejected that had you acting out of character like this. truthfully, you just wanted to hug and hold him until he felt better, but you felt like you had to keep him at some sort of distance to make a point…or whatever.
“did your girlfriend stand you up?” you guessed, not even trying to hide how disgusted you sounded letting the words escape your lips.
“i already told you it wasn’t like that!” he scoffed, frustrated, but still maintaining his quiet tone.
“then explain it to me. you’re dating around now? just casually seeing people?”
“no, i already told you it’s not like that—”
“it’s exactly like that, michael. why do you feel the need to lie to me about it?” you cut him off.
“i’m not lying to you!” he insisted, giving you that kicked puppy look again.
for your own dignity, you had to look away.
michael wanted to explain everything to you and get you to understand him, but it was hard admitting to the truth, because that would require him confessing his feelings to him. when you came over to his house earlier in the day, he was absolutely excited. then, you asked him out to his favorite palace on this earth and he naively thought that was your way of confessing your feelings to him. but, then you clarified yourself by saying it wasn’t an actual date you were asking him on.
michael liked you a lot. it was very obvious to anyone who watched the two of you interact, that michael couldn’t help but smile whenever you were around and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you for even a second. even now, when you two were “arguing”, he couldn't help but stare at you fondly and crack a tiniest smile (any wider and he knew you’d actually be upset with him).
and that was his problem. michael had been operating like this since he was a little boy and he was completely fine waiting until the perfect moment to tell you how he really felt—or even better, have you confess to him—but, his family didn’t exactly see it the same way as him
“it’s not like i actually wanted to go on that date today,” he admitted, trying to calm your annoyance with him.
“then why did you?” you shot back quickly.
“i already told you, it was my family. they really wanted me to do this. they just kept on insisting for months until i finally caved in,” he continued, “they wouldn’t take my ‘no’ as an answer. everyday i had someone cornering me, showing me pictures of this random woman, talking her up to me.”
michael already felt horrible leaving you hanging this morning and leaving you upset for that meaningless date. he just wanted to stop this back and forth with you and realizing his explanation was doing nothing to do that, he forced himself to continue talking, “you know i can’t say no to mother, especially since she was just concerned for me. and my brothers as well.”
you dropped your arms to your lap and sighed. of course you already knew michael had a problem with direct confrontation and pushing back, especially with his family. you gave him a pity smile. even if you wanted to continue making him feel guilty, you couldn’t force yourself to do that to him.
“you ending up alone is that much of a concern to them, huh?” you teased, trying to ease some more of the tension.
“i supposed so,” he replied, laughing lightly, starting to find the humor in this entire situation. now that you were somewhat happy michael continued, gripping his pants tightly, “you’re not mad at me anymore?”
you almost said ‘no’, but caught yourself in the process. instead, giving him a teasing smirk. “did you have a good time?” you asking, raising an eyebrow at him suspiciously.
“gosh no, i was so miserable. i wish i had just taken you up on your offer, at least then i would’ve had a good time. she was so boring too. all she could talk about was the dinner menu. the conversations were so plain. the entire time i was just thinking of you. i’m so sorry that—”
“alright, alright, i forgive you,” you cut his rambling off, covering his mouth with your hand.
it was nice knowing that earlier, you were making yourself stressed for no reason, but he was becoming incoherent. michael’s muffled laugh escaped from behind your hand, which caused you to laugh as well. when you were sure he was finished, you dropped your hand from his mouth, instead moving to hug him.
michael immediately returned your hug, finally satisfied with himself, and no longer feeling as guilty as he did before.
“you don’t have to keep apologizing to me, i don’t even care anymore,” you reassured him again with the tiny lie.
“but i do,” he insisted, “i feel really sorry, truly.”
michael pulled away from your hug, but he didn’t move away from you completely, he placed his hands on your shoulders and squeezed gently. he was desperate to get you to understand his thought process. he wanted to be completely sure you knew this wasn’t going to be a common occurrence with him ditching you to go on dates.
“i don’t ever want to do that to you again, i swear,” he whispered, surprised by his own vulnerability. he shook your shoulders slightly, “i’m being serious, having to sit there on that date and pretend to be normal—pretend i wasn’t thinking about you…thinking about how disappointed you looked this moring. i really feel bad.”
your gaze dropped down to your shoulder, where michael’s hand rested, showing no sign of moving anytime soon. you met his gaze and you were once again welcomed by his big, brown, pleading eyes, full of genuine vulnerability.
suddenly, you were reminded of the exact reason you fell for michael in the first place. his ability to make you feel like you were the center of his universe was thrilling. you swallowed a lump in your throat, suddenly feeling the atmosphere change as the tension between you two completely disappeared.
he was going to confess, right? this felt like a confession.
you tried your hardest to focus on what he was saying to you, mindlessly nodding along to whatever he was saying, but already imagining how his kisses would feel. he’d definitely be a gentle kisser…maybe you were being too eager? you didn’t know, but you were pretty certain where he was going with this. you let your eyes flicker down to his lips for a second before meeting his eyes again and biting your lip a little bit.
michael tried not to look too deeply into your actions, but he couldn’t not notice the way you looked at his lips, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. he lost his train of thought pretty quickly after. he attempted to continue talking, but could barely do that, so he just called your name, which ended up snapping you out of your thoughts.
“i was asking you on a date,” you bluntly confessed before you could stop yourself.
“i’m sorry?” michael stuttered, barely being able to process what you just said to him
with one sentence, you were able to make his brain short circuit. that’s just the effect you had on him. deep down he knew that you liked him too and for years, he had been mentally preparing himself
“so does that mean…?”
“i really like you, like really, really like you. i was just embarrassed that you rejected me and i was in my feelings about it…” you admitted, though, it was really hard to do.
you definitely felt the way your cheeks had started to heat up the more honest you got with him and the more vulnerable he made you feel, but you had to admit it felt good to get this off your chest, especially when you had spent three hours practicing exactly this.
“i just always assumed we liked each other, i think i just felt betrayed, even though i had no right to…”
“but i do like you!” michael declared, finally getting his brain to work again.
his words sounded like heaven. you couldn’t believe it. well you could believe it but still, you were ecstatic to hear it. you had played this scenario in your head hundreds of times, but it still sounded way better in real life.
“you’re right. i’ve liked you for so long,” he continued, a sense of relief washing over him now that everything was out in the open. “if it wasn’t for my family, i would’ve never in a million years get caught dead with anyone else.”
all you could do now is smile. the first real smile you’ve had all day and of course it was because of him. you hugged him again, but this time, you nuzzled your head in the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. it wasn’t an unfamiliar action for either of you, but somehow, it felt unreal in this new context.
saying you felt relieved or happy would be downplaying it. you felt like you were floating on cloud 9. any lingering negative thoughts you had disappeared and you knew that tonight you’d be laughing at the breakdown you’d been having this entire day.
after a second of just taking in this new feeling, you picked your head up just enough to gaze at his face quietly. then, you grab your chin, turning it towards you so you can get a better look.
“does this mean i can kiss you now?” you shyly whispered, still feeling flustered, “i’ve kind of been waiting to do this since i was like, ten.”
you both laughed and michael nodded eagerly. with his consent, you pulled his face even closer to yours, sealing both yours’ confessions with a kiss. there was still so much left to be said between you two and you already knew that, but for now, just kissing him would be enough closure for you.
he smiled against your lips before deepening the kiss, surprising you in the process and causing you to help. nonetheless, you tilted your head, making it easier for him to slide his tongue past your lips. he was being delicate, just as you pictured him to be, taking his time as he explored the new unknown territory of your mouth. his grip on your waist tightened and you had to wrap your arms around his neck in order to keep up with his pace.
you pulled away from each other slightly to catch your breath but quickly, the two of you realized you wouldn’t be satisfied with just a single kiss. as if asking for permission, your gaze dropped down towards his lips again and michael eagerly responded to this by grabbing your shoulders, causing you to lean forward so that he could kiss you again.
only after spending the next 5 minutes exploring every inch of each other’s mouths did you both feel satisfied enough to pull back from each other. you reverted back to your original position, resting your face comfortably on the side of his neck, but this time, you wrapped your arms around his waist, so that you could hug him.
“and don’t worry, i already know where our first date will be,” michael spoke up, breaking the peaceful quiet that had formed between you two with a cheeky smile.
you picked your head up in confusion, “already? where?”
“disneyland. it’s my favorite place on earth,” he teased you, causing you to shriek dramatically.
“you’re so annoying,” you whined, picking your head up so that you could playfully shove him.
the two of you broke into laughter. when your laughter finally calmed down you continued with a more serious expression, “but i’m holding you to that, so you better not break that promise. or else…” you tried your best to sound threatening, but ended up breaking character with a giggle.
“turn you down again? i wouldn’t dream of it!” michael joked back.
satisfied with his answer, you leaned back in to give him a kiss, but this time it was on his cheek. it might’ve taken a while, but at least you and michael would be having that disney date, and you were fine with just that.
✦ pairing ... 4.6k ﹒ history michael ℘ f.reader. 18+ MDNI —
✦ premise ... 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 ★ every month, you and michael challenge yourselves to try something new together. this month's idea? roleplaying. armed with a shopping bag full of costumes and being slightly wine drunk, you decide to put on a one-woman fashion show for your very entertained husband.
✦ contains ... ( smut w little plot ) softdom!mj, established relationship, oral ( f!receiving ), roleplaying, dry humping, edging ( if you squint ), dirty talk, p in v sex, intoxication, experimenting, no use of y/n, unprotected ( don’t try this at home ) creampie, daddy kink ( if you squint )
✦ adore’s note ... my debut! i hope y'all like it because i’ve been so nervy about posting on here. my wattpad is gorjuse, in case i repost imagines, there was no plagiarism.
requested ﹒ n/a ♡
Wine buzzes lazy through your veins, a warm river pooling in your stomach as you lean against the doorframe of your shared closet. Michael sits on the edge of your king-sized bed, the wine glass held loose in one elegant hand, the other resting on his thigh. He’s already changed from his day clothes into a loose, black silk shirt, unbuttoned halfway, and a pair of matching pajama pants. The soft light of the bedside lamp catches the silver initial bracelet around his wrist, the one you bought him last anniversary.
“Reaady?” you call out, your voice a little husky from the wine and the thrill of what you’re about to do. Michael takes a slow sip of his wine, his dark eyes never leaving yours. A small, knowing smile plays on his lips. “Born ready, angel.”
You giggle, a light, bubbly sound that feels foreign to your ears. With a deep breath, you push off the doorframe and reach for the first outfit. A classic sailor uniform. The fabric is a crisp, navy blue, the collar starched stiff and trimmed with white. The skirt is scandalously short, ending mid-thigh, and the little white sailor hat perched on your head feels ridiculously small. You turn to face the full-length mirror, adjusting the hat at a jaunty angle. You look like you’re about to star in an old-fashioned musical, one with lots of tap dancing and wholesome, patriotic fervor.
“Ahoy there, handsome,” you say, trying to deepen your voice into a more authoritative tone. “'Mission t'come aboard?” Michael’s eyes widen, a flicker of amusement and something darker in their depths. He sets his wine glass down on the nightstand with a soft click. “Well, well, well…” he drawls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the floorboards. “Looks like m'in fer a treat t'night.” He pats the space on the bed next to him. “Why don’t you come on over here an' let th' captain inspect his new recruit?”
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you cross the room, the short skirt swishing around your thighs. You stop in front of him, standing at attention. “Recruit reportin' for duty, sir.” “Good girl,” he says, his hand coming up to rest on your hip. His thumb traces circles over the fabric, sending shivers down your spine. “Very good. But I think you’re wearin' a li'l too much for this inspection.” His fingers dip beneath the hem of the skirt, teasing the skin of your thigh. “Why don'cha show me whatcha got under this uniform?”
You bite your lip, a blush creeping up your neck. With a shaky breath, you reach back to unzip the skirt. It pools at your feet, leaving you in just the sailor top, a pair of plain white panties, and the ridiculous hat. Michael’s gaze is hot, heavy, as it roams over your body. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties, tugging you closer. “Much better,” he murmurs. “Now, 'bout that inspection…”
He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips are on yours, a hungry, demanding kiss that tastes of wine and desire. His tongue slides into your mouth, tangling with yours in a dance as old as time. His hands are everywhere, stroking, caressing, learning the curves of your body as if for the first time. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in the soft strands of his hair. You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, a smirk on his face. “I think this sailor's had 'nough' of th' high seas,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “Wha's next on th' agenda?”
You take a moment to catch your breath, your body still humming from his touch. With a final, lingering glance at Michael, you retreat back into the closet, shedding the rest of the sailor uniform as you go. The next outfit is a classic chef’s coat, a crisp, white double-breasted jacket that’s way too big for you. You roll up the sleeves, a simple white apron tied loosely around your waist. You grab a wooden spoon from the kitchen on your way back, holding it like a weapon. “Bon appétit, monsieur,” you say, your best French accent sounding more like a mangled New Yorker. Michael chuckles, a deep, throaty sound. ““Ooh, I do love a woman who can han’le herself in th’ kitchen.” He leans back on his elbows, legs sprawled out in front of him. “What’s on th’ menu t’night, chef?”
You stride over to the bed, the wooden spoon held aloft. “You are,” you say, your voice low and seductive. “I’m th’ main course, an’ you’re the dessert.” You tap the spoon against his chest, right over his heart. “But first, ya gotta earn your meal.” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. “Oh? An’ how do I do that?” “By tellin’ me what you want,” you say, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his. “Tell me how you wan’ me. Tell me all your dirty little secrets.”
He groans, a raw, primal sound that goes straight to your core. “I wan’ you,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I wan’ t’taste every inch of you, t’feel you writhing beneath me. I wan’ t’hear you scream my name as I take you, hard n’ fast, until you can’t remember your own.” You pull back, a triumphant smile on your face. “Good answer,” you say, before you're once again retreating to the closet.
The flapper dress is a slinky, silver number that shimmers under the soft glow of the lamp. It’s a straight-cut, dropped-waist style that hangs loose on your frame, the fringe dancing around your knees. A pearl necklace completes the look, the cool beads a stark contrast against your heated skin. You pin your hair up in a loose, faux bob, smudging a little dark eyeliner on for good measure. You glide back into the room, your hips swaying to a silent jazz tune. “Well, hello there, daddy-o,” you purr, your voice a smoky, seductive whisper. “Buy a girl a drink?” Michael’s eyes are dark, almost black, with desire. He sits up, the silk shirt falling open to reveal the smooth, muscular planes of his chest. “I’ll buy y’the whole damn bar,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “C’mere, you li’l minx.”
You sashay over to him, the fringe of your dress swirling around your legs. You straddle his lap, your arms looping around his neck. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a lil’ attention around here?” you murmur, your lips tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re already gettin’ it, mama,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips, holding you in place. “More than y’know.” He rolls his hips up against yours, the hard line of his erection pressing against your core. You gasp, your head falling back as a wave of pleasure washes over you.
“Michael…” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Yeah, baby?” he murmurs, his lips finding that sensitive spot behind your ear. “Tell me what y’want.” “I want…” you trail off, your mind going blank as he continues to assault your senses with his touch. “I want you t’dance with me.” He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “Dance?” he asks, his hands sliding up your back, under the cool fabric of the dress. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days?” You laugh, a breathy, desperate sound. “Dance with me,” you repeat, your voice a little stronger this time. “Right here, right now.”
With a groan, he stands, lifting you with him as if you weigh nothing. He sets you down on your feet, his hands still on your hips. The music is silent, but in your head, a lively jazz tune is playing, a fast-paced, frenetic melody that matches the rhythm of your heart. Michael’s hands are firm on your waist as he guides you, his body moving against yours in a way that’s both elegant and utterly sinful. The flapper dress is a blur of silver fringe, a whirlwind of motion as you spin and dip, your bodies pressed close together. The room feels hot, the air thick with the scent of wine and desire. When the music in your head finally fades, you’re both breathless, your bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs and desperation.
“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. “So are you,” you whisper back, before you’re pulling away, the promise of more hanging in the air between you. You give him one last, lingering look over your shoulder before you disappear back into the closet, the flapper dress a pool of silver at your feet.
The cowgirl costume is all denim and lace. A pair of tiny denim shorts, a fringed leather vest worn over nothing but skin, and a pair of cowboy boots that you’re not entirely sure you can walk in. You place a Stetson hat on your head, the brim casting a shadow over your eyes. You look at yourself in the mirror, a wild, untamed look in your eyes. You look like you could ride a bull and win. You stomp back into the room, the heels of the boots clicking against the hardwood floor. “Howdy, partner,” you say, your voice a low, husky drawl. “You lookin’ for a good time?”
Michael’s eyes are wide, a flicker of surprise and something darker in their depths. He lets out a low whistle. “Well, hello there, cowgirl,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.” He pats his thigh. “Why don’t you come over here n’ take a ride?” You saunter over to him, the boots making you feel powerful, invincible. You stop in front of him, your hands on your hips. “This ain’t my first rodeo, handsome,” you say, your voice a low purr. “You sure y’can handle me?”
“I’m willin’ to risk it,” he says, his hands coming up to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. “I’ve always been a fan of a good ride.” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Why don’t y’show me what you’ve got?” You don’t need to be told twice. You straddle his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. You can feel the hard length of him against you, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. You start to move, a slow, deliberate rocking motion that has you both gasping for air in a matter of moments. His hands are on your ass, guiding your movements, his hips rising to meet yours with every downward thrust. The fringe on your vest sways with your movements, a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the slap of skin against silk.
“Michael,” you gasp, your head falling back as a wave of pleasure washes over you. “That’s it, baby,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips. “Ride me. Jus’ like that.” You’re lost in a haze of pleasure, your body moving on instinct, your mind a blank slate of sensation. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a tight coil of need that’s about to snap. You’re so close, so damn close, and then—
You pull away, a wicked smile on your face. “Not s’fast, cowboy,” you say, your voice a low purr. “Best things in life are worth waitin’ for.” He lets out a frustrated groan, but there’s a smile in his eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he says, his voice thick with desire. You just wink, before you’re once again retreating to the closet, the cowboy boots kicked off with a sigh of relief.
The cat costume is simple, but effective. A black, form-fitting bodysuit, a pair of fuzzy cat ears on a headband, and a long, black tail attached to the back. You draw on some whiskers with an eyeliner pencil, completing the look. You feel sleek, powerful, predatory. You crawl back into the room on your hands and knees, your movements fluid and graceful. You rub up against his leg, purring, a low, rumbling sound in your chest. “Meow,” you say, your voice a soft, seductive whisper.
Michael’s breath hitches, a strangled sound. He reaches down, his fingers tangling in your hair, stroking your head like you’re a real cat. “Well, hello there, kitty,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You look like you’re lookin’ for a li’l trouble.” You lean into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Maybe,” you purr, your tail swishing back and forth. “What’re you gonna d’about it?”
“M’gonna give you exactly what you want,” he says, his hand moving from your head to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “What d’you want, kitty? You want me to pet you? To stroke you ‘til you’re purrin’ my name?”
“Yesss,” you hiss, your eyes fluttering closed. “Please, Michael. Touch me.” He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He pulls you onto the bed, your body molding against his. His hands are everywhere, stroking, caressing, learning the curves of your body as if for the first time. He finds a sensitive spot behind your ear, and you arch into his touch, a loud purr rumbling in your chest. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound, before his lips are on yours, a hungry, demanding kiss that tastes of wine and desire.
This one is harder to pull away from. His touch is electric, a current that runs through your veins, setting your nerve endings on fire. But you manage it, untangling yourself from his arms with a soft sigh. You give him one last, lingering look over your shoulder, your eyes promising more, before you disappear back into the closet, the cat costume a puddle of black on the floor.
The last costume is, by far, your favorite. A simple, white, floor-length nightgown, a pair of feathered wings strapped to your back, and a cheap, plastic halo perched on your head. You feel ethereal, otherworldly. You look at yourself in the mirror, a soft, serene smile on your face. You look like you’ve just descended from heaven.
You glide back into the room, your movements slow and deliberate. You stop at the foot of the bed, your hands clasped in front of you. “Are you Michael?” you ask, your voice a soft, melodious whisper.
Michael’s eyes are wide, a flicker of awe and something darker in their depths. He sits up, the silk shirt falling open to reveal the smooth, muscular planes of his chest. “I am,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “And who might you be?”
“M’your guardian angel,” you say, your voice a soft, seductive purr. “I’ve been sent t’watch over you. T’protect you. To… guide you.” “Guide me?” he asks, a challenge in his eyes. “And how d’you plan on doin’ that?”
“By showin’ you the way t’heaven,” you say, a slow smile spreading across your face. You move towards the bed, the white nightgown flowing around you like a cloud. You stop in front of him, your wings fluttering gently. “Show me,” he whispers, his eyes dark with desire. “Show me the way.”
You lean in, your lips hovering just above his. “Close your eyes,” you whisper. He obeys, and you take a step back. With a deep breath, you reach up and unstrap the wings, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud. Then, you reach for the hem of the nightgown, pulling it over your head in one smooth, fluid motion. You stand before him, completely and utterly bare. The soft light of the lamp kisses your skin, casting you in a warm, golden glow. You are vulnerable, exposed, but you have never felt more powerful.
He opens his eyes, and a gasp escapes his lips. His gaze roams over your body, hot and heavy, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips. He looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, a work of art he can’t quite believe is real. “Who are you dressed as?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper, full of awe and wonder.
You take a step forward, closing the distance between you. You cup his face in your hands, your thumbs stroking his smooth cheeks. You lean in, your lips brushing against his, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down both your spines.
“Yours,” you whisper.
And with that, the game is over. The pretense is gone. There’s no sailor, no chef, no flapper, no cowgirl, no cat, no angel. There’s only you, and there’s only him. A growl rumbles in his chest, a raw, primal sound that goes straight to your core. In one swift, fluid motion, he surges to his feet, scooping you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, as he carries you the few steps to the bed. He lays you down gently, almost reverently, as if you’re something precious, something to be cherished.
He stands over you for a long moment, just looking. His eyes are dark, almost black, with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. He shrugs out of his silk shirt, letting it fall to the floor, revealing the expanse of his chest, lean and muscled. Your gaze follows the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, and your body tightens with anticipation.
He kneels on the bed, his knees on either side of your hips. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, caging you in. His hair falls around his face, a soft curtain that blocks out the rest of the world. It’s just you and him in this bubble of light and desire. “You have no idea what you do t’me,” he murmurs, his lips a breath away from yours. “Show me,” you whisper back.
And he does.
His kiss is slow, deep, a thorough exploration that leaves you breathless and wanting. It’s not a kiss of frantic hunger, but of deep, abiding tenderness, a kiss that says more than words ever could. His hands trace the lines of your body, a slow, deliberate path that sets your skin on fire. He learns the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, the swell of your hips, as if committing them to memory. His lips leave yours, trailing a path of fire down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. He takes his time, worshiping your body with a devotion that brings tears to your eyes. He’s not just touching you; he’s cherishing you. Adoring you.
His hands find your breasts, cupping their weight, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble into tight, aching points. He lowers his head, taking one into his mouth, and a sharp, indrawn breath is your only warning before a bolt of pure pleasure shoots through you. He lavishes attention on one, then the other, his tongue and teeth working in tandem until you’re a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him.
“Michael…” you breathe, your hands fisting in the sheets. “Please…”
“Please what, baby?” he murmurs against your skin. “Tell me what y’want.”
“I want… I want you,” you gasp, arching into his touch. “All of you. Now.” He lifts his head, a slow, satisfied smile on his face. “Patience, angel,” he says, his voice a low, husky purr. “We’re jus’ gettin’ started.”
His journey continues, a slow, torturous descent down your body. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, making you gasp. His hands are on your thighs, stroking, caressing, coaxing them apart. You yield to him without hesitation, opening yourself to him completely. He settles between your thighs, his breath warm against your sensitive sex. You can feel the heat of his gaze, and it’s almost too much to bear. You’re exposed, vulnerable, but the look on his face is one of pure, unadulterated reverence.
“You’re s’beautiful,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the folds of your flesh, exploring you with a gentle curiosity. “S’wet for me.” He leans in, and the first touch of his tongue is a revelation. It’s a slow, deliberate swipe that sends a jolt of electricity through you. He’s not in a hurry. He takes his time, tasting, exploring, learning every secret part of you. He finds the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, and circles it with his tongue, slow, lazy circles that build a fire in your core.
Your hands fly to his head, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, holding him to you. You can feel the pressure building, a tight coil of need that’s about to snap. Your hips move of their own accord, a slow, undulating rhythm that matches the movements of his tongue.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumble against your clit. “Let go. Come for me.” His words are your undoing. The coil inside you snaps, and pleasure, sharp and blinding, crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body arching off the bed as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. He doesn’t stop, not until you’re a spent, trembling mess, your body boneless with satisfaction.
He kisses his way back up your body, a slow, languid journey. He covers you with his body, his skin warm against yours. You can feel the hard length of him against your thigh, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. He’s still wearing his pajama pants, and the thin fabric is a frustrating barrier between you. “Michael,” you whisper, your hands finding the waistband of his pants. “Take these off.”
He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “Eager, are we?” “You have no idea,” you say, your fingers nimbly untying the drawstring. He lifts his hips, and you tug the pants down, freeing him. He kicks them off, and then he’s naked against you, all warm skin and hard muscle. He pauses, his elbows braced on either side of your head. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle, almost reverent.
“I love you,” he says, his voice a raw, vulnerable whisper. “More than words can say.” Your heart swells, a feeling so overwhelming it almost hurts. “I love you, too,” you whisper back, your hands coming up to cup his face. “S’much.” He leans in, and this kiss is different from the others. It’s slow, deep, and full of a love so profound it leaves you speechless.
He shifts his hips, and you feel the blunt head of him at your entrance. He pauses, giving you one last chance to change your mind, to stop this. But you don’t. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, a silent invitation. He enters you with a slow, deliberate thrust, filling you completely. You gasp at the sheer size of him, the feeling of being so full, so complete. He stills, giving you a moment to adjust, to get used to the feel of him inside you.
“Y’okay?” he asks, his voice a low, concerned murmur. You nod, unable to speak. You move your hips, a silent plea for more. He gets the message. He starts to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds a fire in your core. Every thrust is a declaration of love, every stroke a promise of forever. He’s watching you, his eyes dark with an emotion so intense it makes your heart ache. He’s not just taking you; he’s worshiping you. Adoring you.
Your hands roam over his back, feeling the play of muscles under his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulders, holding on as the pleasure builds to an unbearable pitch. The room is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking, the slap of skin against skin, your soft whimpers, his low groans. “You feel s’good,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “S’damn good, baby.”
“You, too,” you gasp, your hips rising to meet his. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” “Never,” he whispers, his lips finding yours in a desperate, hungry kiss.
The pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more erratic, more desperate. You’re both teetering on the edge, so close to falling into the abyss of pleasure. He reaches between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, and that’s all it takes. The world shatters. A scream is torn from your throat as pleasure, sharp and blinding, crashes over you. Your body convulses, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. He follows you over the edge a moment later, your name a hoarse cry on his lips as he finds his own release.
He collapses on top of you, his body a heavy, welcome weight. You hold him close, your arms wrapped around his waist, your legs still tangled with his. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a steady, reassuring rhythm that grounds you. For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together in the aftermath, the only sounds in the room your ragged breaths and the pounding of your hearts. The wine has worn off, leaving a warm, pleasant buzz in its place. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the lamp, the discarded costumes a silent testament to the game you played.
He finally stirs, propping himself up on his elbows. He looks down at you, his eyes soft, a gentle smile on his face. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “Hi,” he says, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Hi,” you whisper back, a slow smile spreading across your face. He leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to your lips. “That was… somethin’ else,” he says, a little breathless. “I think we found a winner for this month’s new thing.”
You laugh, a soft, breathy sound. “I think we might’ve,” you agree. “Though I was partial to the cowgirl myself.” He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, I liked the cowgirl,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But I think my favorite was t’very last one. The one with no costume at all.” “Mine, too,” you whisper, your heart swelling with a love so profound it almost hurts.
He rolls off you, pulling you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, your arm draped over his waist. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, a comforting, soothing sound that lulls you into a state of sleepy contentment. “I love you,” he murmurs, his lips pressed against your hair. “I love y’too,” you whisper back, your eyes drifting closed.
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summary: it’s the third night you’ve woken up to the same nightmare, and it’s also the third night you’re boyfriend’s been to soothe you through it.
warnings: panic attack due to nightmare, just comfort, established relationship
a/n: i can’t stop writing michael comfort fics that take place at night time, im sorry. <1k words :p
requests: open!!
thinking of mature!michael when you wake up with a nightmare. your heart is racing, tiny droplets of sweat trickle down your forehead… even though you don’t scream, the jolt of your upper body is enough to wake him up. this is the third night now that michael had woken up to your anxiety.
“princess,” he instantly opened his eyes, his brain slowly getting used to this routine.
you didn’t respond, you couldn’t. your breathing was heavy as you clasped onto the collar of your pajama shirt. the darkness of the bedroom swallowed you as you scanned around, seeking something to ground you. the darkness made you feel as if you were still dreaming. a large hand rubbed you along your shaking back, which caused you to jump up and turn to face behind you.
michael.
“hey, hey,” he soothed, “‘s okay pretty girl.”
you felt foolish. you dropped your face to your hands, trying to hide your embarrassment.
“i’m so sorry, mike,” your voice was muffled, and it wasn’t long before your tears came running. your heart was still pounding out of your chest, like it was trying to claw itself out of your body. it was too much to handle the mix of shame and fear.
he sat up and wrapped his slender arm around you, michael hugged you into his bare chest. the cool sensation of his body relaxed you a bit.
a thumb grazed your shoulder, “same dream, hm?”
“… just want it to be over.”
at this point it was impossible for you to be able to hide your sobs, hiccuping through every word. you wiped your tears with your fist, sniffles taking up the silence of the room.
your boyfriend wrapped his other arm around you, now hugging you. his embrace was the only thing to calm you down. you snuggled your head into his chest, placing your palms on his skin.
“i’m never going to let anything bad happen to you,” michael gently squeezed you, “understand?”
weakly nodding, you responded, “i understand.”
michael pulled you away softly, “do you wanna go back to sleep?”
“‘m scared to close my eyes,” you didn’t meet his gaze; you were too ashamed.
he paused for a moment.
“how about we lay down, hm, baby? i wont go to sleep until you do. i promise.
finally looking into his deep eyes, “but what if i can’t sleep?”
michaels smile was reassuring, like a tender kiss, “then i guess i won’t be sleeping, princess.”
you could feel tears rushing to your face. how could he always be this sweet? after being abruptly woken up to a crying girl… he was still so sweet. it’s as if he was a real life prince charming.
“i’m sorry-“
“ah ah,” he interrupted, “no ‘sorrys,’ just lay down, ‘kay, princess?”
you shook your head yes and then you both lowered yourselves down onto the mattress. his gentle care was enough to make you tear up again. though your body was still adapting to the frightening dream, the tears were not from anxiety. it was the confusion of your rapid heartbeat and michaels soothing character.
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